THERE'S a regular at the Roaring Donkey pub in Old Town who is giving other punters some paws for thought.

Jim Duncan, 49, has been taking his five-year-old sheepdog Robbie along for a tipple for the last three years and in that time the pet has developed an odd habit.

Jim, of Lansdown Road, said: "One day we came in and he was staring at this spot on the carpet and he has done it ever since."

Robbie, named after the Scottish poet Robert Burns, always rushes to the same patch of carpet and he will stay there for the duration of the evening.

As he keeps his nose glued to the floor, his ears go back and he starts to pant and drool with excitement.

"Robbie is a very intelligent dog the best dog I have ever had and behaves normally for a collie when he is away from the pub," said Jim.

"It's total concentration. You can be here for three hours and he is there all the time."

With the dog's strange behaviour tongues have started wagging as to what's beneath the floor.

"There's been a lot of speculation of dead bodies and things but I don't know about that," added Jim.

"We have rugs with patterns on at home and he has been in many pubs but it's only here he ever does it."

Jim's other dog, Milly, a two-year-old Lakeland terrier, is nonplussed by Robbie's antics, probably thinking he is barking and pays no attention to the carpet, preferring to have a nap while Jim sips his pint.

Roaring Donkey landlord Ted Kukielko said Robbie is the only dog who is obsessed by his floor.

"I don't know what is underneath there I hope there aren't any bodies. If anyone can tell me about the history of the place I would love to know more.

"I live here all the time and have never felt spooked. I don't think it is haunted."

Hostelry with a murky past

In the 1800s, the Roaring Donkey was in the heart of a red light district.

For many years the street did not even have a name, but was eventually called Albert Street after the accession of Queen Victoria to the throne.

In the early years a number of businesses were opened including a baker and a clothing business run by a group of women, as well as a number of ale houses and even a shooting gallery.

The first alehouse was the Rhinoceros, but this closed in the mid 1800s when the landlady died during a fracas in the street. A local businessman was charged with her manslaughter.

The Roaring Donkey, was originally called the Hart and Hound, but its name was changed a few years later to the Rising Sun, only to change to the Roaring Donkey, apparently as a result of the Evening Advertiser's own noisy printing press across the road.

Gareth Bethell