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Some kind of big to-do or hubbub was in progress when Dooley and I arrived at the house. On the way home we’d discussed the matter further and decided that if Charlene turned out to be a sausage-eating cat hater, we needed a plan B, and had landed on Gran’s friend Scarlett as the next best option. Scarlett doesn’t own pets, I know for a fact that she doesn’t hate us, and she’s very nice. And it’s always better to pick a person you know than some unknown on Facebook.

So all in all we were feeling in an uplifted state of mind when we turned a corner and entered Harrington Street. We’d tell Odelia we were leaving tonight, and then first seek out Charlene, stay the night as a trial run, and then if things didn’t work out, move in with Scarlett tomorrow. In other words, a foolproof plan.

Only when we had almost reached the house, we met with an unusual sight: Odelia was walking two dogs: Little John and Little Janine. Our human—or soon-to-be ex-human—looked dead on her feet, and I immediately felt sorry for her. And when we approached, she barely managed to give us a smile in greeting.

“Take us further afield, will you, Odelia?” said Little John. “I don’t like these trees.”

“Yes, take us to the dog park,” Little Janine chimed in. “I’ve heard good things about the dog park. Not that I expect it to be up to our usual standards, but at least it’s something.”

“And better than these utterly useless trees and these tired old lampposts,” her friend added.

“You don’t like our trees?” I asked. “Or our lampposts?”

“No, we don’t,” said Little Janine with a tilt of the head.

“They smell funny,” said Little John, making a face.

“I can tell that the dogs that use this street have absolutely no breeding.”

“No breeding at all. Street mutts, one and all.”

“In other words, common folk. Probably inbred, too.”

The two dogs shared a smirk, then tugged at their respective leashes.

“To the dog park, please!” said Little John. “And be quick about it!”

“Yes, we haven’t got all day!” Little Janine added.

“What do they want?” asked Odelia, not bothering to stifle a yawn.

“They want to go to the dog park,” I said.

“They don’t like our street,” said Dooley.

“Too dirty and too common and populated with inbred mutts.”

“Oh,” said Odelia, then sighed. “Fine. I guess we’re going to the dog park.”

And since we needed to have a chat with her anyway, we decided to tag along.

“Is it true that your human was fired from his job?” asked Dooley, addressing Little Janine. “Only, a friend of ours told us about it, and now we were wondering if he’s going to stay here or go back to England and look for another job?”

“Fired? Puh-lease,” said Little Janine. “People like Big John don’t get fired—they’re the ones doing the firing.”

“So you better watch out, little one,” said Little John. “Or he’ll fire you!”

They had a good laugh about that, even though I didn’t think it was all that funny.

“They can’t fire us,” said Dooley, “cause we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” said Little Janine. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just let them,” said Little John. “We’re better off without them anyway.”

“Yes, but who’s going to make sure we get the right kind of food? And who’s going to tell Odelia where to take us and when? We need them as translators.”

“I’m not your translator,” I said. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Oh, but you are,” said Little Janine. “Of course you are. Didn’t you know? You two work for us. And so does Odelia. In fact your whole family now works for us. Because Big John is Prime Minister, and that means he’s in charge of everything.”

“Just England,” I pointed out. “Over here he’s in charge of nothing at all.”

“And since he was fired, he’s not even in charge of his own country anymore,” Dooley added.

This seemed to cause the twosome a measure of concern. But they quickly rallied.“Like I said, Big John doesn’t get fired,” Little Janine insisted. “He’s the big honcho, and big honchos never get fired. Ever.”

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Odelia with a tired smile.

“Oh, this and that,” I said. She probably didn’t need to know that Big John’s dogs considered her their personal slave. She had enough to deal with as it was.

We’d almost reached the park when we bumped into Kurt Mayfield, who was walking Fifi, and Ted Trapper, who was walking Rufus, his sheepdog. And even though the encounter was a pleasant one for the pet contingent, the humans were a lot less matey.

“Is it true that you are suing us because our daughter makes too much noise, Kurt?” asked Odelia, deciding to tackle this thing feet first. “Cause you should probably know that all babies are a little noisy. It’s a natural thing. And if you sue us, not only does that make you a very petty person, but you’re going to lose.”

“Who told you that I’m suing you?” asked Kurt, already backtracking a little.

“I did,” Fifi piped up happily from the man’s feet, though of course he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“Just something that’s being said around the neighborhood,” said Odelia.

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