Page 16 of Carry Me Home

‘There’s a rabbit called Bramble?’

‘And a cat. The Penhaligons are not creative namers.’

‘Okay, not Bramble. What about Scout?’

‘Four Scouts. Five if you count the guinea pig.’

‘There’s a guinea pig called Scout? You know what, never mind. What’s its personality?’

‘It’s been fourteen hours.’

‘You’re a vet. You can read an animal in fourteen seconds.’

I look at the dog. The dog looks back. A philosopher being asked to explain something obvious.

‘Resigned,’ I say. ‘It has the energy of someone who’s seen too much and made peace with the absurdity of existence.’

‘So what you’re saying is, it’s a lot like you.’

‘I’m not resigned.’

‘You’re incredibly resigned. It’s one of your defining characteristics.’ The warmth of her words spreads through me. ‘What about something ironic? Something cheerful for a dog with existential gravitas?’

‘Like what?’

‘Sunny. Biscuit. Sparkle.’

‘I’m not calling it Sparkle.’

‘You have no sense of whimsy, Tom Darcy.’

‘I have an appropriate sense of whimsy. There’s a difference.’

‘Bark Obama.’

‘Nina.’

‘Chairman Woof.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘What? These are excellent names.’

She’s properly laughing now, bright and unguarded, and my heart, which I keep bound, opens so wide that I will have to close it again later. That’s fine. I’ve had practice.

‘Okay, okay,’ she says. ‘Serious. What about Marmite?’

‘Too divisive.’

‘That’s the point.’

‘The dog doesn’t have strong opinions. The dog has quiet resignation.’

‘Chips, then. Nice and neutral. Everyone likes chips.’

I look at the dog. The dog looks back.

‘Chips,’ I say, trying it out. ‘Chips the anxious terrier.’