Try asking Jonathan Bergman that, and you'll get a 25-minute diatribe about the importance of community, the iniquities of petty crooks and graffiti artists, and the role that dog walkers can play in saving the world. Bergman is an estate agent who founded Dog Watch with Clive French, a Metropolitan Police inspector, earlier this year. Their aim is to sign up local dog owners to report to the police on "issues of community concern"; i.e., to keep an eye out for anti-social behaviour or the evidence of theft and burglary. Bergman is a very organised person. He offers newcomers to his Grass-along-a-Fido initiative a densely written, printed brochure outlining Scheme Objectives, Responsibility Co-Ordination and what you should know about human rights and the Data Protection Act. You know that no fresh graffiti tag, no outdated tax disc and no dubious stranger will escape his attention. Things he would like to see reported back on include "Regular incidents of poor driving, speeding and disobeying traffic signs ... Reporting and collecting information on suspicious persons ... Persons watching cash points. Suspicious addresses, persons coming and going, Brothels, Drugs addresses etc ... Licensed premises, noise, opening hours etc... Persons leaving etc."
You get the impression that Bergman has developed something of a siege mentality. But he laughs off any suggestion that his gang of dog-minding Neighbourhood Watchmen might turn into something more alarming in their search for a white Staffordshire - something like the villagers with flaming torches marching on the Baron's castle inFrankenstein. "There's nothing remotely vigilantish about it," he said. "If you have more people out there, keeping their eyes peeled, certain people may be less inclined to do certain things." His eyes glinted behind his steel spectacles. You get the feeling that Mr Bergman would be happiest somewhere in the southern states of the US, with a pick-up truck, a short-sleeved shirt and a gun-rack.
On Hampstead Heath itself, you encounter the true heart of NW3 dog loving. Around a park bench near Parliament Hill, five local matrons and their attendant mutts are throwing a birthday party for Oly, a 15-year-old ("and therefore 95 years old actually") Tibetan terrier who is deaf and blind. Jo, Suzy, Ann, Jenny and Karen are drinking champagne surrounded by their pampered associates (Snowdrop and Tryffid and Obi-Wan and Monty) who are fed cold cocktail sausages and never bark. The ladies converse in memsahib shrieks and are immensely proud of their pets. "We're pure-breed NW3 dogs," said Jo Konrad, who acted as their de facto spokesman. "Mostly Hampstead Heath dogs are impeccably behaved, because they have more space here than anywhere else in London." So how did they account for the curious incident of the feral Staffordshire?
"Well of course, NW3 is an extremely mixed region socially these days," said Jenny. "Those roadsthere are nice, those beyond are the roads where we live, which are even nicer - and over there" - she swept her hand in a dismissive arc - "it's all council estates." So the killer dog is, basically, a chav pet? "Well ... you see a lot of these shorthaired terriers from the estates, specially trained."
"Drug dealers and so forth like them," put in the lady called Ann. "Do you remember that German Shepherd called Wagner, who'd been abused and was kept by a woman who didn't treat her properly, who insisted on walking him unleashed and unmuzzled. He attacked lots of dogs and one woman and one child."
So there we have it at last. The killer dog represents an irruption of rogue, one might almost say working-class, one might possibly say foreign-johnny (remember Max's owner?) genes into the doggy playground of Hampstead. So what would they do if one of their beloved dogs was attacked by the crazed killer dog?
"I'm quite into Ack-see-on Dee-rect," said Jo (in French). "Well, we all know people who know people who..." she concluded darkly. "So would I," said Suzy, in sudden deadly confederacy.
It remains to be seen who owns the canine culprit. But the suspicions currently racing like Jack Russells across the Heath are clear enough: Hampstead has gradually become lost to the locals as an exclusive territory.
http://news.independent.co.uk/uk/thi...icle364673.ece