“Suddenly, the giant, three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Underworld appears next to her—sans two of its heads—and sits down. As a child, we had a neighbor with a Great Dane, and I know they’re about three feet tall at the shoulder. Allow another twelve inches for their T-Rex-sized heads, and you’ve got a dog that this woman could throw a saddle on and ride like a pony.”

“As I hurried along I was thinking how great it was to earn real money I don't have to ask my parents for. At last! I've worked out that I could probably handle as many as four dogs at a time. If I take them out just on school days I could earn 200 euros a week for five hours' work and have the weekends free to shop and spend it. It's going to be brilliant.I should have asked Stephanie what kind of dog it was. I eyeballed a Great Dane warily, my face about level with its. Bloody hell it was huge. Size of a pony. Wasn't sure whether I was expected to walk it or stick a saddle on its back and ride the thing.”

“She stumbled back a step. “Carlos was the…?”“Panther, aye.”“He’s a cat?” And her boss was a dog. She shook her head. Was her next door neighbor a goldfish?”

“What has that little tramp got that we haven’t?” asked the brunette archly. “We’ve got a whole lot more.” The red head ran her hands suggestively down her womanly curves. “And there are three of us,”

“Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’I sat up a fraction. ‘What?’‘Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’‘I don’t know, the lab report’s not back yet,’ I replied drily.‘I’m serious, is that dog shit?’‘How should I know?’Katz leaned far enough forward to give it a good look and a cautious sniff. ‘It is dog shit,’ he announced with an odd tone of satisfaction.‘Well, keep quiet about it or everybody’ll want some.’‘Go and clean it off, will ya? It’s making me nauseous.’And here the bickering started, in intense little whispers.‘You go and clean it off.’‘It’s your shoes.’‘Well, I kind of like it. Besides, it kills the smell of this guy next to me.’‘Well, it’s making me nauseous.’‘Well, I don’t give a shit.’‘Well, I think you’re a fuck-head.’‘Oh, you do, do you?’‘Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve been a fuck-head since Austria.’‘Well, you’ve been a fuck-head since birth.’‘Me?’ A wounded look. ‘That’s rich. You were a fuck-head in the womb, Bryson. You’ve got three kinds of chromosomes: X, Y and fuck-head.”

“Both armies liked to poison their weapons. They usually used the blood of Medusa, or spittle from Cerberus, the three-headed dog of the underworld. I'd even seen them use Britney Spears perfume. We actually preferred that last one. It smelled nice and it wouldn't kill any mortals on staff.”