Sophie's Last Stand. Nancy Bartholomew

jumped to his feet, his stumpy tail wagging hard enough to knock him sideways, and ran to greet Darlene like a long lost relative.

      “Get off me, you mangy hound!” Darlene cried.

      “Darlene, don’t talk to Durrell like that! He has issues,” I said. Darlene hates dogs, always has, ever since we were kids and Mr. Frangini’s cocker spaniel used to chase her home from school. I was going to enjoy this.

      I looked down at Durrell, who hid behind my legs, grinning out at Darlene. “Good boy!” I murmured. “Terrorize the nice lady.”