Man and a dog. I used to have a dog like that, he said.
Oh? I said. The dog, tucked under my arm, wagged against my ribs.
Yes, and then, one day, it started biting people. Just like that, he said.
Oh? I said, but I didn’t believe him.
Yes, and suddenly it wasn’t smooth-haired any longer, it was bristly, he said.
Bristly? I said.
Yes, it’s hair grew long overnight. We had to get it rehomed. It was the biting, you see. Out of the blue, he said, poking my dog’s nose with his blunt, grimy finger.
Oh? I said.
But it was just like yours before then. Exactly the same, he said. Prodding.
I don’t think so, I said.
