So Rose came home from Gordon's market one day with two puppies. We thought they might grow up to become guard dogs. But on first reception they were tiny wet-nosed soppies who wanted nothing more than to climb into our bed and snuggle under the blanket while whimpering.
You can't be angry with your wife for bringing home two lovely puppies(I'd have preferred mud crabs), so they became ours.
They were a sort of rottweiller/fox terrier cross (but don't get me started on canine racism).
The first debate was what to call them. Auntie Freida surprisingly suggested Hitler and Stalin - having heard of these heroes in a history class,
But I countermanded her and decreed that they should be called Jack and Jill.
One sole example of me getting my own way.
So Jack and Jill became part of the family.
Their lives were destined to become memorable.
First, they didn't like boundaries, so they ran all over the place from Gerehu to Morata. They always returned home because they knew where their meals came from.
Second, they always seemed to be in trouble. Jack bit the buai seller; Jill ran away with someone's bilum (We never found it and had to pay compensation).
But together they were the life and soul of the family - running around the garden, chasing birds, licking friends and generally just being dogs.
You know what I mean.
One day Jill got into serious trouble. Rose had taken her to the market in her bilum. She jumped out and ran to a fish stall and pinched a barramundi. Then had the sense-of-mind to jump back into the bilum complete with stolen fish.
The stall-owner mounted a fierce campaign to find the culprit. But Rose remained schtum. So did Jill, and they made a hurried exit and returned home.
Jack sadly died of canine enteritis before we could get him to a vet, But I believe Jill is alive and well and still terrorising the streets of Morata.