“Oh no! You were burgled/robbed! Where was/were your dog/s?”
They were running up and down my road. I know because, for the past three nights, my pack has gone berserk at our gate. The outraged canine cacophony followed the happy wanderers up and down the adjacent streets, waking the entire neighbourhood. Except, perhaps, for the idiot, uncaring, irresponsible pet owners who let their dogs out, who, who, who, who, who?
Now it’s 2.55a-bloody-m. We have all been awake since 00.12 when the roving Rovers made their initial trip around the hood, setting off the first round of surround sound.
We’ve had a spate of burglaries in the neighbourhood so we’re all “sleeping” with one eye open anyway. Cue our angry dog sounds ‒ people who talk dog can instantly recognise different barks: the bored bark, the reply to the neighbour’s pooch, the warning to the oke walking on the opposite pavement; someone at the gate, and now, the frantic fighting to “get out and let us at them” frenzy made when marauders are threatening their home turf.
This is the third night in a row. The first night of the rousing barkathon we knew something was wrong. Torches were shone through the windows to find the intruder while gathering up heavy weapons to fend off attackers. Two sets of eyes reflected the torch light back at us and we saw the offenders were rival dogs.
Since the noise was reverberating around the neighbourhood, and burglar-inspired nerves were jangling, there was little sleep to follow. Perhaps an hour or two.
The initial sortie on the second night was a bit later, about 2.30am, so just as sleep returned, it was time to wake up again. By 10am, I had QWERTY on my forehead and drool in the keyboard.
Last night, it was impossible to re-enter slumberland, such was my rage. Then the mozzies came out to play too and there was nothing for it but to get up. The dishes were washed, coffee was made and work started at 2.24a-bloody-m. It’s better to get up and do it rather than writhe in bed in unspeakable fury and think about stuff that needs doing.
Elsewhere in this newspaper is a report on the shortage of vets in this country. If you are lucky enough to have found a beloved vet who cares for your fur family and knows their names and history, do whatever you can to support them. Buy your pet food from them. The price of proper food from vets seems a bit high at first, but once you have compared the health benefits and the smaller portions your animal needs (hence using less), you’ll find it is more economical.
Also buy your treats from them: some sell great biscuits that are less expensive than supermarket ones. Pay your (sometimes painfully high) bill without complaint. Your vet and your pet are worth it.
It was my vet who told me some people let their dogs out of their properties at night when there are fewer cars, to get some “free” time. Unfortunately, no names were divulged so my plans for a bazooka attack on the idiots came to nought. At least any lurking burglars will case somewhere quieter. Perhaps the house where the dogs were awol. Poetic justice.
- Lindsay Slogrove is the news editor.
The Independent on Saturday