What do you mean

Elia’s face closed off at once. He nodded toward the garden. “Is the dog supposed to dig a hole?”

My head twisted around. “What?” Fleefoot was indeed digging a hole, half of her small body disappearing in the ground already.

I rushed outside. “No! Fleefoot, don’t.”

She peered up then continued as if nothing had happened. I snatched her up, grimacing when I saw how dirty she was, and now I was too.

I moved back into the house. Dirt rained down on the floor and me. Fleefoot’s fur was beyond saving, that much was clear. “It’s bath time.”

To my surprise, Fleefoot didn’t fight me when I put her in the tub. She just stood there and let it happen. After the bath and towel-drying her, I grabbed the trimming scissors I’d bought and settled on the floor of the entrance hall with Fleefoot in my lap. It was the room that seemed the easiest to clean. There weren’t any rugs. At first, when I brought the scissors near her body, she squirmed, but eventually when she realized I was trying to help her,