“Oh! Company, how ni—” The greeting came from the man Riley presumed to be Alistair’s husband, Danny. He was tall and a little bulky with pale freckled skin and salt-and-pepper hair. His sentence was cut short when his Birkenstock hit a puddle. “Ahhh!” Danny went airborne and landed on his back with an oof. They raced to his aid, but Burt got there first with his tongue lolling and front paws on Danny’s chest. “Al? Why is there a pony in our kitchen?” he demanded. Burt gave Danny’s face a hearty slurp. “Oh good. You’ve met Burt,” Alistair said.
