McDuff. The breeze was chill, the horizon a mass of dark clouds, the harbinger of rain. True to his Scottish heritage, Duffy seemed to like the cold; he had a kick in his step as he headed for the park. Silly dog, she thought fondly, remembering how she’d found him out in the garden the day before, happily sitting in the mist. It took a bit of coaxing to get him to come inside. Catherine’s attention was suddenly drawn to a man in a bowler hat as he exited from a butcher’s shop. It made her smile when she realized she was keenly cognizant of men in bowlers. And you’re a silly goose, she told herself. When he got closer, she could tell he was of her father’s generation. He carried a string bag filled with packages wrapped in brown paper. Upon reaching her side, he bent down to pet Duffy, who immediately sniffed the bag. “Ah, what a fine fellow!” the man said as he felt around in his coat pocket. “I always have a treat or two for the neighbor’s dog.
