Breaking and Entering

Despite the naysayers and the doubters who regularly bemoan the crumbling of society’s very fabric, neighbourly spirit is alive and well down our street. A street where people talk and things are loaned and borrowed, mainstays of a bygone era re-awoken and juxtaposed with technologies new – our street has a Facebook page no less.

And the winners here? Social cohesion for sure, us human inhabitants too, but by far the biggest beneficiary of our nostalgic idyll is a louche and disreputable figure going by the name of Dudley.

Version 2

For on our street resides one of life’s true heroes, a lady so warm and kind that she carries dog biscuits with her wherever she goes. Most mornings the three of us meet, her returning from the paper shop, Dud and I embarking on a brief pre-work sojourn. Our gatherings are short but last long enough for an exchange of pleasantries and, in Dudley’s case, the receipt of two small dog biscuits, a bounty he snatches with such brutish force as to remove three layers of skin from her fingers.

Not content with this post breakfast snack and clearly seeing ‘pensioner mugging’ as a gateway crime leading to more profitable misadventures, Dudley has now turned to breaking and entering. Facilitated by some slipshod tethering, a porous front garden and a clear modus operandi, the hound seizes every possible opportunity to slope off up the road in search of his generous benefactor. And always with a sense of foreboding, I follow suit, that is, hot pursuit.

When I arrive, it is usually to the same frenzied scene; an excitable Dudley, spinning and bum tucking his way through the garden at speed and tail chasing his way around my neighbour, intimidation tactics no doubt. Eventually, these give way to harassment and then unlawful entry. Straight into her house he bundles, as if shot through a canon. Dancing about the kitchen, nosing into the lounge and ransacking the pantry, nothing ever off limits in his craven quest for food, all the while his body a slave to its scent hungry nose as it drags him – and me – ever deeper into this depraved scene.

In the end, he gets his way. Like discrete staff in a high-end restaurant, dog biscuits appear every time from nowhere, each one dispatched by the brown bandit at lightning speed, after which we make good our escape, me all sheepish and gushing apologies, him oblivious to his misdemeanours.

What lies further up the ‘food chain’ of petty crime I wonder? I don’t suppose it will be too long before I find out. Nor I suspect, my neighbour.

4 thoughts on “Breaking and Entering

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  1. Who could resist that little face. I have always found that Labs have that look like : I haven’t been fed in weeks!” A vet at the practice we go to has 2 labs that used to visit the neighbor after breakfast and dinner each day to get a snack, vet couldn’t figure out why they were gaining weight until she talked to the neighbor who said ” they always look so hungry”. Got to love a Lab.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Bwahaha! My male Old English Sheepdog from years ago used to hop the fence and sashay into my neighbor’s house with larceny in his heart too. She used to leave her back door open all the time as well. I was always horrified, at his fence jumping and making his bad little self perfectly at home in her kitchen. And yet, I miss that old ‘wool sweater with feet’ every day. Am especially delighted at the expression your boy wears when caught red-handed. Who could resist such a face?

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