It was inevitable that something bad was going to happen eventually. Luckily it wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been, although I’m sure my neighbour would beg to differ. Terriors are renowned for running away, and Teddy in particular has a lust for great escapes. Dotty is the annoying little sister that follows him everywhere. When Teddy wants out, Dotty’s there beside him. Which is precisely why, when my grandfather came to tell me that he’d lost the dogs whilst trying to take them for a walk, I thought I wouldn’t be seeing them for a while. I threw myself out the door, still in my slipper socks, and headed down our road in the direction they usually go: towards the local fields. Sprinting towards those fields to try to stop them crossing the road, I whistled and shouted for all I was worth. Those dogs were making my throat burn now, as well as my feet. Damn dogs.

Just then a woman ran out onto the narrow road behind me. “You looking for a small dog?” Her voice trembled; it was a little high. I span around quickly to face her. She lived on the same private country road as me, but I didn’t recognise her. Typical.

“Two, actually. Is one with you?”

“Your. Dog. Broke into my chicken pen. My chickens! My chickens are all dead!”

My heart sank. Who’s wouldn’t? I ran my hand through my hair. Please could it be someone else’s dog in there. I’d rather find mine down a rabbit hole.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry. All of them? How many chickens do you – did you – have?”

The woman almost choked the reply. “Four.” I moaned. This was even worse. Pet chickens. “I’m coming, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!” I had nothing else to say.

“Hurry up, I’ve tied it to the gate. I don’t know if they’re all dead; they’re bleeding and there’s feathers…so many bloody feathers.” She was practically sobbing.

It. I cringed at the word.