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“That's very admirable, that you care so much for the environment.” Hugh commented. “Maybe if you plant flowers in other courtyards people will see you and the idea will catch on.”

The girl erupted with laugher and once again the courtyard inhabitants joined in.

“I see that my jokes fly over your head a bit.” She said after regaining herself. “Don't worry, you'll adjust. Soon you'll see that I'm the best comedian around and be belly laughing in no time.”

In an odd way, Hugh found the entire situation humorous. The black-haired girl set a pair of humorous traps and Hugh had been snagged in each one. This fact brought a smile to his face and a laugh of his own.

The girl's eyes had grown as wide as Hugh's had when he had heard about her journey to slaughter the mole people.

“So now you laugh?” She questioned. “When I didn’t even make a joke? You sure have an odd sense of humor”

“Your joke about being ecofriendly only just hit me now and I couldn't contain myself.” Hugh said and concentrated on withholding a smile as he laid his own trap.

“Really! You just got the joke now?!?”

It was Hugh's time to spring the trap, and he did so with a laugh of his own, albeit with too much gusto. Those on the benches looked up but did not join. They shot perturbed glances Hugh's way and then dove back into their screens.

“I see you have a touch of gullibility yourself.” Hugh said, ignoring the lack of laughs. “I was laughing at being the butt of all your jokes, you know, taking them in stride.”

The girl carefully put the stick down, as if she were handling an artifact.

“Well, a discovery has been made.” She said. “A true breakthrough! We have discovered that you have a sense of humor! Let us tell the wisest scholars in the most prestigious universities!”

“I'll be sure to tell them as soon as possible.” Hugh joked. “But what these scholars really want to know is why you are digging holes with a stick and not a spade”

“To tell you the truth,” she said looking down at the stick as if it her artifact had become a pitiful creature, “I don't have a spade. If I had one, I would use it.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow.

“You could have said that right from the start.” Hugh said. “My grandmother loved gardening and I have boxes of her old stuff. There should be a spade around somewhere.”

A look of excitement sparked in the girl's face, then died out. Hugh could read on the girl's face that she was reluctant to ask him to go and search for the spade.

“Wait here for a bit, and I'll go and check.” Hugh offered. “If I find it then you can use it.”

“Thank you,” the girl said, and Hugh could hear the embarrassment tinted on her words. “I'll be waiting here and continuing my journey to the center of the Earth.”

Hugh returned to his entrance way and slid his key over the electronic keypad. The door beeped and chirped for a few seconds and the lock disengaged. Hugh pulled the door open thinking that the unlocking process was a bit too long and that lock makers made it so because they were so proud of the sound effects and wanted to show it off to others.

Entering the building, Hugh bound up a small flight of stairs and took a right down a corridor that led to the elevator.

As soon as he made the corner, two tiny dogs pounced on his legs with tails wagging and wide eyes that begged for cookies and belly rubs. The first dog was a gracile Yorke with oily and weighed down fur that said it was long overdue for a bath. The second was a stout and plump Westie that would have looked right at home in a child's toy store on a rack for premium stuffed animals. They weren't big enough to topple Hugh, but their nails threatened to a hole or two into his trousers.

Hugh gave each dog a generous pet atop the head and maneuvered himself towards the elevator and out of clawing range. The dogs dropped to their front paws and straightened into a sitting position, their heads craned upward, and eyes trained on Hugh the entire time. Hugh could hear the swishing and pattering of their tails on the tiled floor behind them, their bright-eyed stares and fractional head tilts striving to tell Hugh that they were not only good dogs, but the best of the best.

Hugh backpedaled from the loving looks that only a dog could give, reached for the elevator button, but forced his hand to fall to his side.

Hugh was in a hurry, knowing that the black-haired girl was waiting for him to return, but he couldn't bear to leave the dogs alone and unattended.

Keeping watch on the dogs, Hugh stood on the first step of stairs and looked up through the spiraling staircase in search of a soul seeking their lost pets. From Hugh's vantage point he was able to spot two pairs of legs on the second floor. He readied himself to call out to them but the content of their conversation, which had been drifting like snowflakes of white noise but then crashed down on him like an avalanche, glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth and bridled his lips against the formation of words.

“Oh my! That's terrible news.” The first set of legs said in a hushed tone.

“I can't believe it myself, they found him dead, all alone in his apartment.” The second pair of legs added, fruitlessly trying to stay quiet in a stairway that echoed the faintest of noises.

“I feel for his family – a wife now a widow and son fatherless.” The first pair of legs expressed her condolences.

“May he rest in heaven.” The second pair said

The final word echoed down the staircase and slammed into Hugh's gut like a battering ram, sending butterflies fluttering and pools of acid swirling in his stomach. Hugh stumbled down the stairs from the rising nausea and doubled over. He slapped one hand over his mouth to prevent that which was bubbling deep inside from spilling out.

“Hugh, sweetie. Come and sit down with me.” A familiar and sad voice said from the down the corridor.

Despite his mounting queasiness, Hugh whipped himself around to face the voice that he knew was his mother's.

The corridor was empty save the two dogs. Hugh propped himself up against the wall and tightened his seal over his mouth. The fluttering butterflies had melted into the acidic stew that was now churning in his stomach, and Hugh knew that something was trying to escape.

“You haven't done anything wrong Hugh. We need… To have talk.” Hugh's mother said again. This time Hugh was able to locate the source of his mother's speech. It was coming from the Westie.

“Sometimes in life… We need to be strong, not physically… But emotionally.” Although the Westie was speaking with the voice of Hugh's mother, the dog wasn't addressing Hugh. It was solely fixed on its canine compatriot—the Yorkie. “Can you do that for me sweetie? Be emotionally strong?”

The Yorkie lowered itself to ground into a laying position, resting its disheveled tiny head onto its paws, and looked up at the Westie.