My best friend, my constant companion through my formative years was Bruce the GSD/Lab cross (remember the puppy brought home in a coat sleeve?)
To say we went everywhere would be an understatement. The only places he couldn’t come with me were school and grandparents’ houses.
I never realised the danger of not having him on a lead. He was a big, unneutered adult male and he looked upon me as part of his pack and therefore, his to protect. That meant I was ultra-safe wherever I went. It also meant that if we encountered any other male dogs – especially the unneutered kind – there was going to be trouble.
I don’t recall him fighting much – only the dog next door (Sandy) and the big GSD up the street. Oh… he also had a go at ‘Scamp’ who lived next door to two of my friends but to be fair, Scamp used to have a go first whenever he could.
Scamp looked like this:
Scamp was one dog I didn’t like. It was nasty and aggressive but because it was small, it got away with a lot of shit. It would run at me, barking like it was going to tear off my legs if it was out when I went to call for my friends.
“Just stand still, he won’t hurt you,” the owners would say.
It bloody looked like it’d hurt me if it could!
Scamp’s female owner once told me that they had a similar dog to Scamp, back when they lived in Blackwell. They lost him and found him stuffed in a drain with his throat cut.
I remember thinking, if it was as much of a bastard as the dog I knew, I’m not in the least surprised someone decided to kill it.
Thinking back, they had two dogs and they both behaved the same… was it the dog breed at fault or the dog’s owners and influencers?
Personally, I lay the blame of a dog’s behaviour squarely at the door of the ‘Pack Leaders’ – the owners.
No, I do NOT advocate cruelty to dogs. I’d never hurt an animal, whether it bit me or not, but some people would and obviously did.
Like the rest of the dogs on the street, Scamp roamed free every once in a while. I think he escaped.
He’d trot down the street looking for cats.
Again, that was his owner’s doing, most of the time. I remember him winding Scamp up by saying “Cats! Cats! Gettem, Scamp!” The little dog was a terrier-type and highly prey-driven. He’d race from one end of the garden to the other, round and round, looking for the non-existent cats. It was hardly surprising that when he did encounter them, he’d chase them.
I know that a cat is usually a match for a dog but it doesn’t stop the sick feeling in your stomach when you see a fast terrier chasing down one of your beloved pets.
Bruce followed me to my friends’ house once and Scamp came bolting out of his house and attacked him. Of course, Bruce was way bigger than the terrier and he was younger, plus he was with me, so the protective instinct kicked in.
They were going at it hammer and tongs and there was no way I was putting my hands anywhere near the fighting bundle of flying fur. I’d learned my lesson with Sandy.
Scamp’s owner came rushing out of his house carrying a yard brush. He swung it at Bruce like a pickaxe or a lump hammer. The handle broke right over Bruce’s back. He let go of the little demon-dog and I caught hold of him and started to lead him off.
Scamp was injured I think but it didn’t stop the guy shouting at me. “Get that fucking dog away from here! Go back to your own part!” (I lived a hundred yards away, where did he think I was going to go?)
“Your dog attacked mine!” I said.
“He was on his property!” he yelled back.
Apart from the fact that dogs don’t usually own property, Bruce wasn’t actually on Scamp’s garden and that’s where my mind went with that… silly I know, but I was a child. Bruce had invaded Scamp’s territory and that’s what the terrier was defending. Unfortunately, the silly dog bit off more than he could chew.
Scamp came off worse against another one of my pets. We had a tabby cat which was called ‘Big Ears’ Nope, I do not remember why.
Scamp chased Big Ears whenever he could and one day I had the pleasure of seeing Karma in her full glory.
Big Ears was sitting up in his usual tree. I’d spotted Scamp and followed the menace to make sure he didn’t chase my cats. I saw Big Ears but wasn’t going to call him until Scamp had gone.
Big Ears saw Scamp and I have no idea what went through that big Tabby’s mind (*Just realised where the name came from, explanation after this…).
Big Ears dropped onto Scamp’s back and sprang away. Scamp took all the cat’s claws into his back and screamed worse than when he and Bruce were fighting.
Tail tucked so far under his back-end, his back legs were almost level with his front, Scamp went off up the street, still screaming.
I was laughing so hard I couldn’t do anything. Perhaps cats have a pack too and Big Ears was getting one in for the team on Bruce’s behalf?
*Derbyshire slang.
‘Tab’ or ‘Tabs’ = Ear or Ears.
Big Tabby – Big Ears – I can’t believe I’ve only just realised (or remembered) the reason for that cat’s name.
“Meks thy tabs laff” – translation – Makes your ears laugh = something exceptionally sour – sour enough to turn your face inside-out.
Pictures from Google Images