On my arrival home last night after a super evening celebrating the South Bank Show at, well, the South Bank, which involved meeting Lord Melvyn (tiny but well-preserved) and quaffing red wine with arts types, none of whom I recognised, Mrs F-C greeted me with the news that our neighbours had been burgled.
There's been a few break-ins in our road but next door is a bit too close for comfort. They took TVs and cameras and some bits of jewellery and thankfully they didn't make a mess. But what they did do, which I find unbelievable, is that they took their dog.
I didn't even know they had a dog, but apparently for the past two weeks they've been in possession of a lovely pedigree puppy. I thought I heard barking over the weekend but I dismissed it as my imagination or the telly, but no, they had a dog. I think taking someone's beloved pet is possibly the cruellest thing a burglar can do.
I don't care if anything electrical goes missing or DVDs or stuff like that. Of course I'd be heartbroken to lose things of sentimental value, things you've collected over the years that would be almost impossible to replace. I could sort of get over someone shitting in my bed and pissing on my record collection (it would be very, very hard though), but I could never come to terms with someone stealing my pet. It's like someone taking your child. What kind of maniac does such a thing?
I wonder if they'll ever get it back. And why did they take it? As a gift? To sell it on? It's monstrous. I'm in shock.
