PART TEN OF SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS - THE LABRADOR 'SAUSAGE' DOG...

Mr. CURRY was the janitor of the second primary

school I attended.  He lived in the end house of the fourth row

down from mine, straight across from the school, and his house

came with the job.  Imagine by surprise when, a year or two after

we'd flitted to a new house and neighbourhood, I noticed that Mr.

Curry had become janitor of the primary school just around the

corner from us.  His house (that again came with the job)

stood in splendid isolation in the school grounds.

Before flitting, I'd been a secondary school pupil for

nearly two years, but Mr. Curry was still a regular sight on

account of him passing my house to or from the pub on the far

side of the shops across from my row.  It was therefore strange

when, after we'd flitted, he again became a regular sight to me in

my daily perambulations around my new neighbourhood, either

when I passed the school or saw him making his way home

from one of the local public houses.  He liked a drink,

did Mr. Curry.  Died quite a few years ago now.

Let's now jump back to when I was yet living in my

former neighbourhood and was still a primary school pupil,

sometime around - 1968, give or take a year either way.  As I

was leaving school one afternoon, I saw Mr. Curry taking a kick

at a golden labrador which was trying to get in through the door-

way.  His kick may have connected, but I couldn't say with cer-

tainty after all this time.  I was shocked to see an adult behave

in such a heartless manner towards one of man's best

friends, and felt sorry for the poor animal.

The very doorway.  The school was demolished
nearly two years ago.  Photo taken circa 1984

Later that evening, coming back from a pal's house,

I noticed that the dog was sheltering in the school doorway.

Had it been abandoned?  Was it lost?  Or had it tracked down

its young master to the school and was now faithfully waiting for

him to emerge from the building, not realizing that he'd gone home

hours before?  I told my father about the dog, and, along with my

brother, we went down to the school and brought the dog home

with us.  It was a friendly animal, and hungrily scoffed the

cold sausages we fed it from the fridge.

My father, who worked for the police, arranged for

them to collect the poor dog and house it in their kennels

'til collected by its lawful owners.  He later informed us that the

canine had been claimed, but even at the young age I then was, I

wondered if he was telling us what had actually happened or what

he knew we wanted to hear.  Many years later, I saw inside the
station kennels for strays, and they were the dirtiest, smelliest,
vilest quarters imaginable.  To think that, if the dog wasn't
reunited with its owners, it had spent its last days in
such conditions is awful to contemplate.

I never much liked Mr. Curry after that, although, truth

to tell, I hadn't much liked him before, but he fell even further

in my estimation from then on.  Strange thing is, whenever I see

a golden labrador now, I can't help but think of that poor beast

from so long ago, and still find myself hoping that it was a

happy ending all round for the dog and its owners.

Sometimes there are some things we're better
not knowing, don't you think?  Just in case.

Posted in: Cartoons