... and I remembered.
Years ago, I had a dog. A Belgian Shepherd, specifically a Tervueren. Belgians come in four types - a couple of long-hairs, a short-hair, and a rough-hair. The Tervueren is a fawn/mahogany long-hair; a very handsome dog, looking somewhat like a cross between a long-haired collie (think Lassie) and a German Shepherd. Lighter framed than the German, but taller, and a narrower muzzle.
That dog was VERY smart, and I obedience-trained him to follow leash, voice, and visual signals. He went almost everywhere with me, and was never a problem. Well, almost never.
My fiancee and I made a habit of walking the dog in the early evenings - it was usually cooler by then, and we would walk to a large park nearby where he could run. One evening, I had some work-related stuff to finish up, so I told her to go ahead, and that I would be about five minutes. Work duly completed, I grabbed a torch and headed after her.
Now picture this: from the house it was about a three minute walk to a native bush "green-belt" that bordered the park. A narrow path had been trodden through the bush to the park by people like us - too lazy to walk all the way around to the official entrance. Half-way along that path was a larger tree, and sitting at the base of that tree was my dog, with exasperated calls from my fiancee for him to heel echoing across the park.
I stopped. I looked upwards at whatever the dog was looking at in the tree. The man clinging to the trunk four or five metres up was clearly terrified. I called for the dog to heel, which he did without hesitation. I spoke to the erstwhile tree-elf: "Whatever you did to annoy him: DO NOT DO IT AGAIN." I walked away. Silent "come" - step off on your left foot, and the dog (at heel to your left) follows; step off on your right foot, the dog stays.
My fiancee was agitated, telling me that the dog was really disobedient, wouldn't walk at heel at all on the way to the park, insisting on walking five metres behind, and then ran off into the bush before she released him at the park. He was still at heel, so I checked him for any injuries, found nothing, and freed him to run. As he ran, sniffing at everything, and marking each and every tree, fence-post, and goal-post, I explained what had likely happened - she was followed by some ne'er-do-well with evil intent, and the dog sensed it and was being protective. It was a salutory lesson in situational awareness, as she had not even realised that there was somebody behind her. Oh well, problem solved, it's all over, I thought. Not so fast...
A couple of days later, we were doing some weekend gardening in the front yard, with the dog asleep in the shade of a tree. Now the yard was unfenced, but I had no concerns that the dog would run off - he just didn't DO that. A vehicle pulled into the drive. The man who get out was wearing khaki, and introduced himself as the local shire ranger, saying that he was investigating a report of a dangerous dog at this address. My dog had lifted his head at the arrival of the vehicle, looked at me, sensed no reason to alert, and moved only enough to keep me in sight before lying back down. Now think about this - a fawn/mahogany coloured dog, lying on pine bark chips, in dappled sunlight and shade under a tree. He was almost invisible, and the ranger had NO IDEA he was there. Well, I am sure he had SOME skills at his job, but I am guessing they were mostly paperwork related.
After some conversation and being told (forcefully) that I would be held responsible for anything my dog did (he knew I had a dog from shire registration records), he wanted to know where the animal was.
"Right behind you, about three paces. Under the tree."
His head snapped around like he had been slapped. The dog never moved.
"You can't have a dog outside without a leash!"
"Well, actually, the law says, '... in a public place, unless under control ...', and he is not in a public place and is clearly under control, as he hasn't run off."
"You can't control that animal without a leash."
"Want to bet? Watch me."
I held both arms straight up. The dog lifted his head. I crossed my arms, hands to opposite shoulders. I put my right arm straight out, horizontally, pointing in the direction of his kennel. I clapped my hands, once. The dog leapt to his feet, ran through the gateway to his kennel, entered, turned around, and dropped prone in the doorway, watching.
When I turned back to the ranger, I thought I would need to help him lift his jaw off the ground.
After that demonstration, we finally got to the truth of the matter. The tree-elf had reported that he had been attacked by a dog while walking innocently past our house. No injuries, no corroboration, just an allegation. The ranger was duty-bound to investigate, but was now satisfied that there was no problem animal at that address. After being told of the incident from a few nights past, much became clear. The bad guy knew where we lived, had been casing the house, had followed my fiancee with intent, and wanted to be rid of the dog, or at least cause trouble for us. Some discussion ensued as to how we could handle the situation.
The next day, the ranger visited the complainant to advise him of the outcome of his complaint. At that time he realised that he must have left the written complaint form WITH THE COMPLAINANT'S NAME AND ADDRESS in our house while investigating the alleged dangerous dog.
Nothing further ever happened.
God, I miss that dog - RIP, buddy.
Edited to add:
This is a Tervueren. Not MY Tervueren, but a kennel-mate.
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