A Dilemma

I was planning to write a blog article about a charming and funny scene between a couple I spied from the bus on Tuesday morning, but I am not going to. The moment has passed.

Instead, I feel I should relate an entertaining story about members of my family. Since anonymity is not really an issue, I can use the proper names too.

My parents got married shortly after they returned from England in the mid-1970s. My father is from Drumlish in Co. Longford, my mother was born and raised in Leeds, England, but her family originated in Ballyconnell, Co. Cavan. They were the first to be married in both families, so have proved to be something of a fulcrum for family events down through the years.

Both the Boyles and the Cooneys get on famously. When my parents were building our home, it seems that almost everyone in the family got involved at some point.

One particular story always stands out from that time.

Our house was built close to where my father grew up, and is situated at the end of the lane to my grandparent's house, a five minute walk away. It is situated on the main Drumlish - Balinalee road, but the old road (known locally as the Hill Road because it goes over the hill instead of around) is nearby too.

One day, during work, Uncle Matt (technically my mother's uncle but in our family I only refer to greatuncles and greataunts as Uncle and Aunt, proper uncles and aunts do not get titled) grew restless. Fond of the pub at the best of times, he felt his day's work was done, and he was going on break.

Unfortunately, he was in a predicament. My grandmother, Mary Kate Cooney, a well-known teetotaller, had called in on her way to Drumlish village prior to this and was due to be returning soon. Granny Cooney always had something of a fearsome reputation amongst drinkers, probably because she was that kind of woman. Active and hard-working, she was the type that inspired fear in layabouts without ever having to do anything.

Uncle Matt was in a conundrum. Mary Kate Cooney was due to return soon and she always walked along the main road to Drumlish. The Hill Road also had it's problems. One of our neighbours on that road had a vicious little terrier, and Uncle Matt was terrified of it.

Poor Uncle Matt did not know what to do. Neither option was particularly appealing. Of course, all the others on the site were of no help to him, and found the whole thing hilarious.

Naturally, Matt chose the Hill Road. He figured a vicious dog was preferable to running the risk of meeting my grandmother coming the other way.

To this day, Granny Cooney loves that story. She was scarier than Quinn's dog.