“What?” said Pudge. “There’s no dog in there. You’ve lost your marbles, Scout.” He sniffed the trunk of a crape myrtle on the sidewalk. Then he peed on it.
“No. It’s true. It’s a big wiry Wolfhound and he says unkind things to me.”
“Hmm,” said Pudge. “What sort of things?”
“Things like I’m funny-looking and that being fluffy is stupid. I’m very fluffy. Fluffy isn’t stupid!” Scout was proud of his black fluffy ears and sleek coat.
Pudge was unimpressed. Being a Boykin, he knew a thing or two about fluffiness and curls himself. Then he said ominously: “I wonder if it could be old Hamish come back to haunt the place.”
“Hamish!” exclaimed Scout. “I remember him. He’s been gone for years. I think he went to dog heaven before his people moved out… Boy was he a pain in the butt. He bit me on my ear twice! Then he put my head in his mouth!”
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