Even before the words were out of my mouth, ears pasted themselves to neck and Dog was under the sofa, all staccato fur and scurrying claws. To this day, I haven’t figured out how he dragged that gnu under there with him, but I can tell you gnus shouldn’t be under sofas. They dislike confining, dark spaces almost as much as they dislike being wrestled to the ground by their throats. Not that Dog cared. He had captured the gnu fair and square, and he was determined to keep it.
“All right. I bow before the prowess of the great hunter,” I admitted as I flopped on the floor, prepared to haul out Dog, the gnu and whatever else was under the furniture, by force if necessary. “The gnu is yours. Now please bring it out from under the couch.”
“Wildebeest?”
“It’s a wildebeest,” he answered. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.”
“Whatever. Just bring it out from under the couch.”
Dog inched his way out of the wilderness den without any sort of ungulate mammal in tow and vigorously shook himself .
