From poop patrols to midnight concerts, two street dogs have declared furry dominance over the neighbourhood.
Two rogue street dogs, known only by their nicknames “Sir Barksalot” and “The Brown Blur”, have unleashed a campaign of low-level terror, untamed flatulence, and high-volume howling upon unsuspecting residents in our area.
The dynamic duo – species uncertain, allegiance questionable – arrived in the neighbourhood sometime around mid-June and have since established dominance over our dustbins, traffic and peace.
Neighbours regularly report a string of “targeted disturbances”, including midnight howling medleys, dawn patrol poop drops and synchronised bin-raiding performances on Friday mornings.
“They act like they own the place,” said Mrs Nel, who has now double-cable-tied her bin lids.
“And one of them made eye contact with me while chewing through my recycling like he was judging my diet. What a cheek!”
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Other incidents include the marking of every tree, pot plant and car tyre in the northern quadrant; and a week-long turf war with a rooster from No 22. I have also noticed that some of the cats have disappeared.
I don’t even want to venture a guess as to what became of them.
A WhatsApp group called “Stop The Dogs, Save Our Lawns” receives over 87 messages daily. The top complaint: “They know when the bin truck is coming – and they strike five minutes before.”
Meanwhile, children in the area have begun referring to them as “Boss Dog” and “Lightning”. Rumour has it the two now receive tributes in the form of Viennas and leftover fish fingers.
In an exclusive attempt to understand their motives, I approached the dogs with a leftover worsbroodjie yesterday.
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Sir Barksalot stared into the distance like a wartime general and issued a single, declarative bark. The Brown Blur responded by joyfully peeing on my shoes before vanishing into a hedge with the bun.
The SPCA arrived last Thursday, but were outwitted again when the dogs pretended to be asleep on a pavement in front of No 8 and then ran in opposite directions. One officer was last seen swearing softly into a net.
“I’ve dealt with jackals, ostriches, even a cat on caffeine,” said Officer Smit. “But these two? They laugh at fences. And us.”
Until further notice, the suburb remains under the furry rule of the Bin Bandits.
Our street is now considering offering them official residency – provided they agree to only howl on weekends, wear reflective vests at night and own up about what they did with all the stray cats.
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