My Dog Illustrations’ Andrew Maclean’
& Excerpts from the Book

The square was nearly empty that day. Only me and the bread trolley clunking on the cobbles, and an old man shuffling along. I could hear the rattling in his chest as he breathed, whispering to himself.
When I got home she was behind me, one ear up, ink-spots watching.
‘Hey, it’s your own little refugee, Alija,’ my dad said. ‘Bring her in then, and give her some milk. We need a guard dog.’
She was my dog now.
My dad stood and watched as we drove out of the village into the hills. He became smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see him any more. All I could see were the houses and the roofs, and the minaret standing up like a sharpened pencil. All quiet, watching and waiting, like my dad.
We walked together the next day. The old man put me on his shoulders and told me things about his village that made me want to laugh and cry all at once. My dog liked him too
 

 

                   
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