‘Think about it. Get on with your life. Nine days till the wedding?’

‘I…yes.’

‘Then you’ve enough on your plate without worrying about stray dogs. Not that you and Philip would ever want a dog. You’re not dog people.’

‘What…what do you mean?’

‘Dogs are mess,’ he said. ‘Not your style. You guys might qualify for a goldfish. See you later, love. Happy wedding if I don’t see you before.’

He turned away. She could no longer see Kleppy.

She could feel him.

His eyes…

Help. Help, help, help.

She was a goldfish person? She’d never even had a goldfish.

A paw on her knee…

He reached the door before she broke.

‘Fred?’

The vet turned. Kleppy was still slumped.

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t bear this,’ she said. ‘Can you…can you take him in, check him out for damage and then give him back to me?’

‘Give him back?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want him?’

‘He’s my wedding present to me.’ She knew she sounded defiant but she didn’t care. ‘I’ve decided. How hard can one dog be? I can do this. Kleppy is mine.’

Fred did his best to dissuade her. ‘A dog is for life, Abigail. Small dogs like Kleppy live for sixteen years or longer. That’s ten years at least of keeping this dog.’

‘Yes.’ But ten years? That was a fact to give her pause.

But the paw…

‘He’s a mutt,’ Fred said. ‘Mostly Cairn but a bit of something else.’

‘That’s okay.’ Her voice was better, she decided. Firmer. If she was adopting a stray, what use was a pedigree?

‘What will Philip say?’

‘Philip will say I’m crazy, but it’ll be fine,’ she said stoutly, though in truth she did have qualms. ‘Is he okay?’

Fred was checking him, even as he tried to dissuade her. ‘He seems shocked, and he’s much thinner than when Isaac brought him in for his last vaccinations. My guess is that he’s barely eaten since the old man died. Isaac found him six years back, as a pup, dumped out in the bush. There were a few problems, but in the end they were pretty much inseparable.’