Following Oliver's furious barking we came upon a shrivelled lad, pinned to the ground with Oliver's jaws firmly clamped around his throat. My father, apparantly remembering a tip from a useful patient, grasped Oliver's collar and gave it an evil twist, thus cutting off Oliver's airway. The dog released the boy and I saw blood, a lot of blood, around the boy's neck and on his jersey. But before my father could bend down to help, the boy was off and gone, back through the trees the way he came. 'He won't be back' muttered my father and he was right, our fruit trees flourished and we were never bothered by 'bad boys' again.
A letter arrived for my father a few days later. It was a concerned apology from Oliver's breeder. His top class labrador bitch had been 'got at' by a farmer's rogue German Shepherd on the day of mating and he was a bit worried that the puppies might turn out to be 'wrong uns' - he hoped all was well with Oliver.
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