Pedigreed Pooches & Spanish Prisoners

Will Ferguson

Dear reader, I am the son of an exiled Nigerian diplomat . . . .  Ah, but you’re too clever to fall for that. Or are you? The Nigerian email spam/scam cost North Americans more than $720 million in 2005 alone.

Hard to believe anyone would fall for it, but fall they do. More unbelievable still is the fact that this particular scam dates back more than 400 years, to the days of the Spanish Armada in fact.  Nigeria’s email swindle is simply a modern variation of the “Spanish prisoner” con, one that started in 1588, with letters sent from the desperate offspring of a captured English officer who was  being held in a Spanish jail cell. Money was needed, to bribe guards, cover costs. In return? A reward worth millions. Millions, mind!

I uncovered this while researching Spanish fly. Not “Spanish fly the beetle that causes irritation of the urinary tract,” but rather “Spanish fly the fake aphrodisiac sold in men’s magazines.” The one labeled Genuine 100% Placebo! It was for a book I was writing about swindles. And somewhere between Spanish fly and the Spanish prisoner, I came across a devious shortchanging scam as well.

This one hit home, because I recognized it immediately. It had been pulled on me when I was working part-time as a clerk back in high school, manning the late-night till at a convenience store in Red Deer, Alberta. On my first shift – my very first shift– a charming fellow strolled in and purchased a pack of gum with a fifty-dollar bill. As I handed him his change he said, “Wait a sec, I have a dollar. No need for you to break such a large bill.”

When I cashed out at the end of the night, I was short exactly fifty dollars, and the money ended up coming out of my paycheque. All along, I’d sheepishly assumed I’d somehow rung it in incorrectly,  never dreaming that I’d been set up.

I won’t explain how this scam works – no need  to aid and abet any would-be grifters out there. But I will say this. If you ever find yourself behind a till and someone purchases a small item with large tender and then immediately wants to get change – stop. Close the till. Take a deep breath. Complete the first transaction before dealing with any requests for change. Trust me on this.

Addled store clerks aside, the best cons actually rely on a bit of larceny in the hearts of the victims they target. One of my favourites is a classic that dates back to the 1920s, something called “the pedigreed pooch.” A fellow strolls into a bar with a puppy under one arm. He orders a drink, slaps a bill on the counter, says “Keep the change.”

The puppy is for his little girl’s birthday, y’see. And he asks the bartender to watch the dog while he runs to his bookie to place a bet. He’s got the inside track on a race, y’see. A sure thing, easy money, and he hurries off to lay his wager.

As soon as he leaves, a wealthy-looking couple sweeps in, looking for directions to a certain dog-breeding establishment, when lo! their eyes settle on the pooch. A rare Albanian purebred, they proclaim – and immediately offer the barkeep $1000 for the puppy. Provided he can give them the papers the pooch came with.

“It’s not mine,” the bartender weakly replies, so the well-heeled pair leave a note instead for the other fellow, asking him to stop by their suite at – name the swankiest hotel in town and that’s where they are staying – and offering said grand for the dog.

When the first man returns he is despondent. The horse race was a sham, you see. He has lost everything. All he has now is this puppy to give to his little girl.  Stifling sobs, he gives the bartender a few crumpled bills for watching the pooch and then shuffles sadly towards the door.

“Hang on,” comes the inevitable cry. “Why don’t I help you out. I’ll buy your dog.”

A good con man could squeeze as much as $500 per puppy. Not bad for a litter of stray mutts. A profitable swindle, indeed.  Not that we’d ever fall for something like that. No sir. We’re too clever to be taken in by such a ruse.

And if you believe that, I have some beachfront property in Nunavut you might be interested in.

York U Magazine
Spring 2007