A Story in episodes of fate, perseverance and stubbornness, cultural divides, bureaucratic indifference and the occasional satisfaction of surmounting the odds.
Sunday, 2.40 a.m. Wake to the dogs barking.
It is not as uncommon as we would wish; the interrupted sleep, the disturbance of the night,
Abby and Blinky demonstrating any one of their variety of barks, ranging from annoyance at the nocturnal activities of the indoor cats, to bullying demands to be let out of their quarters for a toilet break or sometimes Blinky merely exercising his five kilogram small dog syndrome.
While still annoying, the frequency of such assertive displays had, partly due to our new experiment of ignoring them, gradually abated almost to the extent of giving some reliance that any sudden outburst might indeed need to be heeded.
Only three weeks had passed since the early Sunday hours were suddenly pierced by a raucous Abby and Blinky outcry in response to what can conveniently be described as domestic disturbance involving the new next door neighbours. Mindful of the resolution of that conflict, which saw the arrival of five police cars, a paddy wagon and an ambulance we were prepared to respond to any indication of alarm from Abby and Blinky. In truth we expected it.
Now, this 2.40 a.m. cacophony seemed to message a stressful urgency.
Coming to them immediately I realised the dogs were training all their attention towards the street and distraughtly directing me to the front verandah.
The darkness of the cul de sac was invaded by a flood of light directed from what seemed to be three cars cross parked at the top of the intersection. I could distinguish two or three people moving separately around the edges of the circle of light.
To be Continued