Hamish

Hamish sat quizzically just beyond the small puddle slowly growing wider.  At no point had Alice told him not to sit there, in the cool bowl of fresh water she had only recently poured for him. At no juncture had anything given hint that this angry outburst would be her reaction.

All morning, Dana and Alice had been tacking the manuscript together on the studio floor, its brown edges unfurled with painstaking delicacy; the ancient secrets within exposed to daylight for the first time in centuries.

As Alice ran to the sink to get paper towels for the spillage, Hamish stood and followed her, but then elected to sit in the middle of the artwork lest he cause any more trouble with his soggy bottom. 

Alice turned, stopped dead and stared at him wild eyed.

He wagged his tail hopefully.