It was dusk when there was a knock at the door.
I peered through the front window and saw a rough scruffy looking man standing by the front door, hands in pockets.
I shouted for him to walk around to the kitchen wall and waited for him to catch up, wary at the stranger.
The man had an Irish accent and was overly friendly.
He asked if I needed any roofing doing.
I said I didn’t
He then asked me if I had any scrap metal going but was looking carefully at the new build behind the cottage as he did so.
I told him assertively that I hadn’t .
He stayed , standing at the wall for a little too long as Dorothy bounced into the kitchen doorway with a low woof
“ Ah that’s a good looking bulldog “ the stranger said clicking his fingers at her.
Dorothy didn’t move forward and I motioned her to stay where she was
“ What’s his name?” the man asked, suddenly interested all of a sudden.
Alarm bells started to ring
“Troy ” I said thinking quickly and as the man clicked his fingers again I called out “Don’t call him, he bites”
Dorothy watched all this with her most worried expression on, which thankfully, is a face that could be misconstrued as borderline annoyance if the wind was in the right direction and the man withdraw his fingers to behind the wall.
I was going to say something else to end the conversation but the man was already moving off back up the lane.
from Going Gently https://ift.tt/9Zo5Bj2
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