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She’d been a petite, overweight forty three year old who’d been picked up almost by accident when her twin teenaged daughters had been snatched and she’d been with them. Frankly, Sam was amazed she’d displayed such canine behaviour voluntarily. Her photo, taken with a zoom lens during surveillance by the snatch team, showed an overweight woman with a round pudgy face, framed by straight, drab, shoulder length brown hair and wearing a voluminous calf-length patterned skirt and a brown cardigan. Sam stood, pulling the leash with him and raising 702’s forelegs off the ground until her torso was almost vertical held there by her collar. And that was fine by him. Sam pulled the leash upwards, forcing 702 to shuffle towards him on her stubby legs, the black shiney nose of her pointed snout pointing towards the overhead light. Then, leaving 702 where she stood, he turned his attention back to 534. “I’d better get on with feeding the rest.”
“Right you are,” said Sam and turned to walk the way Andy had come, towards pen 13.