The Big Bite

Many of the local postmen are frightened of dogs. This understandable behaviour is quite logical as most dogs around here hate the postmen. To demonstrate the point, let's talk about Brendel. Brendel was a Tibetan Terrier, with a temperament rather less benign than that of his famous countryman Dalai, and more like that of a bad tempered Llama. Brendel would randomly attack on sight and as a consequence was kicked rather often. Once kicked he became friendly, so - with time - he became a dog who loved his enemies - a bit like the Lama really.

One day a particular postman - who was ludicrously scared of dogs and walked about with a club in one hand and the fear soaked mail in the other, must have retaliated, as Brendel was found semi conscious shortly after the first delivery, with a large bump on his head. It was quite amusing to watch the mail delivery on the next day. As soon as the postman saw the dog he refused to enter the property and hid behind a pillar, whilst the dog disappeared behind the house equally terrified of the postman.

This small introduction serves to demonstrate the local balances of power. Old Tudor also hatedOld Beaky the border collie the postman, but he had enough sense not to bite the man. He would surrender the path to the front door but defied the stranger to come anywhere near his territory whilst loudly telling the world what he would do to the man should he be so careless to do so. This arrangement seemed to work quite well, until a new man took over the job. He was much younger and had developed a clever ploy and decided to fight fire with fire. He always brought his own dog, a large long legged creature - product of a long line of liberally minded parents of countless races. While the man delivered his letters, the dog would race through the garden like a maniac, depositing liquid insults against strategic landmarks and then running away at considerable speed.

At first he caught poor old Tudor completely by surprise. Our collie was dumbfounded by the stranger's cheek and he soon started to hunt him the minute he arrived. The postdog was very fast however, and always escaped by wriggling through a hole in our rather tatty hawthorne hedge. This little game was repeated every morning for the next few days and I noticed that Tudor got ever more frustrated. He would lie in wait for the postdog but was never fast enough to catch him. Whenever he got close I would whistle him back and he reluctantly let the enemy escape...... Came that happy day! The postman arrived at ten, his dog raced through the garden as usual, I called Tudor back as usual as I didn't want a fight and the four legged enemy made for the hedge and the security of the lane beyond. This time however he got stuck! His head had reached safety but his rear was still in our garden, rump, tail, madly scrabbling legs and all.

This was too much for Tudor and an opportunity not to be missed. He raced towards the hedge, mouth wide open in anticipation. As he got closer in his mouth opened even further and he looked like that famous hungry great white shark in the motion picture. He pounced, grabbed the postdog by the rear and closed his jaws with a most satisfying crunch. Tudor was not one to hang on for dear life but released his grip to spit out mouthfuls of fur every once in a while. This was instantly followed by another giant bite followed by a terrified scream from the lane half of the postdog.

I cursed the dog, Tudor growled like a wolf, the postman protested loudly whilst his dog yaiksed in fear and with the extra energy that terror gives all creatures, finally managed to scrabble through the hedge. Both post creatures left in disgust and Tudor roamed the garden, tail high, mouth full of fur and looking well pleased with the day's work.

When the postman returned the next day, there wasn't a postdog to be seen anywhere.



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