"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray.
People like an older Bogdolf."
"I'll be damned," Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are you drinking? Mead?"
"Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale I see would be fine."
"Glenlivet, right there." Oliver pointed to the table that was inside the barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house." Bogdolf Eric poured himself a stiff one.
"I have a surprise in here," he said, waving a manila envelope. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jennifer will, but you are Lord of your Keep."
"Bogdolf, what are you talking about?"
"Eric, please."
"Eric." Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver.
"Last one left." A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up at
Oliver. "She has her shots and everything."
"Cute," Oliver said. "What kind is she?"