Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, allow me to introduce (drumroll…):

Mr. Mash: The Dog Who Saved the World!

I love him more than anything. I know that sounds harsh on Dad and Clem, but I think they’ll understand, especially after what happened over that summer.

We don’t know exactly how old he is, how he became a stray, or even what sort of dog he might be. He’s got shaggy fur—gray, brown, and white—and ears that flop over at the ends. He’s got a cute, inquisitive face like a schnauzer; big soft eyes; and a strong, very waggy tail like a Labrador.

In other words, he’s a mishmash. When we got him from the St. Woof’s shelter, the reverend said I could name him, and so I said “Mishmash,” which sounded like “Miss Mash,” but because he’s a boy dog, he became Mr. Mash.

Mr. Mash: my very best, very stupid friend. His tongue is far too big for his mouth, so it often just lolls out, making him look even sillier. He’s completely unable to tell if something is food or not, so he just eats it anyway. This, in turn, means he has what the vicar calls “a gas problem.”

You can say that again. “Silent and violent,” Dad says.

“Disgusting,” says Jessica, but she never liked him much anyway.

Without Mr. Mash, the world might have ended.

Really.