Mad Dog of Mohololi Street

We live on Mohololi St. (pronounced Moh-hoh-loh-dee). It is a reasonably quiet and safe neighborhood, though we have had intruders on a couple of occasions. After one such intrusion when our duplex neighbors had their car damaged we borrowed a dog to create at least the illusion of some security. Well the dog’s owner is our new neighbor so now the dog, Spodge, is back.

Spodge is a black lab. He is most dangerous when he sometimes slams into ones legs when you are playing with him. On the plus side he does bark when someone strange is at the gate, though once he gets to know someone he is pretty ambivalent about them coming or going.

The other day as I was driving up to the gate a number of boys from the neighborhood greeted me. “Can we play with the dog,” one asked? Great, I thought, just what I need, a guard dog who is the friend of everyone in the neighborhood. I hastily concocted a little lie, “Aah, but the dog might bite you.” (Spodge has not bitten anyone to my knowledge.) I parked the car and went back to close the gate. The boys were still there. They seemed undeterred by my comments about being bitten.

Likely they had seen Spodge laying around, sleeping in the sun, or playing with our Basotho friends, knocking little kids over with his wagging tail, or nonchalantly wandering around the neighborhood. At any rate, they were not buying my comments about Spodge biting them. They had a come back, “We will just get him to play with our soccer ball if we think he might bite.” So there I am fumbling over what to say to deflect that offer. “Aww ... , the dog might bite the ball and deflate it.” It was then that Spodge intervened.

Either he interpreted the pheromones I was giving off in my angst as me feeling threatened or he felt he had to live up to my suggestion that he was a ferocious guard dog. At any rate, this blaze of black ferocity comes charging up behind me, barking and woofing and growling. Right past me he blasts and kids go scattering like chickens before a fox; the soccer ball rolling to my feet, cast aside in the boys’ head long dash for safety.

When I returned the ball, there were no more questions about 'playing' with the dog. After closing the gate, I gave Spodge a good scratch and chuckled. The stories those boys would be telling their friends and family would do nicely in creating the myth of the “Mad Dog of Mohololi Street”.

~ Benno ~