Alfie And The Chicken

There once was a dog I owned called Alfie. He was outrageous. He behaved like a rockstar, high on cloud nine most of the time. He was so cheeky, yet so naughty too. Always getting me into all kinds of pickling dramas.

I acquired Alfie while I was with a dear friend who meant the world to me. My friend was equally around the bend. Bending people live life in unusual diagrams. Not following the norm, one can easily be part of the big mad crowd. That crowd following rules think that they’re the normal folk. It is often the ones living on life’s bent rules by breaking them who are infact more intact.

Speaking in brain rhythms, as a matter of fact. Hereby, the guy with the British service blue eyes. His office was up by the courts that make rules in this green hilly land, where the cock crows each dawn. Then, the huntsmen in their redcoats still chase foxes. Fixed by trail scents. It’s rather bizarre to expect those old country gents to be on borderlines at where the hunt meet meets. It’s by the wishing well in town.

Bang, bang the hammer in parliament comes down often alternating countrysides laws. I highlight herewith a few points for you to nibble on in your thoughts. I’m about to dribble a rather usual countryside adventure within England’s green pastures, off the course.

We’re renowned here for our beauty of green hills, which strips many a countryside magazine.

Henceforth, at this moment in time when a dog called Alfie arrived in my life . At the time I was good friends with a British civil servant who was rather an eccentric of sorts, when off duty. His name was Bertie.

Bertie telephoned me up one day invited me for lunch. He’d just completed a hazardous convention with other straight jacket men, discussing countryside rules. I suggested to Bertie that he accompanied me to see a dog called Alfie. I’d just discovered he was up for sale. Off we went to check on the dog. Alfie was like an out of control fluffy cheeky bear on the move. I fell in love at first sight with this raving ball of fluff. The breeder and agreed a price. He was mine. All mine, the dog was mine.

Life became a new bouncing affair with Alfie’s arrival. Animals bring life into a home. At the time I was living in the county of Wiltshire. I’d been most fortunate to acquire a cottage with some stables, at a very low price of six hundred British pounds sterling a month, which really was a great catch.

Horses as well as new dogs were landing on me. I tend to attract animals. My plan was to rent out some of the stables to other horse owners. It was in deep horse country in Wiltshire. I was a happy bunny. I recruited a young lady from Slovakia who was as large as a bus, as she ate too much, but very pretty with a wonderful heart. I taught her the whole routine of a stable girl groom. She lost all her weight, so was smiling in gratitude to me. Her smile was as bright as a new moon. She was dancing towards my stables every morning, whilst at noon she dipped inside her studies up in a top room. My cottage, had that kind of English charm where one can get lost in time.

Alfie, my new dog was now a stable dog. He loved being around stables, whilst making quite good friends with other dogs. His quirky cheekiness often meant at times he broke the rules.

A good yard, which is how we label stables, with adjoining land. It all takes allot of hardworking grooms with equestrian’s at hand to yell the orders. If run well all is blooming like flowers on a summers day in June. If left unattended, everything becomes one heck of a messy confusion. A good routine once set is easy to be met. Each morning when the cock crows. An early morning is one thing animal lovers can’t escape.

One day, after the horses were all smiling munching fresh hay. There was a bang on my door. I ran down the stairs still in my jodhpurs. I lived in horse attire in this beat in time. It was the British police. They said,‘ Excuse me, are you Ms Melech ?I replied yes, how can I help you ?’

One policeman of old fashioned appearance wearing a traditional helmet said,‘ I am afraid I have to report your dog has entered the exotic high-bred private chicken area and attacked one of the owners chickens’.

I replied, ‘oh my deepest apologies. Why isn’t the ladies land with the chickens fenced up?’

The police-man replied.

‘She never had a problem before, but your dog got into her land. She wants fifty pounds from you for her chicken.’

I replied ‘ok, I understand, will a cheque be ok ? I don’t have any cash on me. The policeman replied, ‘ yes, that’s fine. Please make sure your dog doesn’t enter her land again young lady ‘.

I wrote the cheque and the police left. On returning up my stairs. My sweet Slovakian girl ‘ Tricia’, her name by the way. Tricia stood up, off an old armchair. She said ‘ that’s unbelievable, it could only ever happen in England. My parents would laugh their heads off back home. Fifty pounds for a chicken.’

I put the kettle on. Alfie was by my feet looking sad, as if he was telepathic and knew he’d been naughty.

I said ‘ yes, the country people in England are very protective over their animals. It’s a British thing. Let’s have a cup of British tea with some hot toast and marmalade. Then we’ll go for a walk up to the local village. A good country walk will clear the air. ‘I continued to talk…

‘Alfie is fine, we shall avoid the lady who owns the chickens. From now on her land is no go Alfie. I said to my dog, rather relieved my dog hadn’t been shot. Farmers hold gun licences if they want in UK, but, in all due effect, we’re an old fashioned lot when it comes to countryside order. Don’t loose the next plot of land on sale at the next auction. There will be more adventures to hold and to have once the hammer drops,

Yvette Louise Melech

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