Bill, Bingo and Bram 5
His other characteristic, we soon learned, was
My father tried to persuade Bingo to leave.
Dad was from the 'if they growl, then you growl louder' school of
safe side of the kitchen door, Bingo's insistent clawing pinning us all inside like sniper fire.
Dad decided that it was time for an armoured assault. He sought the whereabouts of my brother's pushchair, and wheeled it in front of him, wielding a mop over the top, with which to
Bingo was not intimidated. The
My Father was forced eventually to concede that the armoured assault only gained a little ground in what was a war of attrition. The yard was narrow by the kitchen, and Bingo could not get past the steadily advancing pushchair, but as the end of the house was reached, the yard opened up, and Bingo could attack from the sides.
Then a grey haired head peered through our thin straggly rose bushes. It was Bill, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
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