We moved from the countryside to the city in 1975. Back then, we bought a house right on the outskirtsa proper adventure! But oh, what a surprise awaited us. You see, back in those days, country folk had this unspoken rule about helping each other come rain or shine, and my parents were absolutely cut from that cloth. So, when the previous owners asked if they could crash in what was now our brand-new house for a few weekssomething to do with paperworkmy parents, ever generous, agreed.
These people owned a monstrous, ill-tempered dog. We didnt want it lounging about the house because it looked at us as though it might prefer us as lunch. To this day, I still remember that beast.
A week went by. Then the second. By the third, the old owners were still snoozing away until midday, barely leaving the house, seemingly with no intention of packing up. The icing on the cake, though, was how they strutted about as though the house still belonged to them, especially the former owners mother, who treated the place like Buckingham Palace.
Again and again, mum and dad gently reminded them about our arrangement. Nevertheless, each time, their move-out date faded further into the distant future.
And every single day, their dog roamed free. Not only did it leave little “presents” all over the garden, but my siblings were too terrified even to stick their noses outdoors. The dog would charge at everyone as if it had something to prove. Mum and dad pleaded with the owners to keep it on a lead. But without fail, the moment dad left for work and my brother and sister headed to school, out the dog would spring, taking charge of the garden.
Ironically, it was the very same dog that ended up saving dad from those cheeky squatters.
One afternoon, my little sister Jane came home from school, forgetting entirely about the canine terror looming on the other side of the gate. She flung it open and was promptly flattened by a black fury. Thankfully, she was dressed in her sturdy duffle coat, which absorbed most of the damage. Only the coat suffered a terrible fate. The dog was rounded up and chained up, and the owners wasted no time blaming poor Jane for coming home early.
Then came the eveninga scene for the ages! Dad burst through the door from work, didnt even bother to hang up his mac, and marched straight upstairs to escort the matriarch out onto the street in her Sunday best. Her daughter and son-in-law bolted out behind her, apparently keen to avoid being turfed out by hand. All their belongings went flying over the garden fence, straight into the mud and puddlesproper English weather, after all.
They tried to sic their dog on dad, but the old thing, having witnessed the commotion, simply wagged its tail, retreated to its kennel, and steadfastly refused to join the drama. An hour later, all of the former tenants things were outside, the garden gate securely locked, and the legendary dog sat contentedly behind the fence with its family and an impressive pile of treats.
