Bad Dog Steve

………….an occasional series.

When we left the genteel world of a small hotel on the edge of Dartmoor we moved to the South Coast near Portsmouth. We were very pleased with the house that we had rented for a few months. There was a flat roof, complete with its own pavilion, the windows wrapped around the corners with curved glass, the space below the rooftop railings was filled in with green glass. Most bizarrely the wall between the sitting room and the dining room, together with its pictures, was counterbalanced with huge lead weights and could be lifted easily into the space between the bedroom walls. Best of all it was only a couple of hundred yards from the beach, perfect dog walking country. It was also for sale………..but we were too young and stupid to buy it!

The garden was huge, though overgrown. On arrival we inspected it for dog security, all the boundaries had chestnut paling fencing and looked sufficiently robust.

The next morning was sunny, we wandered into the garden with Steve. Through the fence and hedge we could see that our neighbour’s family was having a rather elegant breakfast, sitting on rugs on the lawn together with their Labrador dog. We paid little attention while we looked at our new responsibilities in the garden; however, Steve did pay attention. He eyed the gathering, assessed the fence and went straight through it like a rocket, leaving a dog shaped hole in the splintered woodwork.

I shot out of the house, down the lane and into the next garden. Breakfast had stopped. Half a dozen people, and a Labrador dog, were sitting rigidly to attention while Steve stalked around them. Grabbing his collar, I blurted out profuse apologies and took him home. Strangely, I can’t remember if anyone else said a word, it must have been the shock.