Sunlight danced across the water the day the dog dug up the skull. But even a golden beach couldn’t cheer Butter up, as he sat on top of the sand dunes below the Very Small Castle and stared at the curling waves, endlessly washing in and out.
If only something would happen. Something INTERESTING. Something so big it would fix the boredom of holidays.
And fill the emptiness since Mum’s death, said a whisper in his mind.
But all he could see were marshmallow clouds, the crinkling froth on the sand, three kids playing cricket at the water’s edge, and a dog digging enthusiastically in the dirt a few yards away from him.
It wasn’t much of a dog. It was dirty, thin and scruffy, with a crooked tail and only three legs. But it was still burrowing eagerly, using its two front legs to dig as it lay with its remaining hind leg curled under it.
The huge pile of earth and grass had tumbled down there from the headland after a storm just two months ago. A landslide was rare excitement at Howlers Beach.
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