Number 62

[smokingboot]

Drake is a staffie/mastiff cross who lives on our street. Specifically, he lives at number 62, home to Jack's family, the people with the bad reputation.

Round here is very much dog country, what with all the woods/heaths/commons. That's where Drake should be running, not along our street and up the steps to our house because he saw Missmatch sleeping there. Behind him ambled some yoof with a leash, though god knows why - he clearly didn't know what it was for. He shouted at Drake, I shouted at Drake, but by then the dog had reached MissMatch, who is deaf or near as; if Drake had been a bad dog, my poor idiot would have been dead. As it was, he looked confused and excited, almost ready to hump her. She dashed off into the shrubbery, he tried to dash after her, I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him away. More proof that he's a good dog...it was only afterwards I realised how dangerous he could have been, and all he did was act with total good nature, even with a stranger forcing him by his neck.

Last week we had problems with him too - he jumped up at larians' mother. Being a dog-lover she wasn't too worried, but she is an older lady now, and he could easily have knocked her over. Drake was being called with sound and fury signifying nothing and he knew it. He just wanted to be friends and he was happy. He's like those genial kids who mean well but somehow always end up breaking things/tripping over/setting their hair on fire. I hated his keeper almost instantly, because he had a long thin face and body just like Mr Emmett's, and a very broad south east accent just like Mr Emmett's, and he wore those strange flappy track suit bottom things, just like Mr Emmett's. I will be properly well when comparisons like this are not immediate. As it was, external focus, Missmatch and Drake, kept me from falling too far into it. 'Dogs chase cats,' explained the man, cos clearly I am slow about things like that. We talked, I was civil and clear, away went the yoof and away went Drake, grinning back at me all the while. He didn't mean any harm I know. He's a good dog. But from curious children marching into my house to curious canines racing up my garden, I am a little tired of company from Number 62.