Tanker Drivers and Dogs.

[Paul]

TANKER DRIVERS & DOGS

Aged 25 I began a new job as a Tanker Driver carting diesel, gas oil, kero and eventually petrol, for an ex-tank buyer in Leicester, England. The tanker, an A.E.C Mercury which I first drove for them, was old. We once totaled up the miles she had travelled since new and worked out that during her life-time she had travelled the distance to the moon and back two and a half times. Not a fast vehicle but solid and reliable, 43MPH top speed but up hill and down dale. It boasted holes in the floor around the clutch and brake pedals, an indicator switch you used to reach across the cab for, no heater, but two vacuum type funnel things screwed to the windows for de-misters.

As long as an 8 wheeler, she was a bitch to drive. You had to stand up in the cab to pull her round corners and her air braking system left a great deal to be desired. Maximum load permitted was 14 ton. She carried 16.5 ton every day I drove her and the Ministry of Transport was too thick to pull me over because they thought she could only carry the permitted load.

Before she was changed over to a slightly newer A.E.C. Mammoth Major, the Mercury had spent 3 years with me at an average of 380 miles per day. Stuff the pollution controls, them were the days they made trucks.

TOBY

During the course of the job I delivered too many locations and a wide diversity of businesses, among them farms and haulage contractors and of course both of them had dogs for various reasons.

Joe P had an organization that was both a farm and haulage business. His trucks were well cared for, and according to his drivers they were paid shit wages and his above ground diesel tank to which I delivered was not user friendly. Exposed to the elements you had to hang from the side of the tanker and try to insert your discharge pipe, while your vehicle was stationary in a sea of mud. Joe P, was not my favourite person. Self made, he was an arrogant Bastard who had very few communication skills with the people who worked for him, "Do what I want you to do or F%#k off" was the outer limit of his communication to the people who produced his profit.

Now, any good Manager will tell you, people will work with you, never for you. In the 5 years I delivered to him, he never learned that lesson and consequently, lost many good staff.

Joe P had three loves, money, his business and a little terrier named Toby. As bloody minded as his master was, Toby was quite the opposite. I suppose when I first came across him he was about 8 years old. I had pulled the Tanker up to the tank, cursing the mud and struggling with the discharge pipes when I spied Toby leaping through the mud to greet me. He had to leap otherwise he would never have made it across the mire. About two feet from me he leapt right into my arms, not only my Gumboots covered in mud, so were my overalls.

I lifted Toby and precariously perched him on the pipe rack of the tanker so that he was out of the mud and in a place were I could pat him and have a chat without getting dirtier than I already was.

Successive visits saw the friendship blossom between Toby and myself. Often I would find him waiting by the farm gate sensing when the business fuel needs required replenishing. I would open the cab door and leaning way over the side would grab Toby by the collar as he launched himself into a jump. Ensconced in the cab, he would sit on the engine cover enjoying my ministrations to the back of his ears as I drove down to the fuel discharge area.

Often he would sit on the engine cover where we shared a sandwich. Occasionally we would share a cup of tea but he wouldn't drink it without sugar. While I didn't really eat a lot of chocolate, many dogs on my round did, so I was in the habit of keeping a few Cadbury's Penny Bars in the cab. Toby would kill for chocolate, so used was he to his twice weekly Penny Bar it was quickly turned into a game.

Before arriving at the Farm Gate I would hide a Penny Bar in a location somewhere in the Truck Cabin, and each time I would attempt to be more inventive as to the hiding place but it was all to no avail. Toby would sniff round the cab to the prompting from me of "warm" or "cold" If my prompt was positive his nose would concentrate in ever decreasing circles around the area he was examining. However, if he had a negative prompt he would immediately discontinue searching that section of the cab and start anew in another location.

The longest it ever took him to seek out the chocolate was when I hid the bar between the pages of the vehicle log book, with prompts it took about three minutes. The next time I visited I hid the bar in the same place, he found it in 3 seconds.

Earlier I spoke of the courage of my dear old mate Scamp. Well Toby, who was probably only half the size of Scamp and did bigger, more dangerous things, after all, he was a farm dog.

One very rainy day Toby and I were sitting in the cab of the Tanker while the load was discharging, we had finished playing find the chocolate, he had helped me with my lunch and was lying drowsily on the engine cover enjoying the warmth of the cab when, above the noise of the Tankers discharge we heard an almighty crash. Toby was up instantly looking through the rain soaked windscreen, ears alert, tail wagging, I turned on the wipers and there was the biggest, ugliest Pig I had ever seen in my life looking with complete satisfaction at the fence he had just knocked down.

Joe P. also alerted by the noise emerged from the comfort of the farm house, taking in the scene at a glance he shouted "Toby, get the C%#t".

Instantly Toby flew across the cab to my door and pawed at the window until I released the door catch. Toby then leapt the 4 foot to earth and "Dolphined" his path through the mud toward the massive Boar who was grunting and snorting on the side of a fence where he was not supposed to be. The massive Porker spotted Toby's approach and charged to meet him, "he's gone" I thought. Wrong!

Porker almost upon him, Toby rose from the mud like 'Phoenix from the ashes' and clamped his teeth firmly on the Boar's snout. It almost made my eye's water, but it did not prepare me for what happened next.

The Boar, obviously in a great deal of pain shook his head from side to side trying to dislodge Toby. Then he decided to use his massive weight. Rearing his head back Porky drove his snout toward the ground with the full intention of crushing the little aggressor, wrong again!

With the timing of Bruce Lee, Toby disengaged from the nose, performed a perfect three quarter somersault, ran under Porky's belly through front legs to the rear, then sank his teeth into Porkers huge balls. Now that did make my eyes water.

The battle lasted all of two minutes from start to finish. Watching a small dog guiding a huge animal back to where he belonged using 'Ball Steerage' reduced me to fits of laughter.

I watched Joe P repair the fence while at the same time he abused Toby for being a dozy useless C#*t, during the abuse, Toby just sat, looked at Joe P with gently wagging tail. My thoughts were, "Pr*ck".
It was some years later in similar circumstances but this time involving 4 Bullocks that Toby leapt at the most troublesome and collapsed in mid-air and fell unmoving into the ever present mud. I jumped out of the cab and ran toward Toby but Joe P ran quicker shouting "Leave him, just f*#kin' leave him".

Joe P waded through the mud and picked up the scrap that was Toby, he clutched him to his chest and walked to the farm house holding Toby just as you would hold a baby.

Tough Joe P, the miserable 'Bastard' who berated his staff, gave his suppliers sh*t, had tears in his eyes.

Toby had suffered a heart attack, Joe nursed him for just over 24 hours before Toby went on to chasing Elephants, Blue Whales and any other of Earth's large creatures.

It was in later weeks that I found Joe P, had met his Waterloo, Joe's weakness was Toby, he berated him, abused him, used him, but above all, he loved him. Joe, I learned, gladly shared his best mate with me, simply cos' I took Toby for what he was, a working dog and a mate.

After Toby died, I lost interest in Joe P's as a drop, it became just another delivery. True there were other dogs on the farm but none like Toby.

[Paul]

Tanker Driver's and Bad Dogs.

One of the worst drops we used to make was yet to another farm in the Northern part of Leicestershire. In the 5 years that I and other drivers delivered there we never saw a human soul but there was a dog. A German Shepherd guarded the tank in which we had to deliver fuel. He was of a very mean disposition and his owner had the dog's chain worked out to the very last link.

There was sufficient chain for the dog to reach the tank exit point but about three links too short for him to reach the discharge point. It was not a comfortable feeling to have flashing teeth just a few inches from your hand while coupling up the discharge pipes.

Apart from the obvious discomfort that the drivers' suffered, we were unable to walk round the front of the vehicle to set the cargo pump running but had to make the long detour round the back of the tanker to keep out of the dogs reach.

The following story involves a driver named Mick, hell of a nice guy, a good mate but, definitely not a person to mess with. Mick never argued with anyone, he just decked them.

Mick was making a delivery to the farm one day. Driving along the track toward the tank he saw that the dog was loose and trailing about five feet of chain behind him. "What the F#%k do I do now?" thought Mick. Even as he was pulling the tanker to a halt, the dog was attacking the wheels of the truck.

Ever the resourceful one, he pulled down the window and banged his fist on the outside of the cab door attracting the dog across the front of the vehicle to the drivers side. The dog emerged snapping and snarling at the wheel, in doing so he had conveniently dragged the chain across the tankers path, and that's when Mick moved the tanker forward, trapping the dogs chain under the front wheel.

If the dog was annoyed before, he was 'p*ssed off' to say the least when discovering that he had been tricked and was now trapped. Mick then exited the cab from the passenger door, definitely not in one of his better moods.

The delivery of the fuel then took the following format, couple discharge pipe to tank, walk round front of truck bless dogs rear with a kick, couple exit pipe, 'kick', open foot valve, 'kick', release fuel, 'kick' and so on. Before dear reader you shout cruelty, let me assure you Mick was not a cruel person, the kicks were delivered with sufficient force only to injure the dogs pride, not the dog. The owner of the dog should have received the kicks, our delivery periods spanned from 7am through until 6pm and in 5 years not one person was seen near that tank.

No dog should receive a life-sentence guarding a 600 gallon tank and be continually chained. Dogs crave company, so no wonder that poor dog became all bitter and twisted. When it is the owner's time for him to meet his maker, I hope St Peter chains the 'Bastard' to the Pearly Gate for a couple of thousand years, then perhaps one day, Mick can do a re-enactment.

[Paul]

continued.....

Tanker Driver's Revenge.

I suppose I am a fortunate person, I have never been frightened of a dog in my life, I do however respect the animal and the job they are doing. If you never put yourself in a position that causes a threat to a dog or the job that it is doing, the dog will never be a threat to you.

Three dogs broke those mutual rules, two suffered at the end of my boot and the third passed to the happy hunting ground under the wheels of my tanker. All three incidents happened during my 5 year professional driving career.

The first incident involved a long haired Terrier that used to lay in ambush for me as I made my way home at the end of what was usually a very long day. Petrol Tankers were not allowed to be parked on public roads unattended, so I made arrangements with my local publican, Ernie, to park the tanker on the pub car park overnight. I would generally have a couple of pints at the bar and then walk the short distance home to my wife and children for dinner.

No matter what the pressures of the working day, by the time I left the pub I was at peace with the world and looked forward to a cuddle and sing song with my children before they went to bed.

For reasons only known to the Terrier, he flew from behind a wall one night and had a go at me, then he was gone before I even realized what had happened. I had not been hurt, but was a bit aggrieved that he had spoilt my happy mood. Just a little further on, I was at home with my family and I forgot all about the incident.

The next night was a Friday and that was Pay Day. While during the week our finances could only extend to a couple of pints, Friday was special. Double the ration and twice as happy I made steps for home, same spot, another attack from a different direction.

My Star Sign is Scorpio. If you are a Scorpio I do not have to explain, and for the benefit of those of you who are not, Scorpio's will forgive a small transgression, they may even forgive two but, God help anything or anybody, that believes their sins will go unpunished, if the persecution of a Scorpio continues.

Personally, I have a fairly generous forgiving threshold, it runs to the level of two, beyond that, the aggressor becomes an enemy that not must be, but will be vanquished. No quarter will be asked or given, pass the point of good manners, you're gone, it is as simple as that. The second unprovoked attack by the Terrier meant War, and War was what he got on our third encounter, the following Monday.

Truck was parked, a couple of pints drunk and I walked toward home. This time I was ready, same location but once again a different direction of attack. The Terrier attacked again and received the full force of a steel toe capped boot full to the face, stunned, he was then picked up, carried across the road and dropped into the local brook (creek) to bring him around. He never bothered me again.

The second event although similar was brought about by much different circumstances.

[Paul]

continued......

When I was 5 years old my Mother and Father decided to separate, I went to live with my Father's parents, Mum & Pop, but I never forgot my Mum. My natural parents parted good friends but regrettably my Father's mother, Gran or Mum, held some form of grudge against my Mother. With the communication skills I hold today and with the love both obviously had for me I could have solved the problem quickly, using the same emotional measures of control that were used on me, but with far greater ability.

It was not to be, as much as I loved my Grandmother, she had an unforgiving attitude toward my Mother and at the age I was then I did not have the ability or experience of life that would have resolved the issue. The real pain is that I loved them both but I was but the little scrap of humanity caught up in issue's I did not understand.

A young child is much like a dog, trusting, loving, eager to play and be friendly with all, why must human conflicts destroy the hopes and dreams of the very young?

When married with a young family I had a profound need to be re-associated with my natural mother. I wanted to know about my brothers and half brothers and be part of that, extended family.

In all too short a time, first my Father died, then my Grandmother and finally Grandad Jack. Three very traumatic shocks to a young man. Dad, dying at just 42 years of age brought home to me my own mortality and for the next 22 years I worried about dying, and leaving my family, unprotected.

Next was my Grandmother, who, God Bless her, died peacefully in her sleep, I loved her deeply and dearly and to this day, thank her for giving me the independence of spirit that I enjoy today.

By far, the biggest shock was the death of Grandad Jack, in my eyes he was immortal. Self educated, he took me into his home, educated me and instilled me with lateral thinking and fair minded ideals and guided me down a path that has been my pattern for life.

When he left me, at Hillcrest Hospital, I was shattered,
Grandad Jack was the most intelligent human being that any untutored mind could ever wish to meet, he was light years in front of his time.

The hardest thing I have ever had to do was to hold the hand of this man who suffered indignity, senility, incontinence before finally arriving at the release of death.

Grandad Jack deserved a better departure from this planet. At 17 years of age he had fought on Flanders Field, killed and seen mates killed. He had watched his eldest son go off to war and thankfully return, but he, and his wife never got over the death of that same son from a heart attack at 42 years of age. The personal loss of my Father was great, the loss that my Grandparents suffered was horrific, for no child, should be allowed to die before their parents. I imagined this event as the worst possible nightmare, yet years on, my wife and I suffered the loss of a daughter. My imagination was correct, the pain of loss, was unbearable.

It was during these earlier traumatic times, I found an in-depth need to be re-associated with my Mother. At that time, riding a Puch-Maxi Moped, I made it a point to visit at least once a week and became re-associated with my brothers and half-brothers. They did not live too far away from where Janet and I had settled. We lived at Thurnby Lodge and they resided in the next housing estate along, Netherhall.

Weeks went by and the visits went well, I became a lot closer to my natural brothers who were closer to my age and of course became well acquainted with my half brothers. Then I started to have trouble which came in the shape of a dog that loved to chase motorbikes. I do not believe there is anything more scary to a person riding a motor bike than to have a dog spring from nowhere and chase your front wheel.

Completely taken by surprise on the first attack I very nearly lost control of the bike. The second time I passed the house I was ready but it still came as a shock. Putting up with the situation for a few weeks I finally decided that I would have a word with the dogs owner and get them to control the animal. What a waste of time that was.

I knocked on the door of the home concerned and was confronted by a woman in her early forties who was built like the proverbial "brick S%*thouse". I politely explained the problem I was having with her dog and finished up asking her if she would mind keeping it under control. All the time I was talking to her the dog was at the window going bananas, barking and pawing at the window.

The womans answer consisted of two words, one was to do with sex and the other travel, with that she slammed the door in my face.

Now, while I used those sort of words with the guys I worked with, never were they used when communicating with a member of the opposite sex. In fact, I had only heard one woman in my lifetime use such language. A bit shell shocked, I left the house, started up my bike and headed for home.

All the next week I brooded on the treatment I had received and typically Scorpio, plotted revenge. On my planned visit the following week I stopped at the pub and tanked up a little bit, then when I was merry, I had another couple to see me on my way. It's amazing the devil may care attitude you develop after having a few drinks.

As I approached the house where the offending dog lived I slowed down. Sure enough, out he came full tilt at my wheel. Increasing speed so that he could just keep up with me I drew him away from his home tiring him out at the same time. After a 100 yards he dropped the chase and began to walk back home, that was when I turned the bike round.

Waiting a short moment I then began to ride at him slowly. He fell for the trap, this time he rushed me head on and this time, my steel toe capped boot caught him fair in the head. The dog stood in the centre of the road stunned, I turned the bike round once again and started to ride toward him. Not learning his lesson the first time he received the same treatment. Once again I circled the bike, and as I approached him this time he decided enough was enough and fled full tilt for home with the front wheel of my bike nudging his backside until he made the safety of his abode.

Continuing my journey a guy flagged me down, he had watched the whole incident. He congratulated me because apparently he had been having the same sort of trouble with the dog daily, for weeks on end.

I was not proud of what I had done, causing hurt or injury to any living animal distresses me. Rather I would have had the owners face on the toe of my boot. She was a classic example of irresponsible ownership.

Good did come out of my actions though, when I passed the house the next week the dog lay on the front garden and made no attempt at a chase then, or ever again. Perhaps I saved him from the fate of the next dog.

It was a warm day and I was travelling home from work on the Mo-ped. I had turned right off the main road then immediately right again when it seemed that from nowhere this fairly large long haired ginger mongrel came flying across the road at my bike and bounced off my front wheel. The next thing I knew I was sailing across the handlebars for some considerable distance before I hit the road with my right fore arm which I had extended to break my fall. The momentum then caused me to slide some distance on that arm before I came to a stop. Apart from grazed knees, the skin and flesh on my right arm had been very badly grazed to the bone.

A local from the pub who had witnessed what had happened, later told me it was one of the funniest things he had ever seen, me sailing over the handlebars shouting "Bastard" as I was flying through the air. The injured arm caused me considerable pain and took weeks to heal.

Remember what I told you about Scorpios? Some weeks later I was travelling down the main road called Scraptoft Lane which was very close to where I came off the bike, when crossing from the right to the left was the long haired ginger mongrel. This time I wasn't on the bike but behind the wheel of an A.E.C. Mammoth Major, a huge 8 wheeler, the dog, never made it across the road.

[Paul]

continued.......

Sheba and Kraut

There was one delivery we used to make, a business called Y & W. They made trailers and specialized in towing Caravans and other light bulky loads. Their premises had a very narrow frontage, just about wide enough to get 4 trucks in side by side but it would have accommodated about 20 trucks deep. The business had a seven foot fence on three sides with double gates at equal height, the back bordering onto the railway lines. Close by were garden allotments, the canal and other business yards.

Being pretty well isolated, the business was subject to theft and vandalism, so like many businesses a guard dog was employed, in the case of Y & W, a Black German Shepherd bitch called Sheba.

On the gate was a sign which said "Don't be a Lout, Shout!!, Guard Dog about". I did the very first delivery for my company to Y & W. Before entering any new delivery point it was best to walk rather than drive in and suss the delivery point out. I stopped at the gate read the sign, then yelled at the top of my voice "Hello".

At the bottom of the yard I saw a large German Shepherd emerge from under a caravan which was parked alongside a fence, almost at the same time as a guy emerged from the workshop and shouted, "Hang on, I'll chain the dog". Doing so, he then beckoned me down to meet him. As I commenced to walk down the yard the Shepherd was straining at the chain.

William or Bill, as he preferred to be called warned me to keep well away from the dog and to warn the other drivers that worked for our company, never to enter the yard with out shouting out. One look at Sheba straining at the chain and her flashing teeth convinced me that no one would ever be so foolhardy to do so but, wouldn't you know it?, some one did.

Some weeks had past since we started delivering to
Y&W and the other drivers and myself had reached the 'Comfortable' stage with Sheba. Doing repetitive deliveries, Sheba not only recognised the drivers but more so the tankers that we drove. Even a new driver on a first time delivery could back his tanker down to the discharge point and go about his business providing he ignored the Shepherd.

Once Sheba had got to know the vehicles she was left unchained, and rarely did she come up to the driver but occasionally would wander up and have a sniff at my trouser leg. I never touched her when she did that, nor did I ever attempt to pat her in the 3 years that I delivered there. She was there for the purpose of protecting the property and I respected that.

It was one of those lazy summer days in the early afternoon, hot and fairly humid, a gentle buzz of flies the only noise. After shutting down the cargo pump on my tanker. Bill and I were sitting on two upturned crates enjoying a cuppa, Sheba was about a third of the way up the yard dozing under the shade of a parked truck. Bill lifting the cup to his mouth suddenly took it away again muttering "Stupid Pr*ck". Looking up, I saw a member of the local Constabulary boldly walking down the yard.

"Stop there" yelled out Bill, "I'll chain the dog", the Police Officer continued his progress, pace unabated. Bill was now on his feet and running toward the Policeman, "Stop", he warned.

"I'll go where..." was all the Police Officer managed to get out, it seemed as though Sheba covered the distance from where she was lying to the intruder in a split second. The damnedest thing was though she uttered no warning bark or growl, the first thing the Policeman knew of the attack was when Sheba sank her very sharp teeth into his left thigh. Before Bill could reach her she had the officer on the ground, turning to attack the upper body, probably the throat. Bill caught hold of her back leg and pulled, then he managed to grab hold of her collar pulling her away from the victim and only then did she begin to bark.

The Police Officer, who it turned out was investigating a driving complaint made against one of Y & W drivers, was a real mess, Sheba's teeth had done him a dreadful injury, with flesh badly torn and bleeding profusely. I dressed the wound from a rather dilapidated First Aid Box while Bill phoned for an Ambulance.

The Officer was muttering something about having that dangerous dog put down as Bill returned. Jeez, I thought the next thing I would have to do was pull Bill off of him. Bill berated him soundly for first ignoring the highly visible sign on the gate, then for disregarding his verbal warnings to stop.

A very chaste Police Officer left for the Casualty at Leicester Royal Infirmary, Y & W never heard another word about the incident, neither did the driver who the Officer had come to see about the driving complaint.

continued......

[Paul]

continuation....

Sheba had a boyfriend who lived in the yard next door, a huge Doberman who often used to look over the fence at me while I was discharging the load. The fence was pretty high but as always, love will find a way and it did, with pretty fascinating results. The amorous union produced only one pup, who was promptly named "Kraut".

Kraut was just about 5 weeks old when I first saw him. He was following his Mum across the yard when she came over to give me the obligatory sniff. A complete miniature of his father, except for the bushy tail of his mother. Sheba turned away and walked toward the shed in which Bill worked but Kraut came up to say hello. Squatting on my heels with extended arm and hand turned down so as not to present a threatening posture, I encouraged the pup to come to me. Come he did, with tail wagging and that very unsteady gait of all young puppies. I turned my hand palm up and tickled him under the chin.

The temptation was there but I did not attempt to pick Kraut up, for by now Sheba was sitting watching me, I would have been stupid to do anything that could have been construed by his mother as a possible threat to her baby. Sheba, at first sitting and alert eventually settled into a lying position while she watched me with her pup, then after 5 minutes, in a crouching, stalking walk, she came over and nosed Kraut away from me toward the shed where Bill was. I remained sitting on my heels until they were a safe distance away. I felt very honoured that Sheba had allowed me to meet her baby. If only the same could have been said by yet another Police officer, just two weeks later.
It was a Sunday morning, again a very lazy Summers day and as I have previously mentioned, there were Garden Allotments close to the Y& W property.

So it came to pass..., Kraut, 7 weeks of age and adventuresome in spirit passed beneath the front gate, his huge Mum couldn't make it, well, not underneath anyway.

Off-duty Copper on the way to his allotment for a spot of gardening spies little pup scraping underneath a gate, bends down and picks up pup to say "Hello".

Off- Duty Copper's next memory is a Shepherd clearing 7 foot gate and bowling him over, grabbed pup in mouth and leapt over the gate again. Although not his fault, he was bloody lucky, I believe the only thing that saved him from a very serious attack was the fact the he picked the pup up on land, that Sheba did not consider her territory. Well, I said he was lucky, how do you go home to your wife at 50 plus years of age and say "I've filled my pants". Threats were once again laid by the Force. Once again, nothing further was heard.

Each time I made a delivery Kraut seemed to get bigger and bigger. Unlike his mother, he was very friendly to me and the other regular drivers because he had known us since he was able to move about under his own steam, We were part of his life and each and every one of us received a great welcome from him. Strangers however, was a totally different kettle of fish. His mother had trained him well. Strangers who ignored the warning on the gate were subject to double the danger, Sheba and Kraut were two dogs that you didn't mess about with.

Kraut grew to be a very big powerful dog, a perfect copy of his father except for his Mums 'woozy' tail. I think that his tail was an embarrassment to him and perhaps he decided to do something about it.

Arriving at the yard one day I was welcomed by Kraut leaping up at the cab door. I soon noticed that his tail was missing and that he was sporting a bandage on the end of his stump. According to Bill, the story of Krauts lost tail was as follows.

A few dogs like to chase moving cars or motorcycles. It seems that they were kids stuff to Kraut, for he used to leap the back fence and chase Diesel and Steam Locomotives down the track that ran at the rear of the workshop.

Bill was sawing a piece of metal on the bench outside the workshop when he saw Kraut approaching with something in his mouth, he couldn't put his finger on it at that moment but something was definitely different about the dog. It was only when Kraut dropped his tail at Bill's feet that he realized just what the difference was.

The Vet was called in, injections given, the wound cleaned, sutured and dressed, Kraut was none the worse for his experience. In addition, he had a trophy, his tail, which he had taken to his kennel, where no amount inducement would get him to part with it.

Bill seemed to think that Kraut was chasing a train when he lost his tail, I just happened to have the sneaky idea that Kraut had used a trains wheel and the track, to rid him of the source of his embarrassment. If his tail had been surgically removed, a better job could not have been done, it was exactly the right length.

Long after the event, you would quite often catch Kraut walking around the yard with his tail in his mouth and if he didn't have it, you only had to say "Where's your tail then?" and he'd bring it for you to see.

Kraut's other favourite toy was not a ball or plastic Frisbee but the discarded hub cap off a car. He'd bring it for you to throw and he would keep bringing it until you'd had enough. I did not like throwing the hub cap for him, his teeth grating on the metal used to set my teeth on edge and when he would sometimes catch it in the air with a firm clamp of those strong jaws, it would send shivers down my spine.

Sheba and Kraut would have long since passed on, perhaps Bill as well, but they are alive in my memory and on the pages of this book.

continued.......

[Paul]

continuation.....

Harry, the Tanker Driver.

I have to describe Harry, for there was no other man in the world quite like him, slight of build, just over 50 years of age, he could talk and talk and talk. You would move away from him saying "yes Harry" so you could escape, he would then grab hold of your arm and continue with his often nonsensical conversation. Trapped by Harry, there was no escape.

Tanker Drivers go through a lot of boots, the diesel tends to rot them but in the 5 years I worked with Harry, I never knew him to buy one pair. He would always be turning up at the depot with a second hand pair that someone was going to throw out and it didn't matter what size they were either. Harry's official foot size was an eleven but I have known him to get into size eights and walk about the depot like "Twinkle Toes". An oversized pair he once had caused much hilarity at the depot, the ladder on his tanker used to follow the curve of the tank, consequently, the toe of the boots used to strike the side of the tanker and because they were too big, took on an appearance of Clowns Shoes with the toes permanently turned up.

Really one hell of a nice Guy, Harry had two faults, he talked too much and he didn't get on with dogs.

Dogs dealt with Harry in one of three ways, they attacked him, ignored him or treated him with total indifference. It was fortunate that he was never badly hurt during his frequent encounters. Mainly it was his pride that had taken a tumble, but he often returned to the depot with bite marks, grazes or with the seat of his overalls missing. At one Haulage Contractor's premises at Botcheston, he was tying his pipes to the pipe rack when the resident dog walked over and cocked his leg up against Harry's leg, then repeated the deed a week later, just to make sure that Harry had got the message.

Harry used to tell me of his misfortunes at great length and in very fine detail. All the time he would be miming the actions of his story with his arms and hands. I used to reckon if you ever cut off Harry,s arms, he would have never been able to talk.

I used to drive the bulk tanker, so it was not very often that I did any of Harry's drops. However, eventually he took off on holiday and I drove his tanker to do the work of both vehicles. Now most trucks sound pretty much the same, but Harry's B.M.C had this peculiar drumming sound. You could always tell when he was back. I did the deliveries for three days and began to feel like a Leper, I could never find anyone to sign my delivery docket.

My first drop on the fourth day was the Haulage Contractor at Botcheston. You had to pull down the side of the house, continue down a drive the length of the garden, where it opened up into quite a large area with fuel tanks and a maintenance garage. As I pulled off the road I spotted the contractor, Brian, and one of his mechanics talking near the fuel tank. They looked up when they heard my vehicle and vanished in double quick time Brian shot underneath a vehicle located further down the yard and the mechanic shot into the garage. The dog of leg lifting fame jumped the back fence and retreated to the house.

I'd had more than enough of this, I set the tanker discharging its load then walked down the yard to find Brian lying underneath a truck hammering away at some undefinable part. Tapping his exposed shoe with my boot I said "What's up Brian, have I got F%*king B.O or something?".

Brian rolled himself out on the trolley and looked up "Oh, it's you Paul, I thought it was Harry". Those few words explained everything; after all, I was driving Harry's truck. Brian was busy telling me how hard it was to get away from Harry when his mechanic joined the conversation and even the dog came back to be included in the circle.

The rest of Harry's holiday became a game, to see if I could find the customers' hiding spots and some of them were pretty ingenious.

Over Harry's 2 weeks off, I covered most of his drops and never once did I have any trouble with a dog. In the main, most would come up, say hello, sniff around then disappear. I believe that Harry was one of those unfortunate people that dogs just didn't like. He wasn't a cruel person, I doubt that he had a bad bone in his body but obviously the dogs knew something we didn't.

Copyright Paul Springthorpe. Media Production Services. Extracted from 'It's a Dog's Life' All rights reserved.