Michael
Ben climbs out from his car. “Hi, Mike.”
“Hi Ben, thanks for coming.”
A small tatty terrier jumps out from the car after him. It trots along behind, watching attentively as Ben opens the trunk, taking out a pick, spades and shovels and other tools.
I eye the dog; unpromising canine material if there ever was. It wags a stub of a tail at me. “Who's this then?”
My brother gives me one of his rare smiles.
You should do that more often….
As our mother is fond of reminding him, he’s a lot better-looking when he smiles.
“Meet Scruffy,” he says. “We met on the beach while I was out for a run. He came home with me.”
“A stray?”
“I suppose.”
“And you’ve called him ‘Scruffy’?”
He casts an eye over the rag-tag. “Got a better name for him?”
The dog appears to have been assembled fr
