THERE’S A FREAKING DOG IN THE PLAYGROUND. That exhilarating moment in a child’s life when their dead monotonous day at school is thrust in to the realms of excitement and chance as a wild beast casually hares around the field.
Maybe I grew up in something of an unsavoury neighbourhood but I’m pretty sure I vividly remember at least three occasions of a hound running lose in the school playground. On at least one of those occasions, I know whose dog it was – the family who quite evidently let their dog walk itself. A whippet or greyhound. The breed I cannot quite remember now but it was lithe and fast.
I’m pretty sure that schoolchildren today do not get to relish in the thrill of such an occasion. Not even James Bond could infiltrate the grounds of most modern schools.
But the one thing that I do question now in all of my maturity is where were the dinner ladies to protect us little sprogs? I never remember seeing them during any of these incidents. Perhaps the absence of authority just made a dog in school all the more exciting, enhancing the sense of danger. Who will protect me from the jaws of a rabid beast? Being a pupil in the nineties really saw you dicing with death, living life on a knife’s edge