Eric, our mutt, hates Halloween. The fireworks have him demented: his face, normally so dull, is now erupting with sad and frightened expressions, the inside of his head white with the deafening Oppenheimer thud.

Yet where we live – slightly outside the village – is an oasis of calm compared to the noise down the road.

Traditionally, according to Fionnuala, the local lads become mired in mischief at Halloween: egging houses, firing rockets at lorries and scaring people who brave the dark for a walk. Like the wren boys of old, a blind eye is turned toward their capers as it only lasts a few days. People roll their eyes; boys will be boys.

But Genghis doesn’t roll his eyes.

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Genghis has an elderly next-door neighbour, Mrs Davison, and regular readers will know I’m friends with this adorable little........

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