The bitch wouldn’t let me pass. She was just being protective, but I had a job to do.
I had to get access to the broken window. I pulled out my phone and called the number the owner had given me. I explained I was on site but couldn’t get in past the gate. He apologised, saying he hadn’t heard me pull up and that his bitch was barking at everything that moved at the moment because she’d just dropped a litter. I love dogs – but not when they’re in attack mode.
He came out and calmed her. It appeared they weren’t on very good terms with somebody; someone had lobbed a brick through their window; broken glass littered the lounge floor.
As they’d chosen not to bring the police into this matter, there would be no ‘forensics’ taking prints off bricks and bits and I was able clean up most of the glass and remove the broken shards from the frame. It hadn’t escaped me that although most parts of Belmont are respectable, this little pocket had a different feel. As I set to work securing it up for the night with a board-up as the glass size wasn’t a stock size, I considered the facts: no police involvement; a breed of dog with jaws that crunch leg bones for breakfast; the numerous locks on the front door (I counted five) and back (three); a very subdued-looking woman with bruise marks on her arms and my client’s interesting tattoos up his neck – it all led me to think he may have some nasty enemies.
They were nice enough folk though and I enjoyed the coffee his wife gave me as we sorted out the insurance details.
I’ve learnt not to be judgemental about people. The following day the glazier who re-glazed the window also found them to be pleasant. Just goes to show . . .