Fact or Fiction - 27

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The story about the car following me and my kids - Here - was again, unfortunately TRUE - even down to me taking the sword with me.

Trev came home from work and knocked on the door to wake me before entering the bedroom - just in case!

I have no idea why the guy decided to follow us - whether it was because he liked the car, thought he knew us or because I'd pissed him off by accelerating away from him.

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Today's story... doggy tales.

When I was a child, we lived in a village with at least five farms dotted around – all within walking distance. Some had ponies in their fields, but most had other livestock – mainly cows and a few pigs.

We had a dog when we lived in the pit houses (before we moved up to the nice new houses with the farms all around). The dog’s name was Kim and he was a mixed-breed (Labrador and Alsatian). Kim kept running away and staying away and we’d always be devastated when he went. One day I remember he came back filthy and stinking to high-heaven!

I saw Kim running about on the edge of the field where we all played. I shouted to him and he came to greet me. I grabbed his collar and dragged him home. The other kids held their noses and refused to help me take him back.

“He stinks!”

My mother was NOT pleased because she had to bath him.

He was caked in shit! I’m not sure what animal shit it was – pig or cow, but there was a hell of a lot of it! His coat was a dark brownish-green and matted with filth. Wherever he’d run away to, they didn’t treat him very well. He was bruised and had been beaten. His body was tender and he yelped when he was washed.

When the filth was gone, under the fur, bruises could be seen and there were a few places that were cut. He’s lucky the cuts didn’t get infected by the shit!

We cried and begged to be allowed to keep him and we promised he’d not escape again – but he did, of course.

After he escaped the last time, my father told us he’d found where he ran away to every time and the farmer agreed to keep him because Kim obviously liked it there.

My brother and sister and I were so upset that we’d lost our dog but there was no negotiating with my father and I often wonder if Kim had actually run away or had been taken to the vet to be put down.

One winter’s Saturday night my father came home from football. He had a strange look on his face and we immediately knew he’d been up to something. He had a puppy in his coat. A light, golden coloured puppy and he set it on the floor in front of us and told us to choose a name.

Bruce as a puppy

We were watching Jason and the Argonauts at the time and so, of course, we agreed his name would be Jason – my father didn’t like the name and though we’d been told to pick it, he decided the name of the puppy – Bruce.

I took it upon myself to train Bruce and he became my constant companion.

Me and my best pal

I taught him basic commands – sit, heel etc and he listened to me over everyone else – except when my father was about – or when another male dog was about.

One day, Bruce didn’t even listen to my father.

The window cleaner was doing his rounds on the street and he’d brought a small Yorkshire Terrier with him (I have no idea what possessed the man, he knew there were dogs that roamed freely on the street – including Bruce).

Bruce spotted the little Yorkshire Terrier and my father saw his interest but it was too late! Bruce went off after the terrier like a greyhound after a rabbit. My father thought the little dog would be torn to pieces.

The difference in size between the two dogs

“Bruce! NO!” he shouted.

The window cleaner was up his ladder and could do nothing to protect his dog.

Bruce got to the Yorkie and bore down on it.

My father yelled at him to, “Leave it!”

But Bruce was caught up in the excitement of the moment and his mouth was around the little dog before anyone could do anything about it.

Everyone watching feared the very worst – but you know how it is, you can’t tear your eyes away…

Bruce picked up the tiny Yorkshire Terrier and trotted back home with his ‘prize’.

The little dog was unharmed (if a little soggy) and Bruce believed he’d done a good thing. He sat there to present the dog to my father.

My father took the little dog back to its owner and apologised.

The window cleaner didn’t bring it again…