The Postman cometh

When young, our second Tudor was a very inquisitive border collie. Although not allowed out of the garden - a rule brought about by his unfortunate habit of leaving large and surprisingly smelly calling cards at the front doors of various neighbours - he would occasionally jump the gate in order to investigate the surrounding area with canine thoroughness.
That Border Collie look! At the time - some years ago - a new restaurant had opened. The "Marianne" wasn't much of a place for hungry humans, but their back yard offered limitless opportunities for an enterprising young collie. Here follows what must have happened.

Young Tudor was bored. He made sure that Meg and I were nowhere to be seen and quickly jumped the gate, determined to investigate that new restaurant he had smelled about. While the dog was gone, the wind or some passer-by deposited an old white uniform cap in the front garden; the type of cap a milkman or ice cream man might wear. (All the rubbish in the neighbourhood tends to blow through our gate). 
Tudor went to the "Marianne" were he chanced upon the stripped carcass of half a sheep. Most of the meat was gone, but the bones were still hanging together and the ribcage smelled promising. He decided there and then that it would take him too long to do justice to this unexpected morsel on the spot, and so he dragged it to the only safe place he knew. How he managed to get the half skeleton home and over the gate I will never know.

This is what we saw when we returned: The dog was sitting just inside the gate with a rather self-satisfied look on his face that seemed to say: "You never guess what I've been doing". Beside him on the ground lay half a skeleton with bulging rib-cage. Next to the bloody bones - in nearly the right place - lay a white uniform cap. For one eternal, terrifying moment my brain went into overdrive and sent the message:

"Ye' gods, the dog has eaten the postman!"

until sanity - and with it some logic, returned.

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Tudor with sign
The Smell from Hell

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