When he came into their lives he was a bedraggled mess, a mangy mutt on whom the son of the house had taken pity. It certainly wasn't love at first sight as far as the lady of the house was concerned. One look at the flea-infested creature sent her into protective mode, shuddering at the consequences of her sheltered Dalmatian being exposed to such riff-raff.

Admonishing her son for what she saw as a misguided act of kindness but unable to split up the two, she immediately laid down some ground rules. Entry to the house was taboo for this mongrel. No sitting outside the kitchen and looking at her with his mournful brown eyes. He would be fed but once a day. This was said while looking her son boldly in the eye as she could read his mind and knew exactly what he was thinking.

Before he could start giving her a lecture on equality and non-discrimination as far as treatment of the two dogs was concerned, she stole his thunder by reminding him in no uncertain terms that it was her way or no way.

Bowing reluctantly to her commands, he agreed to her terms. The timid creature seemed to realise he was fighting for his life so he did the discreet thing, which is make himself as invisible as possible, hoping his scrawny form would press the guilt button.

Soon he had made his home under the stairs and wisely refrained from making his presence felt. Being of slender build, he could squeeze through the grille on the gate whenever the confines of the compound got too stifling for him.

After a taste of freedom and a testing of his street skills, he would make his way back, once again contorting his flexible body to return to his lair.

He found himself the centre of unlikely attention as his ‘saviour' bought him a brand new red collar which he privately thought made him look too swanky. This generous gesture did not go unnoticed by his bete noire who muttered under her breath about her son's foolish and fanciful ways.

Next he was forced to pay a visit to a vet who proceeded to inoculate him. He knew this was a waste of time and money as he was made of sterner stuff, a street dog, not a namby-pamby pet. But he put up with this stoically. He knew all these actions were born out of concern.

Sympathy card

Tragedy struck one evening as he returned home from his routine perambulation. One paw slid through the grille easily. As the body (now much heavier after all that unaccustomed good food) tried to follow, it met with resistance.

Several tries later, he gave up the attempt and resigned himself to staying out. He knew whose bedroom window faced the gate and was smart enough not to tempt fate by trying to play the sympathy card.

Whining to be let in would have only further antagonised the mistress of the house.

The next morning his absence was noticed and there was even some concern. The lady sans merci opened the gate and peered out. Imagine her surprise when she saw him bounding towards her. Relief met delight in equal measure. A truce was declared.

Several mornings later her son announced his volunteering his time for an animal shelter organisation. When asked what that entailed, he explained he could bathe these dogs or take them for walks. That was when hell broke loose.

He was reminded that charity begins at home and he could begin by bathing the Dalmatian or Spooky and taking them for walks. But he was out of the door before the sentence could end …