Hijack Flight 222
My story is about a Greyhound. He was white. He was owned by a very dear friend of mine who bred racing greyhounds.
My friend lived in a very large farmhouse in a very small village.
She bred what she thought was an amazing dog and sold the puppy to USA.
This happened a very long time ago and during a period when aircraft were being hijacked.
My friend bred many litters and it must have been a bit of a dilemma as to what name to give each puppy. This particular white, male pup she decided to call Hijack.
She duly had his vaccinations done and his health check and then she crated him up and took him off to the airport for his trip to America.
On her way home she stopped in the centre of the sleepy, little village and went into the Post Office cum stores and sent a telegram to the new owners of the dog.
The telegram read:
Hijack Flight 222.
Yes, this was in the days when you sent telegrams to people.
It was also in the days of ‘Mr. Plod The Policeman.’
An hour after my friend got home there was a gentle knock on her front door and there was the village Bobby whom she knew very well.
He asked her something on the lines of, ‘what do you know about hijacking an airplane?’ To which my friend burst out laughing and told the rather confused policeman that she had put her dog called Hijack on Flight 222.
‘Ah’ the policeman said, ‘I thought you wouldn’t be into hijacking planes.’ And with that he got back on his bike and road off down the country lane.
Barbara Burgess ©2015