Stop press

The Herald dispatched a cameraman to the scene as soon as we heard about the reappearance of the wolf-dog, and now we bring you this exclusive update, direct from our special correspondent.



The wolf-dog in a tree, contemplating how to break back in to our correspondent's garden.


Wolf at the Door - Update

I should have called the damn thing Cujo. I was woken this morning by scrabbling sounds at the bedroom door. "It's Cato," (our little terrier) said the wife. "It doesn't sound like him." I peeked out the door - you've guessed - Giant and Cato at the top of the stairs. It got in through the dog flap again. I went for another drive to the next street, and knocked on the neighbours' door - 9 a.m. They don't answer. Plan B: I gather some unused plastic covered wire shelving units, and some pieces of chicken - one in my hand and the rest in my pocket (yes, and the dog knew.) The devil of a job to get Cujo, as I'll call him now, to go back into his garden by throwing bits of chicken and hooshing him up over the fence. At one point he must have stepped on a thorn, because he put his mouth over my head and made a deafening sound that I would have to characterize as terrifying, a deafening, high pitched yelp or scream right into my ear. I thought he was going to bite the side of my head off. Eventually got him up onto the wall, and pushed him off the other side. Desperately piling plastic covered wire shelving grids into the gap, I held them there with my body and tore off twigs from the pear tree to weave through and hold the grids together, as well as connecting them with bits of the shelving twisted this way and that. Once that stood there, I hurried back inside and got a hammer and some nails. Cujo was back on the wall trying to pull the twigs away from my improvised barrier. I started a series of shouts at him, which became progressively more like dog barks. Picture "very angry and pissed off." I threatened him with the hammer. I nailed the shelving grids to the standing parts of the fence and got more old white laminated boards from under the house and stood them up, to block his view and his way some more. I believe as I type this at 11 a.m, the bloody animal is still picking at the barrier looking for a way back in. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Ruff!

Stephen