This morning, as he sometimes does, Mike woke up before 5am. In an effort to avoid disturbing me, he decided to go outside and sit on the balcony. At about 6 he came and crawled back into bed.
“Did you hear the dog?” he asked.
At this point I may have said something uncomplimentary about that dog. Profane, even.
I could feel Mike smiling in the darkness.
“Is it that scruffy little sod? That mangy cur?” I asked. “The one that sits in the street next door looking miserable all day long? Is that the pre-dawn howler?”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “That one. Want to hear something interesting?”
“You saw a tuk tuk run over him this morning?” I asked, hopeful.
“The gate to the guesthouse was open,” Mike said. “He could have gone out into the street and played and been a happy little dog. But he didn’t. He was sitting, howling, in front of a wide open gate.”