Gunther set the phone on the floor and gingerly rose out of the wetness. “Henry,” chastised Gunther, “there shall be no more evening buttermilk for you!”
Despite his bladder’s lack of discipline, Henry the Dog showed no shame. “Fret not, chap,” he said, still eager to please. “I’ve made toast with jelly. Tuck in!”
“Not this morning, my friend,” Gunther said with sudden conviction. “No, I must find that villainous beard of mine before…” He glanced over at Henry.
The dog was sitting there, tail alternatively thumping then splashing against the kitchen floor. “Before afternoon tea?” Henry asked.
Gunther sighed. He left the kitchen, washed, and returned in fresh clothes. But before he could start cleaning the floor, he was distracted by a faint buzzing in the air. He realized the phone’s receiver was still off the hook and his fair-weather facial hair must still be speaking.
Gunther quickly picked up the receiver and put the device to his right ear.