Who: Alana & Nathan. What: Small town, this uh... 'London' place. Where: Baker Street. When: Thursday evening. Warnings: None.
There'd been a bit of a staring contest with the dog that materialised on his doorstep in the morning. Its speckled fur had the accumulated dirt of a stray walking by the road along the footpath, and it looked up at Nathan rather expectantly with its head tilted, tongue hanging out between its teeth, tail wagging idly behind it.
Nathan wasn't sure what to do with it. There was no collar so he doubted there would be a chip. To call the pound would be to condemn the animal to a slow, unloved death as it rotted away in a cage with little hope of being adopted. Even though he wasn't sure he was capable of loving it. Not to mention the impact an animal would have on his routine, on keeping the place clean, and how it might restrict his travel plans in the future.
So he got the hose out and in the end he got wetter than the dog. Then there had been two hours of silence while the dog took up residence in the corner of Nathan's living room while he consulted the residential pet-raising expert, Google.
In the evening he took the animal out for a walk. He seemed preoccupied, keeping his gaze on the floor while the once-stray led him down dim cobblestone streets. There was a persistent nagging feeling that he knew this dog. Like he'd seen it before in a nightmare one too many nights ago to remember exactly how or where or why.
Not that he'd need to be preoccupied to not know where he was going, what with his eyes glued to the floor.