Six thirty on a Friday evening in the local. The pub is lively but far from frantic, no wait getting a beer and the barman has just pulled a schooner for me.

The first of the weekend, the beer sits on the table in front of me, a little condensation frosting the glass. Outside the quiet to and fro of a suburban Sydney street, bright in the daylight-saving spring sunshine. There's company on the way but at the moment I'm alone for a few minutes with something to read and a beer. A little oasis at the end of the working week.

Absently, I look through the glass door to the street and see seven (seven!) police officers walking in a tight group across the street. Not rushing, but walking purposefully. Six men and one woman, dressed in uniform blue with guns and radios on their hips.

One policeman is dressed in blue overalls and he is leading a young golden Labrador. The lead is a thick, plaited, navy rope. His gun, like the others is in a shiny black holster on his hip.

They come into the pub through the glass door to my left. One takes up a sentry-like position by the door, the others scatter around the pub, not in a hurried way, just quietly, at a slow walking pace, talking to no-one, making no eye contact.

The dog officer is the most active as he leads the labrador on a careful patrol of the pub. Into every room, the first bar, the second bar, the bistro, the pokies room. The dog keeps moving at a brisk walk, stopping nowhere that I can see, although I can’t see the whole pub and I feel slightly anxious about paying too much attention to the ... to the what?… inspection?… raid?... reccy?

I look around enough to see the sentry officer still in position at the far end of the long table where I'm drinking. He has said nothing, the only communication a nod to two men who had been speaking in animated Mandarin, but are now silent.

My table is one of three set parallel and the officer with the dog now leads the lab back and forth through the tables, saying nothing to anyone and muttering some quiet encouragement to the dog: "good fellah…good boy…"

The dog pays no attention as he goes past the stool where I'm sitting. I seem to be the end point for the police exercise because the officers gather near the glass door and head back to the street, where I now realise one of them has positioned himself, presumably to spot anyone leaving in a way that suggests they'd rather not meet a police labrador.

As they leave the barman gives them a cheerful "See ya…"

The whole episode has taken maybe four minutes. The pub became noticeably quieter while the inspection was under way, but it soon regains its Friday night burble.

And how should we feel about an exercise like that? It may have been a targeted police action aimed at intercepting a criminal or stopping a crime. But it didn't look like that, the police had only ambled into the pub, there was no apparent focus of attention and it certainly didn't result in any arrest or other action.

It looked more like a fishing expedition. "Let’s see if the hound can sniff out any dope in anyone's pocket" seemed to be the logic. It brought to our little pub an air of menace and drama that is at odds with the mild sense of community that comes with a Friday evening beer.

Police are meant to be dealing with crime, not going out on shopping expeditions to see what they can pick up early on a Friday night. If I'm doing no harm, committing no crime and not in a necessarily secure area like an airport, why should I be subject to examination by sniffer dog? We are all citizens, not criminal suspects, and if crime is that hard to find that is greatly to the credit of the community and the police force.

We are all members of society, but we are also individuals. There is some kind of stated and unstated social compact, but my deal with society stops short of having to accept a labrador snout in my pocket.

I like labradors, to the point where I had to fight the urge to pat the police dog. But let's not have the boys and girls in blue form into menacing gangs and wade into places in the hope that some hapless drinker can be proved a criminal.



Marius Benson is ABC NewsRadio's national political editor and can be heard on the breakfast program each weekday morning on the NewsRadio network.