The dogs snuffle and scratch, getting under my feet and making a nuisance of themselves. Until, with a sharp yap, Archie announces, Squirrel! And the troop of five bolt off, howling and yelping to the base of a pine.
From the safety of thirty feet or so, the squirrel chitters down, spitting insults, then leaps to the next tree and away. The dogs give chase, their howls fading into the distance as they high tail it after their quarry.
Klempner eyes the performance. “Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much, yes… That branch there would be a good one. It’s covered with berries.”
He stretches out with the secateurs, then freezes.
“Something wrong?”
He doesn’t reply, but his eyes are scanning the area behind me.
“Larry? What is it?” His expression is savage, and something bites in my gut.
