Chubby Daddy and the barn of instant death.
At the top of our road was a field and allotments. The field was used by an old farmer who grew vegetables in it. Because he was old and fat we called him ‘Chubby Daddy’.
Chubby Daddy was reputed to be a mad axe murderer. He had a rabid sheepdog and he hated kids. That seemed reason enough to use his barn as a play area and den. We built a camp in his straw loft and climbed up on the roof. It was a great play area and den. We took comics, bottles of pop and sweets. We played games of jumping off the roof into the hay, or burrowing down into the straw bales.
When Chubby Daddy came along we’d hide until he’d gone.
That all went horribly wrong one day. Chubby Daddy was not daft. He knew that we were playing in his barn. We did not tidy up after ourselves. We left the straw in a mess. So, having failed to catch us he lay in wait with his dog. He caught us red-handed.
He got his dog to round us up like sheep. The dog was vicious. It growled menacingly and nipped you on the bum and legs. We had no chance. We were only around seven years old. We were terrified.
Chubby Daddy lined us all up quaking in our shoes. We thought he might actually murder us. He had his dog standing over us. It would growl and snarl if any of us so much as moved. He explained that if we ran away he’d set the dog on us and it would tear up to bits. We didn’t doubt that. The dog looked as if it just wanted an excuse.
Chubby Daddy then paraded up and down in front of us haranguing us and telling us what was going to happen if we ever ventured on to his barn again. The dog punctuated the lecture with appropriate menacing noises.
By the end we were so terrified we were just grateful to get out of there in one piece. We legged it home with the dog snapping at our heels.
The whole experience was so terrifying that we daren’t go back. My parents had to walk down to rescue our pop, sweets and comics. That was the end of our den in the barn.
It wasn’t quite the end of Chubby Daddy. I heard a couple of years later that he’d been found dead on top of that very barn. He had gone up to re-felt a section and suffered a heart attack.
He was probably an OK guy. He just didn’t like kids wrecking his straw bales. I could understand that.
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What did the Farmer do to make the Sheepdog so vicious.
I don’t know. He just seemed to control it. I guess it picked up his vibe.
Dogs are only vicious if something is done to them. Dogs only want to be protected and loved and they give back double. I hate the way some people treat these gentle creatures. Did you ever have a dog?
Oh yes. My dog was a border collie. He was called Sam. He was gorgeous – very loyal, playful, wilful and mad. We had him fourteen years. He was part of the family. It was a tragedy when I had to have him put down.
Apologies Opher, stupid me I remember now you had a Border Collie “Sam” they are beautiful dogs, I had a cross Border Collie, she was my baby just like a child. It breaks your heart when they die, they always have a special place in our hearts, don’t they Opher.
They are so affectionate and expressive. Liz said he doted on me too much! They are just like your kids, part of the family.
No, you can never have enough love from them, he was obviously “yours” in his mind. Dogs are the best in the World, you love them and they give you double back and more, they are so loyal and like children. Why did you not get another dog, I could not stand to be without a dog, we have always taken rescue and cross breeds they need our help so much. I could live on my own but I would have to have a dog.
We were planning on doing a lot of travelling and did not think it was fair on a dog. We’re going to get one when we stop. Still a few places in the bucket list. Then we’ll get one – an Irish Wolfhound.
An Irish Wolfhound, how fantastic.
Liz isn’t so keen. We’ll probably compromise on one we fall in love with from the rescue centre.
Trouble is Opher when you go to the rescue centre, they all put on their performances for you and if you are like me you fall for it and it is so difficult not to take them all home. I generally go for the one who hides in the corner they are the ones that need your help and love the most. Good Luck when you do finally get round to having another dog.
I know – I’m exactly the same. The first time I went I could not bring myself to choose. They all knew exactly what was going on and were so desperate. It felt like Sophie’s Choice.
We got Sam from a guy down the road and chose him out of a litter when he was tiny. He was spoilt rotten.
You can’t help but spoil them rotten, I have my shopping delivered via Ocado each Saturday and Daisy goes through every carrier bag until she finds her gift for the week, yes you could say she is spoilt. When the Ocado man brings in my shopping I have been asked countless times how many grandchildren do I have, or do I run a Nursery it’s all Daisy’s toys in the hall never mind the other rooms and upstairs. Life would not be the same without them. Rescue centres break my heart I have to be pulled away.
They are so intuitive.
You can say that again. Daisy controls me not me her, when she comes down for she sleeps in David’s room, first its the garden then she trots to her place by the kitchen cupboards barks, up goes one paw and she has to have her tablet, then the other paw and a bark and it’s her dental chew and off she trots – she does trot like a little pony.
Sounds like she’s got you sorted.
Wonderful story, so sad.
Full of pathos. Thanks.
Reblogged this on Opher's World and commented:
Chubby Daddy died on that barn.