A dog walks in . . .
I’m in the middle of going over a scene I wrote some weeks ago, when suddenly a dog wandered into it. He was quite insistent too, quietly moving in, claiming his place in the story. I’m not quite sure what he’s going to do, but he’s arrived and he has a very definite personality.
I know a lot of people like dogs in stories — I do too, but I’ll only include them if they have a part to play in the story, and it seems this one does—or thinks he does. We shall see.
I had a pretty clear image of what kind of dog he was—large, grey, scruffy and with a solemn, lugubrious expression, so I did a search and well, you can see what popped out at me. Actually, there’s a better photo here, but I’m not prepared to pay $20 to show it to you, so you can just click on the link and see it,
His name, it appears, is Hamish.