We moved from the countryside to the city back in 1975. That was the year we bought ourselves a house at the edge of town, set right at a crossroad. But, as fate would have it, there was quite a surprise awaiting us. In those days, country folk all believed in lending a hand to others whenever possible, and my parents were no different. So, when the previous owners asked if they could stay on in what was now our new home for a few weeks while they sorted out some paperwork, my parents agreed without hesitation.
These people owned a rather large and ill-tempered dog, a brute no one wanted to let inside for fear he wouldnt recognise us. Even now, the memory of that beast is as clear as day.
A week passed, then another, followed by a third, and yet the former owners continued to treat our house as if it were still theirs. Theyd sleep till midday and rarely left, making it quite clear they werent in any hurry to move out. What grated on us most was their behaviourespecially the former lady of the housewho acted as though she remained the rightful mistress of the home.
Again and again, my parents reminded them of our arrangement, yet their departure was endlessly postponed.
Every day, theyd let their dog out to roam. Not only did the poor beast foul up the entire garden, but my siblings were too frightened to step outside. The dog would charge at anyone in sight. My parents pleaded with the former owners time and again not to set him loose, but sure enough, as soon as Father left for work and my brother and sister were off to school, the dog would be out, tearing around the yard.
Ironically, it was that very dog who finally helped Father rid us of those audacious people.
One afternoon, my sister came home from school and, forgetting about the dog, flung open the gate. The great black brute bowled her over; had it not been for the thick, sturdy cloth of her winter coat, things might have ended far worse. As it was, the coat was ruined. The dog was quickly caught and chained up, and the blame fell squarely on my younger sister for returning home early.
But that eveningah, what an evening! Father hurried home from work, and, not bothering to remove his coat, he set straight to work. First, he showed the former lady of the house to the door, jacket and all. Her daughter and husband followed hastily behind, eager to escape before Fathers temper reached its breaking point. Their remaining belongings were tossed unceremoniously over the garden fence, landing in the mud and puddles beyond.
They tried to rouse the dog to defend them, but the great beast, having watched the commotion unfold, simply wagged his tail and slunk off to the back of his kennel. He had no intention of stepping outside. Within the hour, all their possessions lay in a sorry, damp heap on the street, the gates were firmly locked, and their infamous dog sat behind the fence with his owners, a pitiful pile of treats their only consolation.
Looking back, its almost comical the way things turned outif not for that troublesome dog, who knows how much longer those bold guests might have overstayed their welcome.
