(Illustration by Meg van Schaick)
I have two dogs who share my life in McGregor.
Puppy, who is a 13 years old male (that’s a story for another time), and Mila, a five years old bitch.
We’re very close. In normal life, without Covid-19 Lockdown restrictions, we walk 2km’s to the local dam where we swim, play and laugh at each other.
Yes, dogs laugh at us too.
Here’s an example from my first NHW night-watch routine under Lockdown.
For now, we are not allowed to leave our properties; we are stationary observers, organised in shifts through different parts of the village watching our streets. I do my shift in the car just outside my gate.
The first night that I left the dogs inside the warm cottage and went outside to my car, the howling started. A purposefully miserable attempt at a two-part harmony which bounded through the midnight silence, ricocheting from one darkened window to the next, up and down the street.
They’ll shut up soon, I said to myself, as the cacophonous canine chorus crashed through the night. (Apologies for the alliteration, it’s completely out of consonance with my usual style.)
Embarrassed, angry, cold and tired, I crunched down the long peach-pip drive to the front door. With twenty meters to go, the wailing stopped. They knew I was coming to let them out.
Oh, how they laughed.
To cut a short story short, they were soon both curled up in the back of the car.
Then the bowel-howling began; air-bending farticles filling the car, forcing me out into the street.
Oh how they laughed and laughed.
After leaving the car door open for a while, I climbed back in and cracked a window.
The air inside was still a bit loafy, but it was manageable. Then the neighbour’s dog, a furry old late-night street rambler, approached the car. Now my dogs wanted out. What harm could it do? They’d have company and I’d have my car cleared of their bung breeze.
So out they hopped.
Puppy and the old road-roamer sniffed around each other’s bits, and moved on. Mila, on the other paw, wasn’t as neighbourly. Then it kicked off.
Pretty soon my comms were cracking. “Dogs sounding aggravated!” “Somewhere near Mill street!” “Send a police van to Mill street, I’m two blocks up and dogs are going nuts!”
The thing is, in a quiet town like ours, late-night dog agitation is usually a warning, especially during hard Covid-19 Lockdown at 1am. The other thing is, I live in Mill street.
A minute later, the cops arrived. By now the fog of dog war had lifted, and there was just a growling stand off.
“What’s going on?” the cops asked. “Everything OK here?” He looked a little agitated. "Yeah, all good,” I replied. “Just some dogs having a go at each other.”
“I don’t know why people don’t keep their dogs inside their properties” scowled the one cop. “I just don’t get it,” I replied before they rolled off.
Once their tail-lights disappeared, dog-tails were wagging as I walked back to the house. Inside, I shouted “Mila you’re a bitch!”
Oh how they laughed.
So to the guys in blue in Van 163, this story’s for you. Just don’t get barking mad.
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