The sound of gravel grinding against tires leaked in through the window, and Mrs. Gorse peered out into the dark.

Two sets of headlights switched off.

A car door clunked open, and the spray of gravel that followed announced a dog on the premises. The dog skittered around excitedly as more doors opened.

Mrs. Gorse tottered to the kitchen to open a tin of soup.

Tic-tic went the stove burner, trying to light; crunch went the rosebushes in the yard as someone started to uproot them.

Mrs. Gorse emptied the tin into the pan and went to let out her dogs. Rosebush murder was unforgivable.

She opened the basement door, and her dogs trotted out. Really, they did look like dogs, if you didn’t try to count their legs too closely. She let them out the back door and went back to her soup.

The soup boiled and the trespassers’ dog howled and the cars kicked up waves of gravel as they peeled out of the drive.

Her dogs got to sit on the armchairs for the rest of the night and read the magazines for a job well done.