I can see me filling this topic all by myself



When I was about 10 or 11.

There was this boy my own age on our street named Paul who was a cunt of the first water. As an only child, he was spoilt rotten with every whim catered to. We dreaded having to play in his house as, after every playtime was over, we'd have to return with a parent in tow to reclaim all our dinky toys which he'd taken as "That's mine!". He was big for his age so nobody could challenge him but, to make it worse, he was given a puppy.

The dog was a border collie cross and thanks to Paul's sadism was utterly mental. He'd trained it to hide by the front gate and then launch itself on any of us kids who were passing by. He'd piss himself laughing as the dog chased us around the place, snapping at our heels.

One day as myself and some others played in a neighbouring house, Paul lifted up the dog and dropped him into the garden where he started with his snapping and biting socks antics. I ran for the garden wall to climb into my own house but caught my shin on the concrete giving myself some nasty scrapes. I ran indoors sobbing to my mother who asked me if the dog had bitten me. In a flash, I said that it had.

Before I knew it, my mother had organised a delegation which marched on Paul's house. My leg wound was shown to all and tempers rapidly rose. Paul's dad, who was a decent sort really, promised he'd sort it out and, sure enough, the dog was gone the following day. For a week or so afterwards, I was a local hero to my peers and cosseted by their parents for my ordeal. Because of the 'evidence' Paul couldn't talk his way out of it or bully me into saying otherwise so there was no comeback.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Fri 31 Aug 2007, 14:16, Reply)