Harry’s ferrets
Drug dealer? No, I keep ferrets. I owned nine ferrets, all are neutered to suppress the whiff. I had for many years kept Hob (male) ferrets as pets all un-neutered, until I realised when picking up my coat, after a bath, what must other people have been thinking of my personal hygiene. I am a man, and with
great regret, a visit to the vet was in order for my furry friends. Their wedding tackle and the odour was gone or so I thought, but some creatures perception of smell is greater than mine. Read on. I was invited to a meeting held at my employer’s new plush training centre near Coventry. That  day I listened to mind numbing American style lectures from the great and the good of my illustrious employer about our way forward and by the close of the day I was pleased to be going home.
At Sheffield station I alighted from the local train, to catch the mainline service to London. On the platform were a group of British Transport police officers with a very young Alsatian dog. As I walked past, the dog,  thrust its nose into my crotch, this is not unusual,as any ferret owner will
testify. I laughed and said to the copper, “dogs are always doing that”. He replied, Would you accompanying us, as we have reason to believe you are in possession of illegal substances.”
I have never smoked, and was mildly irritated by this insinuation. I explained the the attraction to dogs of a ferret's aroma, but I was authoritatively told police dogs are trained to ignore such distractions, but it was suggested I might have been previously in close proximity to a drug user, which the dog had detected. I was sceptical, I have a basic understanding animal behaviour.
After  a body search and an examination of my Swiss Army knife, which is attached to a
key ring (all drug dealers carry weaponry), I was released without charge. While all this was taking place my colleagues had been remonstrating with the police concerning my detention.
Fast forward to the next year; I was coming home from work, alighting from the train at my home station, I noticed a police presence at the station. Guess what, one was a dog handler.  As I passed, I was enthusiastically sniffed by the dog, and I exclaimed “not again,”  the dog handler said, “ what do you mean not again,” giving me the impression he had just apprehended the drug world's Mr Big.
On this occasion  I was frisked by two WPC's, possibly less thoroughly, but I did ask them the question why this had to happen in full view of the general public, without privacy. The reply
was “where else can it be done.” “Behind a portable screen,”  I suggested.