Gervase Phinn: Hell hound meets his match

Once a particularly vicious beast called Major, a huge red-haired mongrel, attacked a small girl while my mother was visiting the area, seizing its victim by the leg until the child's mother warded it off with a broom handle. The angry mother carried the distressed child to Nurse Phinn for first aid, saying she had told the police umpteen times about the dog but they had done nothing about it.

'T'police never like coming down to Canklow, you know, nurse," she observed.

On her way back to Ferham Clinic that afternoon my mother called into the police station and laid it on thick, saying that the child could have been savaged to death and that something had to be done urgently. She would be reporting the incident to the Chief Medical Officer. As a result of my mother's intervention and her great gift for storytelling, the owner was summonsed and told to have the beast "put down", otherwise there would be a substantial fine. The authorities would pay a visit in the near future to make sure he had complied with the order.

Several weeks later, mother happened to call at the man's house. At the door stood a dog. It was the same size as Major, had the same pricked-up ears, tail, face and cold eyes. It was an identical creature but it was jet black. "Down Colonel," ordered the owner.

"Where is the other dog," asked my mother, "the ginger-haired one?"

"Oh, 'e ran off nurse," the man told her bare-faced. "Must 'ave sensed that 'is days were numbered."

"And this dog?" enquired my mother eyeing the shiny black mongrel suspiciously.

"Oh, this is another," said the man. "His name's Colonel and 'e's as gentle as a lamb." The dog displayed a set of teeth like tank traps. My mother later discovered that the owner had dyed the dog black to evade its execution.

She accompanied a social worker to the house some weeks later

to look at a baby who was undernourished. My mother warned the man about the dangerous dog and suggested he rattle the gate to see if the beast was about. "No need, nurse," said the man casually. "I can handle dogs."

As she walked nervously behind him, the Hound of the Baskervilles appeared. "Be careful," my mother warned, reaching for the pepper pot and ready to swing her bag, "that dog's vicious."

"Don't worry, nurse," he replied nonchalantly.

The creature bounded towards them.

The social worker, a small insignificant looking man with a bald head and large ears, remained motionless until the dog leapt up. He then punched it on the right hinge of its jaw, knocking the beast out cold.

"You have to know how to handle dogs," he told her calmly. "I was a boxing champion in the Army."

After that Major or Colonel was indeed "as gentle as a lamb".

YP MAG 24/4/10