The dog had a way of sticking her head between his legs. She’d then sit, lifting her head up as she did so. The first time, it almost toppled him over, but as the day went on, he learnt to brace for it.
Three hours in, and Joshua had changed how he stood at the easel. His legs were now askew, and she looked up at him as he worked. It was as if she was critiquing his efforts.
He stood there in a moment of lost thought, and immediately he felt her head wriggling.
She withdrew herself and bolted for the front door. This was new for him. He’d probably have reached for the packet of cigarettes, or better, a beer and a cigarette, but now he was reaching for her lead.
With the cool air clearing his thoughts, he could see how the painting should be finished.
At the cafe on the corner, he noticed the music was playing louder than usual. Deb had a tear in her eyes. He didn’t even have time to ask when she told him David Bowie had died.
And then she saw his dog. “What’s its name?”
“She doesn’t have one. Yet.”
“She has to be called Ziggy Stardust.”