"Your puppy is cute," the old hag says, her grin revealing blackened teeth and gaps. "But not as cute as me!" She blows me a kiss and I try to dodge it, ducking behind my mother, but I can feel it fly around her and land on my cheek like a wet fart. I rub my face and the old crone laughs, not a cackle like you'd expect but a deep rumble that shakes the ground.
"Leave her alone, Mum," my mother says. "You're upsetting her!"
"She needs to grow a sense of humour," my grandmother says. "Now, let me get a cuddle from that puppy. It smells good enough to eat!"
Jacky, my adorable pup, also shys away from the old woman. Jacky is not stupid; she can smell a wrong 'un as well as I can.
I have never really trusted my grandmother. There is something not-quite-right about her.
Kevin tells me I am being oldist and should give the old dear a break.
...
