Writ large

It was a sound that approached from the distance. It could be heard long before its source could be seen, and boy could it be heard. It was not quite a gallop, but the word was not entirely wrong; all the elements were there, kathumping at the speed deemed necessary for the plot. Usually, the sound ended with another sound taking its place, a less commanding but equally distinct noise:

“Who’s a good boy? Yes you are, yes you are”

And, of course, the unmistakable accompanying scritch of a voluminous joyous canine belly rub.

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