Laurie snorts, and I turn to look at her. “I’m sorry. His new what?”

“His daddy,” she says cheerfully, undoing the latch. “Now, you have to be quick to catch him because he’s a sod for running off. Yesterday, it took us three hours to get him back. The naughty little boy kept playing hide and seek. Oh, bugger!” she exclaims as a flash of red streaks past us. “He’s off again.”

I turn my head slowly to look at Laurie. He’s studiously ignoring me, but he’s also bright pink in the face. Probably from repressing laughter.

“Come here,” the lady cries. “Time to go home with daddy.”

The dog gives her an old-fashioned look and darts away. Laurie loses his battle and breaks into peals of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “It isn’t funny. I’m sure he’ll settle.” He snorts and breaks into more laughter.

“I am no longer calling him Don,” I inform the idiot beside me. “He is now called Endof.”

“Ooh, that’s nice,” the lady calls. “Is it a Swiss word?”

Laurie bites his lip and I give the woman a blank look. “I am Danish,” I inform her. “And no. It is merely the conjunction of three words—end of days. I have shortened it to Endof.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” she says briskly. “Now grab the lead, and we’ll get your boy home. Tell him daddy wants him home.”

“I am going to repay you for this,” I say darkly to Laurie, who has tears in his eyes. I snap my fingers. “Come here, Endof,” I say loudly. The dog stops capering about and stares at me. “Now,” I say firmly. “Come.”

I hide my astonishment when he does exactly that. When I turn around, Laurie and the lady are staring at me. “One should have the touch,” I say airily. “They just need to know who their master is.”

“Okay, now I understand the twinks,” Laurie mutters. “It’s all in the tone of voice.”

I ignore the fool and follow the woman back to her office to complete the huge amount of paperwork that would only make sense if I was adopting Prince William. Eventually, we’re done and smiling my thanks to the woman, I make my way back to the car. Laurie falls into step next to Endof and me.

The dog pulls on his lead and makes an alarming choking noise. After we’ve stopped to ascertain that he isn’t dying but is instead apparently stupid, we set off again. Endof paces along shaking his head and looking around for a new opportunity to cause mayhem.

“So, what is next for us?” I enquire of Laurie. “Should I purchase a battering ram, and we can practise destroying my front door? Or maybe we could pour boiling oil over my furniture?”