Then came the day when I outgrew the place, and I now have a tenant installed there. A tenant who, it goes without saying, is not remotely interested in gardening. Last time I was there you could hardly get to the front door without being garroted by thorny sprays of Bougainvillea twenty feet long. Consequently, I went along there today to do a bit of pruning. The tenant was out, but her beloved bulging-eyed incontinent little rat of a Boston terrier was in the garden.
In fact it looked like she'd finally sorted out the garden and it already looked fairly pruned back. This was a relief as it was noon and a bit warm to be toiling in the garden. I cut back a few straggling creepers, then turned around and realised that I'd left the gate open and the dog was nowhere to be seen. It couldn't have got far, I reasoned. Probably just outside trying to sniff the bottoms of the neighbour's dogs. But no, it had vanished completely.
I trudged round the neighbourhood for about half an hour in the noonday sun, with no success. I couldn't yell for the creature as I had no idea what its name was. I tried to think of ways to deliver this difficult news to the tenant. Unfortunately the dog had appeared quite lethargic as well as being tiny, so there was no hope she'd buy the concept that it had vaulted over the fence.
Finally I decided to unlock the apartment and have a quick snoop around before I called the tenant. The lounge was an odorous shrine to the animal with squeaky toys, bones and dog cushions littering the sofas. No dog though. Despairing, I peeped into her bedroom and there the smelly little bastard was, sitting smugly on the unmade bed. It had wriggled in through one of the lower windows left ajar.
I'd had enough and went home. Then discovered I'd left my bag on the tenant's patio and had to go all way back to fetch it.
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