Here you go
Grandpa did not only train Grey (that was the dog's name, "grey" as the English for the colour) to hunt. He also taught him a few tricks, of the kind that are often regarded as "useless". Yet, sometimes these little things turn out to be very helpful.
Now every apartment house in the former USSR had a collection of "babkis". That's not the slang for "money", that's a degradotary name for very old and very mean women; these retired witches normally sat on benches fixed up near the entry to the house, gossip, and generally suck the blood of anyone who seemed better off that them (which meant the rest of the house). This menace still haunts most of the Russian apartment complexes. I've been told that only the upper premuim mega expensive living complexes for the New Russians are completly free of it - if so, that alone more than justifies the price.
Grandpa always tried his best to live at peace with the babkis of his house, but that was a mission impossible. At one beautiful day they went after him. What's worse, they actually went after the dog. "There ain't no food enought fer men, and they keep dogs!" was their catch phrase. It must be said that Grey's fits of aggression were always targeted at one of the family; outside he was the sweetest dog, as long as noone tried to go for his food.
But the babkis filed a complaint with the local police. In their description the little Spaniel turned into a terrifying creature, a direct descendant of the Baskerwille Hound, who always roamed the neighbourhood with blood in its eyes and death on its fangs, only looking for someone to tear into bits of torn flesh and broken bones. It was only due to the grace of the Party, that planted the town with an assortment of climbable trees, that nobody was hurt yet, but that, they concluded, was but a matter of time, unless the hellhound is executed, preferably along with its master.
An inspector was set to investigate. He came to Grandpa, and he meant business.
"Do you know" - he said as he came in, with the same intonation as if he was accusing Grandpa of multiple homicide - "that people are complaining about your dog?"
"Which dog?" - said Grandpa, motioning to Grey - "That dog?"
Grey appeared. In his mouth he carried a slipper. He laid the slipper carefully at the inspector's feet, went to the closet, and fetched another. Then he stepped aside and looked into the inspector's eyes, tail wagging, waiting for approval.
The inspector gasped.
"Would you care to have a cup of tea" - asked Grandpa politely.
"These old witches! How dare they take up our time with their totally unjustified complaints about such good people and such lovely dogs!" were the inspector's words of farewell half an hour later.