Noah said after they walked out onto the back deck, descended the steps and stood in the yard. Symon and Paul looked at him for an explanation. Tearing his eyes away from the enticing creek that flowed farther down and the mesmerizing sound of water rushing along as if it had a mission, Noah gave a short laugh. “I wasn’t sure who you were referring to when you called to Mudd and SweetiePie when we left the house. Now I think I know.” He extended his hand toward the golden retriever and white ball of fluff walking down the path in the midst of the flora and foliage beneath the hickories and live oaks laden with Spanish moss. Looking again at Symon and Paul he saw their smiles. Symon explained. “Mudd was rescued from a hurricane disaster,” he said. “I named him Mudd because his coloring looks like the mud, or red clay I should say, that holds things together. He’s been an adhesive for me when I’ve needed it.”
