The clock struck eleven.
“Have another,” said the dog’s man.
“I think I shall,” said his guest, who was Richard from two doors down.
The dog lay where he had for most of the evening, outside the circle of sofa and armchairs, in the space between them and the hall door, below the bookshelf with its whiff of old paper. He lay on his belly and his muzzle rested on his crossed paws. Sometimes his eyes opened briefly and he looked at his master and the guest, blinked, raised his muzzle and yawned, then lowered his head. I do wish the old sod would get rid of him, then I could go into the garden and take a shit, goodness me I need a shit, and then sleep. Maybe I should scratch at the door.
“He looks all right, Bazza,” said Richard.
“I think he is,” said Bazza. He was tall and a little bulky, a powerful build going a bit to seed. His silver hair, a little thin on top, was tied back in a ponytail and he wore a jacket of faded blue denim. He flipped the top off a bottle of Bombardier and set it on the occasional table next to Richard, a smaller man in his thirties whose jeans and tee-shirt clashed with his steepled fingers and neatly crossed legs.
Dog! Description:
You think you know your dog. But what if he’s walked the earth before?
Bazza is an easy-going middle-aged college lecturer with a taste for weed, porn, beer and redheads. When he adopts a rescue dog, he sees nothing odd about the animal. Then a Himalayan monk comes to visit, and senses something strange.
Dog is a powerful story of love and loss, sin, redemption and dog mess. You’ll never see your pet the same way again.
