Recycling

Miss Mitcham did not like boys at all. She considered them little horrors, every single one of them. She was glad that she had never married and had children. She had her dear sweet Muzzy and that was better.

Muzzy was a very spoilt pug dog who had his way in everything. Miss Mitcham called herself Muzzie’s mummy. “Mummy get Muzzy Wuzzy a nice bone?” Visitors kept a close eye on Muzzie. He was bad tempered and sly and nipped ankles if not watched closely.

Miss Mitcham had only recently moved in next to Jason and his family. The morning after her arrival, Jason had paused outside her gate on the way to school hoping to catch a glimpse of this new neighbour. That was enough for Muzzie who had rushed out of the house in a fury. The gate held him back and Jason had simply stared at him, nothing more. Miss Mitcham was almost as quickly on the scene screaming abuse at the wicked boy who was tormenting her poor little Muzzie.

The feud had started from that moment. From then on, Jason made a point of whistling as he approached the gate to make sure that Muzzie would be waiting. Soon, he began to find that Miss Mitcham was also waiting for him at the gate. She was no less bad tempered than her pampered baby. Jason, without being rude, had insisted that he had a right to whistle in a public street and had kept on doing so. Finally, she had complained to his mother and although his mother had little sympathy for their new neighbour, she told Jason firmly that the whistling had to stop.

Jason had then found that his mere presence close to the hedge between the two properties was enough to set Muzzie off. This had been stopped too in the interests of peace. Now he was under restriction in his own yard. His moans about how ‘flippin’ unfair’ this was fell on deaf ears.

A wet afternoon found Jason in his attic bedroom. He had nothing to do. No books that he hadn’t read. His father had insisted on watching stupid, boring Pro Golf on their only tele even though Jason had pointed out, helpfully, that there was a really smashing Western on another channel. His mother, tired of his song about how boring everything was, suggested that he might like to amuse

RECYCLING. Page 2 himself by tidying up his room. “Oh! Great! Amuse himself!”….There was no understanding adults…….Mothers in particular!!

He sorted listlessly through the treasures in his junk drawer. Nothing much of interest there apart from the old garage-door controller that Uncle Frank had given him. It used high-frequency sound, dog whistle sound, and Uncle Frank had bought a newer radio control that could be worked from inside the car without having to wind down the windows. At first, Jason had gone around the neighbourhood trying to open garage doors but without success and, for the past year, the controller had sat in the bottom of the drawer. The batteries must surely be flat by this time.

A massive green head with purple antennae appeared at the window and slimy green tentacles began to push up the sash. In desperation, Jason pointed the controller at the alien form and pressed the button. Splat! A ragged hole appeared in the creature and it fell to the ground outside. Jason rushed to the window to watch its death-throes and found more of the creatures preparing to scale the wall. Splat! Splat! Splat! Jason put paid to them all. But killing imaginary inter-planetary monsters can become boring very quickly.

It was then that he realised that he could hear Muzzie howling. Although the sound was muffled where he was, it was obvious that Muzzie was very upset about something. Jason looked thought- fully at the controller in his hand. Could this be the reason? Maybe the batteries weren’t quite flat. He waited until the howling stopped and pushed the button again. Sure enough, it set Muzzie off again.

In the following days, he used the controller sparingly. Once the batteries ran down, he could hardly ask his parents to buy a new set. What excuse could he use? Their failing power was saved for Miss Mitcham’s afternoon nap when it would have the most effect. Each afternoon, he would arrive home from school, find her bedroom curtains drawn, and give her a blast.

RECYCLING. Page 3

It was two weeks before his mother, coming into the bedroom quietly, caught him at it. He tried to bluff his way out of trouble by making ray-gun noises but that didn’t work. His mother was quicker on the up-take than he had suspected. The controller was taken from him and locked away somewhere. It was most unfair since she, herself, was also becoming annoyed at Miss Mitcham’s constant string of complaints and disgusted at the spoilt pooch.

Several days after this, Miss Mitcham had a caller while she was out and Jason’s mother was asked to deliver a message. Which she did. There was no sign of Muzzie until his teeth sank into her ankle. She gave him a swift kick and he slunk off into the bushes from which he had made his ambush giving the most pitiful howl. Miss Mitcham was there immediately with anguish that her darling had been hurt and anger at the one who had caused that hurt. NO! She would not accept that Muzzie had attacked first. Muzzie never attacked anyone. Muzzie had such a sweet nature. He must have been seriously provoked.

From settling the wrong on Jason’s mother, Miss Mitcham had gone on to run Jason down at length. Somehow he was to blame in this episode too. Jason’s mother had arrived home fuming. She would never have anything to do with ’that woman’ again.

Days passed with her still angry but then her mood changed and Jason noticed that she was almost light-hearted and perhaps a little smug. It was then that he realised that Muzzie had again taken to howling during Miss Mitcham’s nap and also late at night. It seemed too much of a coincidence. It would hardly do to ask but he was quite certain that his mother had bought a new set of batteries.

The zapper was in good hands.