The first option was rejected out of hand. Peremptorily. As I do not have a DIY bone in my body or the desire, or the tools, or the wherewithal, it would not be me who would fix it. But Janine wanted it fixed immediately that night. She contended that this was security purposes as if I could buy a door from Builders Warehouse at 19:30 on a week night & then install it without any tools. I knew that she had always thought that I was good, but I was not that good. Certainly not in that department.

Furthermore I contended that security was not such a major consideration as we had electric fences, vicious Alsatians that would lick the burglars to death, alarms linked to ADT & Roboguard beams. Failing that there was the backup being Janine with her revolver lying concealed under the bed.

In spite of my incisive arguments, I lost 4-0.

But I had a plan, a cunning plan, one that only Mr Bean could conceive! What better than employ my own tame carpenter with his own dilapidated workshop in Market Street, Jeppe? Instead of a pine cheapie from Builders Warehouse, he could build me an anti-terrified dog door with a half inch of plate on the outside capable of stopping even the most determined canine in its tracks.

I used my cellphone and tracked him down in his favourite pub in Mayfair. I posed my requirements to him.

“Not a problem!” he slurred as he sipped his neat brandy, “Don’t worrrrrry, hic, I will be there tomorrow night after work! “

He fumbled with the phone, and then it went dead. An auspicious start.

The next day, I left work early to ensure that I could explain to Mr W what my requirements were. I arrived home promptly at 17:00. A perplexed Janine was there to meet me.

“Have you been fired?” she enquired anxiously

“No, remember that we don’t have a back door!” I facetiously replied, “Need to protect our mansion against intruders”

For some inexplicable reason, Janine stormed off in a rage.

Also inexplicably too, my supper was burnt to a cinder in the microwave.

By 21:00 having watched the 3 repeats of the same program on DStv and now clearly annoyed, I went to bed. Again we slept without a back door with the threat of my bed being moved to the dog box outside with Tammy. At least somebody would have been glad of my company.

On the 24th, the Company closed early at 12:00. I was past being annoyed as Mr W had not yet had the courtesy or decency or both to contact me so I made another plan: Drive to his workshop, catch him unaware and do so before the pubs beckoned. Then confront him. By now it had been days since he had promised to measure up for the door. I certainly did not need to psyche myself up for the confrontation as I was stewing already. I did not need to make it any more unpleasant than it was going to be already.

Again the plan was derailed: The workshop was deserted.

Next was the phone treatment. So I phoned.

Without a greeting or a salutation, I shouted, “Where the f.. have you been? What about my missing back door?” I hissed and spat like a snake disturbed from its sleep. This was the most vicious adder that he had ever encountered.

“I will come now and take the measurements. But it is simple to make and I have plenty of sheet steel lying around. Not a problem. See you shortly” as he put down before I could reply.

What option did I have now? I was seething! What did Mr W take me for? I answered it myself, “Yes, I was, by using his services!”

It was the 24^th December and I still did not have a door. The prospect of sleeping out of doors, in spite of the warm weather, sharing a blanket with Tammy in the dog box, was not appealing.

Ten minutes later, Mr W walked in. As if nothing was wrong, he measured up and again reassured me that it was an easy job and with 40 years of experience behind him, everything would be fine. From behind gritted clenched teeth, I nodded in assent. He then hopped into his customised delivery vehicle – a 20 year old Mercedes – and sped off. Probably to the nearest pub.

Just in case burglars were aware that the McCleland household did not possess a back door, but instead had some disconnected planks performing a poor impersonation of a door, I elected without too much pressure from the powers-that-be that I would hammer some planks onto the existing planks as a barrier protection. Aesthetically it looked like a pile of firewood probably because it was a pile of firewood.  But so be it! It would have to suffice.

I have a valid excuse for this state of affairs. Like Julius Malema I failed Woodwork in Standard 6 by getting an F minus, the only subject that I ever failed at school in spite of it being an open book examination where cheating was encouraged. Even my mother, who loved me dearly, considered me a dunce at woodwork but now my wife expected a work of art. That is why I employed Mr W.

Again the days dragged past without a word from Mr W. I drove past his workshop again.

It was boarded up this time and not merely closed. Nothing was going on.

Time for a confrontation again with the Cellphone treatment & not the face-to-face treatment.

“WWWWW, Dean here, WHAT THE F*** HAPPENED?”

“Dean isssssssssssssss al righttttt.” He half-audibly slurred clearly totally intoxicated.

Bang as something fell, probably his false teeth.

“Almossssssssssssss fini……..,” as the phone peremptorily cut out.

Intelligent conversation was not on the menu today!

Within two days it was New Year’s Day and the door had to be replaced by then. Tammy and I were playing a very special game that only the two of us could play. Threesomes were not allowed. It was really quite simple and it goes like this: I-Break-It & then You-Fix-It. No erudition was required but Tammy seemed to eagerly anticipate it much to my chagrin as first I nailed some of the planks haphazardly back together again and then ten minutes she would break it apart. With her boundless energy, she could play this game however. In the meantime the size of the planks grew steadily smaller as they were continually broken and the number of planks grew exponentially as they were broken in every round of this game being played.

For her this was bonding time – Father and Dog Bonding – which I had neglected to perform in her puppyhood but which she now made up for.

At 10am on the 31st, New Year’s Eve, the long-awaited call is received.

“See you at 6. I will fit it tonight”

In relief I tell Janine the good news hoping to be let inside again to sleep. Even the couch, which I would have to use in the interim until I was redeemed, was better than the dog box.

The cynic is her snapped back, “We’ll see,” in a menacing biting tone.

Unexpectedly she appeared to be peeved and underwhelmed. I would have expected better with the prospect of the door being whole again. Did she know something that I did not? Clearly she did but I was not about to ask her.

18:00 came and went.

19:00 came and went.

20:00 came and guess what what happened?

Nothing.

Mr W never came.

21:00 came and went.

21:30 came

And then Mr W phoned.

“Sorry, I have been busy today”

“BUT I will DEFINITELY be there at 15:00 tomorrow but I have to out of there by 17:00 as I have another appointment”

“Probably with the pub!” I mused between clenched teeth.

“Are you sure?” I query incredulously

“Tomorrow is New Year’s Day?” I remind him just in case he had lost a few days somewhere in the pub. One could never be too sure with Mr W.

“I know. I know, not a problem”

It was now or never or maybe the couch, or heaven forbid, the dog box forever; in perpetuity; until the end of time possibly.

“HOW COULD YOU AGREE TO 15:00? WE ARE HAVING LUNCH WITH THE XXXX’s TOMORROW”, Janine’s voice quivered in anger, her eyes bulged, as only her’s could, and I swear that steam rose from her ears, what I won’t stake my life on that.

I got the distinct impression that she might be a tad annoyed with me but I was not about to ask her whether my supposition was correct just in case it was correct. I was unsure whether I would survive without a vital body part such as my head.

“Not a problem”, I defended my decision rationally and calmly, “Lunch is at 12:00, finish eating by 13:30, leave by 15:00. It works for us too” I lied not expecting Mr W to pitch as agreed knowing his past record.

At the XXXXs, lunch was late, so we waited.

12:30 came and went.

13:00 came and went.

13:30 came and I got into the beers before it was too late.

They claim that when one is in an inebriated state, one does not feel pain. I now planned to test that scientifically. Anecdotal evidence would not suffice.

14:00 came and went.

With our hosts thoroughly sozzled by now, food was not on their mind. Their patio was scorching hot without shade and not being a drinker, the booze had gone straight to my head. I floated along without a care in the world except for the saga of the missing back door.

Two criteria had to be met: being proper guests and meeting Mr W in one hour at home. The solution: tell the hosts that the food would spoil unless it is eaten immediately.

By a host of such stratagems, we are out of their house by 15:00.

At home we wait for Mr W.

15:30 came and went

16:00 came and still no Mr W.

16:30 came and Janine was incandescent with rage

17:00 came and went. I collected the fire extinguishers just in case they were required

17:00 came and I was fuming. I checked that the dog box had all my sleeping requirements: pillows, blankets, some Savannas, a torch and a book to read

18:00 came and Mr W has still not arrived.

By now, Tammy had tasted the book. Clearly she had enjoyed it as it lay in shreds around the dog-box. Maybe that was a bad plan but Tammy was ecstatic. Instead of the threadbare blanket long past its prime, she had by comfy duvet as well, without the fleas that annoyed her. This was heaven as she tenderly licked my ears in appreciation.

18:30 comes and I go to the movies with the kids

19:30 comes and the phone rings in the movie house

 

 

Episodes of The Case of the Missing Back Door

 

Part 1:

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 1 of 3: A terrified dog makes a grand entrance

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 1 of 3: A terrified dog makes a grand entrance

 

Part 2:

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 2 of 3: Specialist assistance is acquired

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 2 of 3: Specialist Assistance is Acquired

Part 3:

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 3 of 3: Finally its in – well maybe

The Case of the Missing Back Door – Part 3 of 3: Finally its in – well maybe