Free The Tay Is Wet by Ben Ryan Page A

and, unfortunately, the field would not be available next year as he was going to plough it for a crop of wheat.
    “Snare” had heard the rumours about the dogs and was not surprised by this. However, the “guard dogs” as he called them belonged to one of the new arrivals named Georgie who happened to be married to his youngest daughter. Georgie’s business was in “security.” He supplied guard dogs on hire to people who required them. He trained the dogs himself and out in the Meath countryside was an ideal place for this with no interference from the law or any other busybodies. Georgie had a reputation of not being a man to meddle with.
    ‘Mr Deery,’ said “Snare,” ‘do you not think you could leave us for the two weeks this year and we’ll go somewhere else next year?’
    ‘I don’t think that—’ Sonny’s reply was interrupted by a chilling low almost whisper from Georgie, who had been listening in the background.
    ‘Listen up, farmer, city people are entitled to spend a couple of weeks out here if they want to and we’re staying.’
    ‘Oh, yeah, who says so?’
    ‘Me and me pal here, “Hungry Wolf,” we kinda like it out here.’
    Georgie held a struggling Alsatian dog by his stout leather collar. ‘How’d you like a nip on the ass from old Wolfie?’
    Sonny looked around to see that he was encircled by the en tire Swandley clan.
    ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘I get the message, but you may be sorry,’
    Sonny turned and walked away, the circle of Swandleys opening up a gap to let him through. As he cleared the circle there was a loud cheering augmented by the barking of the dogs. Shouts of “yella,” “up the Swandleys,” “not an inch, boys” rang out in his wake as he walked to the house. When word of this episode got around there was much foreboding among the local residents and three days later another confrontation took place.
    Timmy Deery was returning alone from leaving cows in the top field when he suddenly walked into a crowd of Swan-dley men in an adjoining field “training” their dogs. The large wolf-like animals were being taught to attack dummy forms of human figures made from old clothes and rags. When Timmy came on the scene, they all stopped and stared at him. Then Georgie, who was holding “Wolfie” shouted out.
    ‘Just stay right there Mr D. We were letting them play with dummies but “Wolfie” here prefers real dummies.’
    The creature’s yellow eyes shone like a lazar and he howled as his dribbling tongue hung out over teeth as sharp as the glistening icicles that Timmy had once seen in an underground cave. Georgie set him loose.
    ‘Go get him boy!’
    As the large snarling animal bounded forward Timmy stood for a second, then he amazed the onlookers by moving towards the dog. Dropping on one knee and holding out his hand he said softly.
    ‘At a boy, come here boy, come to your uncle Timmy, boy.’
    The wolf-like creature stopped in his tracks. He sidled shyly up to Timmy and almost licked his outstretched hand, then with his tail between his legs he trudged back to where he started from while the other dogs whined. Timmy stood up but said nothing. The Swandleys also were silent and then they moved slowly away. The next morning the old van and both caravans had disappeared as had the whole Swandley entourage along with their pack of dogs. They never came back to Roggart again.

A coloured pullover so quaint
    That his mother could knit like a saint
    Mickey Joe couldn’t bear it
    T’would kill him to wear it
    Today’s style and fashion it aint

14
K NIT N O M ORE M OTHER D EAR
    Dolores Mayfel shot to a kind of local fame suddenly and unexpectedly. She was a lady whose appearance never seemed to change over the years. She was small, about five foot two, with brownish hair which she usually wore in a bun, and had a round smiling face and big blue eyes. She was definitely middle aged but a young looking middle age. This made her attractive in an odd sort of way