My friend Zed wrote a similar missive a few weeks ago and it prompted me to share my doggie tales.
As a five year old in the mid sixties, we lived in a suburb of Manchester. Our 'road' was a cinder track cul-de-sac.(It still is). We had a 3-bed semi with a secure garden at the back.
I asked if I could have a dog to replace the deceased rabbit, budgie and assorted frogs, newts and other animals i'd acquired.
Into our lives came Scamper, a Corgi/Crocodile cross. The first few months were good fun, but, as time went on his behaviour changed. He kept on tunnelling out, chasing postmen, cars, bikes and digging up the neighbours roses. At one stage Dad couldn't even put his food bowl down to feed him without him growling and snapping.
One morning Scamper wasn't around. Dad said he'd escaped and not come back. It wasn't until 1973 when we moved here that I was told that Dad had taken him to the vet, and that the vet said that Scamper was mental and recommend that Dad have him destroyed.It probably saved me a lot of scars as he was a nasty b*stard!