When I was a child I lived in a road known as Craven Estate in Orpington. This road was ‘not adopted’, according to a footnote on the nameplate, which meant that, like many others in Orpington Urban District, it was not surfaced and maintained by the council. The surface was very rough, with a plentiful supply of loose stones.
The dog of the title was a mongrel, of average proportions, wire- coated and coloured black-and-white. This senseless pooch was not unusual in those days, in that it was in the habit of chasing passing lorries, motor-bikes and cars. What was aggravating to all its neighbours, however, was that it extended this habit to include cyclists! On that surface it was not possible to gain sufficient speed to out-run it and any stranger to the area, cycling past this house would find this mutt snarling and snapping at their legs. They would then resort to kicking out at their yapping attacker whilst endeavouring to keep their balance on the loose stones and gravel.
To local people, though, it presented much less of a danger. When we passed the gate of this house we knew what would happen and were prepared. The dog would hear us coming and would come haring down the path from the back of the premises and out onto the road, barking and carrying on. The trick now was to get off the bike and bend down, as though to pick up a stone. It was not necessary to actually do so, as the noise would cease instantly, and on looking up one would see the fearless aggressor going like stink back up the drive. On reaching the back of the house it would round the corner to the left, its back feet scrabbling for grip and sliding outwards, in the manner of a speedway bike.
It had clearly learnt not to hang around if its victim made to throw a brick at it, but somehow never applied the knowledge to the extent of giving up this brainless habit.