Diane and I had taken our kids away for a long weekend in the campervan. On Sunday, we drove back just a the tail end of a severe thunderstorm. When we unpacked, we realised our dog, Ricky, was not in the yard. In those days, Ricky, a German Shepherd, was the neighbourhood watch dog, loved by all the neighbours. He kept the 'hood safe from undesirables and thus was never locked up. Like a guardsman, he used to patrol the street and the large bush behind our houses. So! Ricky was not at home. We assumed he was out on patrol somewhere and didn't worry too much, when there was a knock on the door. This bloke said, "Hi, I'm Joe, we just moved in across the street, do you own a german shepherd?" "Yes," I answered, "what's he done?" "Oh nothing, just as we were moving in, there was this storm and he just bolted into our house and he is hiding under the TV and won't come out."
|Ricky, our German Shepherd|
On his nightly patrol of the street, Ricky always visited Peter and Lucy another couple of neighbours up the road. Lucy always left a bowl of surplus milk out for him and for another neighbour's cat, at her back door.
This particular night, Ricky and the cat arrived at their back door at the same time. Well, it was on! Ricky barking and the cat hissing there was a typical mexican standoff. That's when Peter opened the door to investigate the commotion. The cat saw the opportunity and bolted into the house, very closely followed by Ricky, chasing the cat down their hallway, just as Lucy came out of the shower, as they were getting ready to go out. By now, the cat is in their bedroom climbing up their curtains and Ricky is on top of their bed bellowing up at the cat.
Peter and Lucy, just standing there flabbergasted at these two pets. Pets owned by other neighbours. Sadly, Peter passed away but we're still good friends with Lucy as well as Joe and Norma.
I guess, people were much more tolerant then.