The following morning T. Bear arrived at the front door ready for work. It had rained all night long, and the pavement outside the hotel was littered with leaves and rubbish. And that was not all.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ said T. Bear, stepping outside.
A large, shaggy old sheepdog was lying by the gutter. Wrapped up in a quilt of dirty newspapers, he looked asleep. T. Bear nudged him gently and a sprinkling of fleas burst from his damp, smelly fur.
The sheepdog grumbled a few unrecognisable words.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said T. Bear. ‘I don’t think you can lie here.’
‘Why not?’ growled the sheepdog.
‘It’s a busy road,’ said T. Bear.
‘Well, I ain’t got nowhere else to go cos of this stupid carnival,’ replied the sheepdog and promptly rolled over.
‘What’s the carnival got to do with it?’ asked T. Bear.
‘They cleared us all off the streets,’ said the sheepdog. ‘They don’t want us dirtying the place. So here I am.’
‘Who doesn’t want you on the streets?’ asked T. Bear.
‘Them Glitz folk,’ grumbled the sheepdog.
‘Hmph,’ said T. Bear gruffly.
He plodded back inside the hotel to find Anna. ‘We have a problem,’ he said, scratching his ear.
Anna was barely awake after just a few hours’ sleep. She sipped a cup of tea, hopeful that it might rouse her.
‘Have the slug family left trails across the carpet again?’ she asked.
‘Not that I know of, miss,’ he replied.
‘Have the tarantulas spun another web across the corridor?’
‘Not since yesterday,’ said T. Bear.
‘Oh,’ said Anna. ‘Then what is it?’
‘We’ve an old sheepdog lying in our gutter,’ said T. Bear. ‘What should I do?’
‘Is he in the way?’ asked Anna.
‘Very much so,’ said T. Bear.
They walked to the front windows and Anna peered out over the road. ‘Doesn’t he have a home to go to?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said T. Bear.
‘Surely everyone has a home?’
T. Bear had seen a lot of life. He knew how hard it could be at times. ‘I don’t think so, miss,’ he said.
‘You’d better invite him in then,’ said Anna. ‘We can’t have him lying out there.’
‘But …’ said T. Bear, pausing. ‘He … well … he smells of wet dog.’
‘It can’t be that bad, surely?’
‘Maybe you should wait and see for yourself.’
•
It was true the sheepdog did smell of wet dog, thought Anna. But he had been asleep out in the rain.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ said Anna kindly. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’
‘Not any more,’ growled the dog.
‘Then would you like to come inside for some breakfast?’
All dogs are the same. They love food whether they have a home or not.
‘Breakfast?’ said the sheepdog, his ears lifting up.
‘That’s right,’ said Anna. ‘We have the best chef in town.’
The sheepdog sat upright, revealing his dense, shaggy fur. ‘But I don’t have money,’ he said.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Anna. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Wilbur,’ he replied with a smile.
‘I’m Anna,’ she said. ‘In you come. Let’s get you a cup of tea.’