My new neighbour is on the doorstep, towering and muscular, jaw thrust forward, bushy grey whiskers like a Victorian. “Your dog kept me awake last night,” he says. “Incessant howling. Given me a headache.”
“Impossible,” I say. “I don’t have a dog.”
He leans forward, slow like a crane. His face is close to mine. I see madness in his eyes. His breath smells of tobacco. “Don’t give me that. Think I’m stupid?”
I force a nervous laugh. “I’ve never had a dog. Stick insects and a hamster when I was a kid. Never a dog.”
He’s walking away. He tells me he’ll get the police onto me.
Continue reading “The Dog by Paul Goodwin”
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