Monday, October 09, 2017

I Kill A Dog.

“Oh my God I’m going to bloody kill that dog.” I think to myself.

Three weeks previously – myself and half-a-dozen residents of my terraced street and that of the parallel street are gathered.

The general consensus of the meeting seems to be that Something Has To Be Done. That seems sufficient for me.

A week later and still the unidentified dog howls. From seven in the morning until eleven at night. Including weekends. It’s not the howling as such – that reverberates around my house and that of every other person on my street – it’s the two seconds when the dog draws breath leading one to believe it has stopped.

“I work nights.” Says one man on the lane a week later when another gathering of the aggrieved takes place in the lane.
“I just get up again at nine. There’s no point with that noise. I’ve not slept in a month.”
“I’ve got two babies. We’re going mad.” Says another. There are now a dozen gathered. They don’t have pitch-forks but may as well have.
I’ve considered grinding-up a month’s worth of my epilepsy medication and whatever else I can lay my hands on and mixing it with a pound of mince and finding the bloody thing and feeding it to him/her if I could figure-out where the dog lived.
“It’s your landlord’s sister at number nine who owns it.” Says Tony Next Door.
I beam at the assembled masses.
“Leave it to me.” I say. I make a phone-call ten minutes later.
“I’ll have a word,” says my landlord “It’s been an ongoing thing and it’s causing a load of friction between her and her husband. That’s been why they’ve been putting the dog outside. It’s been tearing the house up when it’s alone if they leave it in when they’re out. They’re trying to find a new home for it. They had no idea this was happening. This has probably brought things to a head to be honest”
I believe the problem to be solved. I tell my landlord I can find the number of someone I know who has a re-homing service if need be. Imagining the high-fives and fist-bumps I shall receive on my way down the street the next day I go to sleep. It’s another day before I pass the phone number on.
“Thanks for the phone number,” my landlord texts me “but I fear it’s a bit late for this dog. They’ve had it put down.”

The street is very quiet.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Lee said...

Oh, good God, man! How DO you manage it? Also, is that you on your Twitter avatar because you look disconcertingly like an old boss (but I'm reasaonably certain youre not him)?

5:48 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Lee: No idea what you mean re: "how do you" etc. And yes, that is my dreadful face but it's been a little while since I've officially been a 'manager' of anything at all.

10:27 pm  

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