Bonnie was the first to disappear. She's my neighbor, Mr Henderson's dog. An old collie.

Mr Henderson can be kind of grumpy, but I felt sorry for him when I saw him the other day.

He was standing in front of a village notice board, shivering in the February cold, a frown on his face. The missing poster was clutched tight in his

gloved hands and he struggled to pin it in place as I approached him.

Hey Mr Henderson! Even though I didn't raise my voice,

Mr Henderson jumped as if I'd shouted.

He wore a big black coat and scarf. The breath puffed from his mouth in little white clouds.

His hands were shaking as he maneuvered the poster, trying to line up the pin.

He had a blown up photo of Bonnie in the middle and the words

Have you seen this dog centered across the top in red caps? Has Barney run off again?

Mr Henderson frowned down at me.

There's no chuffing again about it.

His Yorkshire accent came out thick and gruff. She's never bloody well ran off before in her life. Not my Bonnie. I knew this wasn't quite true.

Bonnie once got off the lead and chased our dog, Duke, halfway around the

village. But right then, it didn't seem like a good idea to contradict Mr Henderson.

His face was red with the cold and the frown above his bloodshot eyes had deepened into a scowl. He finally finished pinning the poster in place and stepped back.

His breath puffed out of his mouth as he stared at it.

Something funny going on round here.

In what of the words, at the corkboard notice without looking at me.

I laid her out this morning, same as I do every day.

She always comes back.

My encounter with Mr Henderson happened three days ago. No one has seen Bonnie since.

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