Racing for the kitchen door, I have Bear right on my heels and Scruffy pelting forward to lead the way. As I bolt inside, a wave of heat hits me. “Christ, talk about April showers. It’s pelting down out there. I"m heading straight up for a hot bath.”
James stands by the hob, tasting something from a wooden spoon. His eyes widen… “Michael… The dogs…”
I turn, realising what he’s saying, but…
Too late…
Bear shakes, slinging mud and water like hail. Sludge and slime spin in all directions, splattering floor, kitchen units, door and, almost incidentally, me. Scruffy’s shake is brisker. The wire brush that passes for his fur doesn’t hold much water and he sheds the lot in a couple of shakes, then, apparently merely damp, he trots off, leaving a trail of pawprints as evidence of passage. Not
