Puppies gone bad

Back in the seventies... something happened, parents sauntered and span from Cold Duck to Blenheimer. Their cars guzzled and glugged gas with gay abandon and zoomed along truncated motorways. They're longer now.

Mums' moo-moos grazed psychaedelic hems on the trudge to the shops and dad's were wearing coloured shirts, no longer choking on their tight, black ties. Hair grew and flew. Mind enhancers were swilled and swallowed and often unceremoniously regurgitated.

It was great for kids. As parents wandered from sherry to sherry, kids were left to their own devices because if there was a babysitter, she (it was always a she back then) wasn't interested in child rearing nor did she have to wave a qualification before sitting with the kids. She'd be snogging enthusiastically somewhere 'out of sight' if she wasn't sucking on a fag out the window. The glory days. The gory days!

There was usually a funny smell in the bathroom the day after mum and dad had left us with a babysitter. We never heard the retching or regret. Hangovers were hung and dried and not drivelled over.

It was about the same time that long skirts were getting caught in the giddy heights of platforms, that Leroy came into our lives. Leroy, after the song. 'Bad, Bad Leroy Brown'... or something like that... this was last century... he lived up to his name.

Leroy was a dog. Midnight black with a small speck of white on his forehead (do dogs have foreheads?). He was all big feet and tongue when he puppied his way into our lives. We three, vied for his attention with tidbits and strokes.

But it wasn't long before the darkness crept into his being and the big-footed puppy scampered away. We were left with a dog with all the charm of Satan's spawn.

Sometimes he would sit at the top of the stairs gnawing bones. We would try to creep past him but his low growl and curled back lips sent us back down the stairs.

Other times, mum would pick us up from school. But we couldn't get into the old Belmont because Leroy was flying around the interior, bared teeth, barking.

I remember once waking up with a great weight on my still flat chest. It was as if a wardrobe had fallen over during the night, and I was trapped beneath it. A wardrobe would've evoked less fear. The canine force's low growl usurped the urgency of my bladder's signals. As I lay, covered in fur and fear... I wet the bed.

And another lasting memory, was the day Leroy made a dental impression in my cheek. It was sharp and sore. When Dad saw it, he noted pragmatically "If he'd meant it, he'd have taken your jaw off."

Leroy was a Great Dane.

The seventies were great.