Gaspode tried to stand up, tripped over his legs, and sat down heavily. After a while a couple of huge tears coursed down his fur.
'Concourse,' he said, 'I never had a chance, you know.' He managed to get back on all four feet. 'I mean, look at the start I had in life. Frone inna river inna sack. An actual sack, Dear little puppy dog opens his eyes, look out in wonder at the world, style offing, he's in this sack.' The tears dripped off his nose. 'For two weeks I thought the brick was my mother.'
'Woof,' said Laddie, with uncomprehending sympathy.
'Just my luck they threw me in the Ankh,' Gaspode went on. 'Any other river, I'd have drowned and gone to doggy heaven. I heard where this big black ghostly dog comes up to you when you die an' says, your time has gome. Cone. Come.'
Gaspode stared at nothing much. 'Can't sink in the Ankh, though,' he said thoughtfully. 'Ver' tough river, the Ankh.'
'Woof.'
'It shouldn't happen to a dog,' said Gaspode. 'Metaphorically.'
'Woof.'
Gaspode peered blearily at Laddie's bright, alert and irrevocably stupid face.
'You don't understand a bloody word I've been saying, do you?' he muttered.
'Woof.' said Laddie, begging.
'Lucky bugger,' sighed Gaspode.
There was a commotion at the other end of the alley. He heard a voice say, 'There he is! Here, Laddie! Here, boy!' The words dripped relief.
'It's the Man,' growled Gaspode. 'You don't have to go.)
'Good boy Laddie! Laddie good boy!' barked Laddie, trotting forward obediently, if a little unsteadily.
'We've been looking for you everywhere!' muttered one of the trainers, raising a stick.
'Don't hit it!' said the other trainer. 'You'll ruin everything.' He peered into the alley, and met Gaspode's stare coming the other way.
'That's the fleabag that's been hanging around,' he said. 'It gives me the creeps.'
'Heave something at it,' suggested the other man.
The trainer reached down and picked up a stone. When he stood up again the alley was empty. Drunk or sober, Gaspode had perfect reflexes in certain circumstances.
'See?' the trainer said, glaring at the shadows. 'It's like it's some kind of mind reader.'
'It's just a mutt,' said his companion. 'Don't worry about it. Come on, get the leash on this one and let's get him back before Mr Dibbler finds out.'
Laddie followed them obediently back to Century of the Fruitbat, and allowed himself to be chained up to his kennel. Possibly he didn't like the idea, but it was hard to be sure in the network of duties, obligations and vague emotional shadows that made up what, for want of a better word, had to be called his mind.
He pulled experimentally on the chain once or twice, and then lay down, awaiting developments.
After a while a small hoarse voice on the other side of the fence said, 'I could send you a bone with a file in it, only you'd eat it.'
Laddie perked up.
'Good boy Laddie! Good boy Gaspode!'
'Ssh! Ssh! At least they ort to let you speak to a lawyer,' said Gaspode. 'Chaining someone up's against human rights.'
'Woof.'
'Anyway, I paid 'em back. I followed the 'orrible one back to his house an' piddled all down his front door.'