I subconsciously thought it odd to see Bill anywhere outside his home — I had actually never seen him anywhere but within about 10 yards of his house. He rarely ventured even outside of his backyard domain, but the fuss next-door but two drew him. Seeing him now was like looking at a lost member of Captain Scott's Antarctic Expedition — not only that, but he was walking straight into a mantrap in his carpet slippers.
Bingo was in no mood to be talked down, won over with tidbits, clucked at, cooed over, or asked: "Whassamarrer then yer silly lad? Eh, whassup with him then?"
Dad called over the rose trellis work which arched unsteadily across our shoulder-high wall: "I should leave well enough alone here, Bill!"
Bill peeked between the gaps in the trellis: "Oh, it's only old Bingo! What the dickens are you doing here, you daft bugger?"
"He'll have you, Bill, he's gone for me — you want to see what he did to the mop as I was keeping him back with!"
Bingo was anxiously glancing from one to the other, from Dad to Bill and back again. He had his mouth open, and his tongue hanging as he panted, his longer teeth visible. The dog was waiting for one of the men to make a move.
"Barrie, let me tell yer, I'm not much good with babies, I'm hopeless with cars, but dogs ... well, I've got a way with dogs," said Bill, and he pinched out the cigarette nub and placed it behind his ear.
Bill moved to open our backyard gate, and my Dad was alarmed, "Bill, leave it, I mean it! He'll bloody have you!"
By now, Bingo had lost all sense of his original mission and was hell-bent on a vengeance which he had lost control of. Bingo noticed that Bill had disappeared from the wall and detected the movement of the gate handle. The dog curled his lip and sloped toward the widening gap and Bill's slippered feet.
My Father later described Bingo's movement as reminding him of a hyena, shoulders hunched, head low, eyes sliding from side to side as he kept watch on all movement around him — a low, guttural growl creating violent mood music.
My Father moved gently to get behind the dog, and in particular, the dog's hind quarters — he meant to get a good kick at Bingo's backside. Bill saw this and gestured for my Father to stop. Bill walked slowly backward away from the gate and into the backs, and Bingo tracked him, now toe to toe with an enemy on whom he was going to unleash his thwarted venom.