Victor was the name of the savage blue cattle dog that safeguarded his master’s property beside us at Wooloowin. We did not learn his name by introduction, but rather from the directed and decisive command given by his master stated in the heading above. We would hear this instruction ring out only if one of us had miscalculated the time required to retrieve our miss hit cricket ball. See, it was the command we heard from inside the neighbour’s house when we found ourselves in that bailed up tucked in arms position on the wrong side of the shared old timber plank fence. No wonder the first rule of back yard cricket in those days was over the fence and OUT – followed by the second important rule you hit it you get it. Now Victor’s blue singlet wearing master was, as my economics teacher taught me later, a blue-collar worker because he was employed in a manual job. Now my dad was described, by the same teacher, as a white-collar worker – cause he worked in the bank. I guess that’s why my Dad wore a white singlet. Now to this day, I have never been able to work out why either singlets don’t come with collars or why they did not describe employees as blue or white-singlet workers. Anyway, we kids still thought that it was natural that this old reclusive well-muscled and seemingly always stern faced man would have a pet with a nature to match. Mum had often described him as a kind but lonely man, but we weren’t about to test her theory for ourselves by spending more time in his yard than was considered absolutely necessary. Now our dog’s name was Chippy. Chippy was the family dog but big sister Margaret had first right to his affection and care. Chippy was not a viscous dog but in the dog world, he obviously had the right to defend his territory by staking with his own registered markings. Well I tell you something; Chippy seemed to make a point of relieving himself endlessly on the dividing fence between himself and Victor. Invariably, every now and then, the two dogs would meet at the fence, as they were each marking out their territories. Still, at this moment, each was in their own territory, each was in their own scented part of the landscape and each was in close proximity to their protecting owners. Now most importantly, each had a high slatted timber dividing fence to ensure that any aggression acted out could not possibly translate into actual bodily harm. So they both felt the freedom to go after each other as hard as they liked. There was the initial gnashing and exhibiting of teeth, followed by those slow reverberating message sent and understood growls and then there was that digging at the dirt under the fence as if to type out an SMS message to the contender of, if only mate and you are so lucky. Finally, there was the customary charging up and down the fence line looking for that gap in which to settle this unresolved dog dispute once and for all. Now, us kids had by now begun using a wide detachable panel from the old timber fence to ensure a quicker recovery of our hit over and out cricket ball. The sequence went something like this. 1. Climb the fence and visually locate the ball. 2. Ensure that Victor was no where to be seen. 3. Slide the panel and run and return as hard as you can. 4. Mission accomplished see, by the time Victor had realized his territory had been violated you were safely back on your side of the fence and the detachable panel was placed back in place. This precise and timely procedures ensured our cloths and exposed skin remained in the same condition as it was when we first entered Victor’s yard. Now on this particular day, as Victor and Chippy went through their ritualistic and now almost choreographed routine, they came to the part requiring the charging along the fence line to find that longed-for gap. I was sitting in the back yard as this final sequence of melodrama was being played out. Now stupidly, one of us kids had negligently left the panel off the fence and the two loudly disputing dogs met in open space for the first time. Uh-Oh – there is going to be troubled here! Now I know that cartoonists can convey that head-tilting look of what the? and draw that eyes wide open with the eyebrows back in surprise look on a dog’s face, but to see it there in real time was such a unforgettable experience. So with this momentary interruption to their aggressive repartee, caused by an obvious prop failure by one of us kids and not by their hand, they continued their spirited charge up and down the fence line, choosing to ignore the small issue of the actual gap in the fence. I guess mum was right with a dog like that, the man in the blue singlet could not have been so bad after all.