So my Grandfather (lovingly referred to as Pa) had moved out to a small rural community in his retirement to get away from "all the bloody yuppies" of his hometown which had been seeing a lot of development which changed the crowd. Most importantly because "the pub has gone to shit" and a town isn't worth shit without a decent pub for the locals.
A few years later he was past the suspicious new bloke to the town phase and well known (and mostly loved if not respected) by the locals. He was a regular fitting at the pub down the road so much so as when I'd visit and we'd take a trip to the local watering hole (the pub) I'd walk in with him up to the bar and the bar server would put a shot of Bundaberg Rum and a Pot of Gold (XXXX Gold Beer) on the bench for him, which he'd drink immediately and make the order for his first proper drink. It was explained to me the first two are just to wet the tongue and wash the dust down. My point is he was well known in the community by this point.
Pa hadn't had a pet dog for some time after the last one passed away of old age (suspiciously he moved soon after - maybe the pub going to shit was only part of the reason) but he eventually was coaxed into adopting a new one to keep him company as it was getting harder for us all to visit being so far out. His new dog was a rescue dog who was extremely timid, my guess is she was abused growing up as she'd frequently hide under the table if anyone raised their voice or someone moved a plastic bag. It only took a few months though for her new environment and Pa's way to bring her out of her shell a bit more. She'd now play with you in the backyard when you'd visit and be a bit more confident around strangers but she always had that quiet way about her. She got to the point where she'd get to come to the walk to the pub with Pa and sit their patiently while he caught up with the local gossip, watch the cricket, and talk shit.
A couple years go by and Pa's health started declining and he couldn't go on walks as much and would be visiting the pub less often, so she'd get a walk whenever I or other family visited but she seemed pretty content regardless. She was a spoilt dog and it probably seemed like heaven to her going by her former life.
Anyway, some new fellah moves in across the road and I start to hear from Pa that he's riled up some of the locals and is some jacked up wanker who works at the physio or some such in town. Seemed odd to me at first as Pa generally was a liked all / liked by all kind of guy unless you got on his wrong side somehow. I put it in the back of my mind and wrote it off as perhaps an age thing. Maybe half a year later I hear his dog had suddenly died. I go up to visit and hear the full story. Pa was checking his mail and he lets the dog out for a sniff around the front yard, she's trained at this point and knows when to come when called etc. This "savage wanker" from across the road was walking by when she must of picked up on the fact Pa isn't a fan and she has a bark at him, this guy reacts by kicking the dog as hard as he can in the ribs while telling it to "shut the fuck up". Long story short the dog gets taken to the vets by Pa and dies the next day due to internal bleeding. He was fuming mad.
Well, Pa is at the pub a bit more regularly from then on recounting the story. Most knew his dog from when he'd walk it down to the pub and she was friendly to all the drunks and strangers there so by all accounts the picture was pretty clear of who was in the wrong. A few other stories pop up about other things this bloke had done around town to piss the locals off. It wasn't long until near the whole town knew the story of this "savage wanker" and was treated as such. Must have caught the ear of who owned the physio place as I think he lost his job as he moved out of town not too long after that.
Pa's summary of the matter these days when it comes up: "That bloody feral, if I had a younger man's blood in my veins I'd have beaten him 'till his shit turned blue!"
Good ol' Pa.