Everyone knew Dennis. It was his dogs: waist height, deep chests, slobbering jowls, docked tails and testicles. Old Max and Wally. Dennis loved those dogs. He would stride through the neighbourhood, calling cheerily to all, while Max and Wally ranged far and wide in search of cats and scraps.
Dennis was the neighbourhood character. Full of good humour, he had an indefatigable capacity for quipping his way through life, always at our expense. No one out-quipped Dennis.
Dennis may well have been a character, but beyond all that there was a problem. You see, we do small dogs; those that would be defined as hand luggage. And there's a lot of them. Small, mainly white and fluffy, and most with attitude that far outweighs their stature.
What's more we've established something of a local territory. Small dog owners cluster on the school oval most afternoons, with plastic bags a-pocket, just to pass the time in congenial company while waiting for our dogs to run themselves ragged. I've seen parents of small children do much the same, albeit without the plastic bag!
On Friday evenings an even stronger claim is made. We retrieve a folding table from a neighbour's front verandah and set it on the oval. One of our group is deputed to bring a 'plate' and wine and, with dogs swirling at our feet, we have a jolly good time as the sun sets over suburbia.
Big dogs go to the park; we go to the school oval. It's always been that way.
But not for Dennis. On Friday night, of all nights, he'd appear along the path with trademark grin and dogs unleashed and bowl right up to our table, helping himself to a generous glass of red and whatever was left on the plate. Meanwhile our lot would go berserk. A barking blur of fluff and fur, while the short-haired pointers stood, aloof and motionless.
Dennis loved to cause a stir. In our more generous moments we'd consider him a loveable larrikin, courtesy no doubt of his Irish Catholic farming family background on the swamp at Bunyip.
He'd left the farm, married Cathy and fathered three fine children. He took hold of our little community in so many ways: from running the river tracks in early morning, coaching kids' basketball, life and soul of the street party, and willing hand