The Dog full of Sunday Nightfall

Yesterday afternoon.
Met Al, Em and Claire and went for a pot of tea (or two) at a small place off of Western Road called Tea for Two. After that we took a walk along the fading-light beach. Em went to work and Al, Claire and myself decided to go for 'a half' at the nearby Neptune.
The Neptune is set along a small parade of shops, and one of the shops there is a hairdresser. Claire pointed out something in the darkened window (all the shops were closed by now) and we gathered round to look. There was a dog - a black labrador I think - sat on the leather sofa just under the window. It had it's legs up on the back of the sofa and stared out at the world with lugubrious eyes. "Look how human it looks!" said Claire.
There was indeed something very human about the dog. The eyes were particularly unnerving, ancient and knowledgeable, and despite the three of us crowded about the window, showed no interest in us whatsoever. It wasn't just the eyes though, there was something about its posture, some undefinable thing about its behaviour that made the dog seem something other than canine. The rest of the hairdressers was dark. The dog didn't seem to mind and seemed very relaxed and at home in it's Sunday-nightfall environment.
"Maybe someone left it here while they went to get a pint" said Claire.
We did the same, and after we had had a pint we passed by the hairdressers again but the dog was gone.