Finn and Jake banner tattoo on calf

"Go on, then," Pim said. "Don't just sit there being smug about it."

Mustard stood, stretched his front legs until they reached the far side of the ditch, then his back legs until his rump was level with the cart's axle. He hummed the way he did when he was pleased with himself. Pim climbed onto the dog's broad back and gripped the wooden handle, and the wheel came up out of the mud with a sucking sound like a boot leaving a bog.

Down in the valley the church bell began to ring noon, and a wool-cart driver at the bottom of the hill stopped to stare. He took off his cap. Pim waved, which was a mistake, because the lemons slid off the back and rolled all the way down into the river, and Mustard went after them with his ears flapping and his legs going everywhere at once.

It took them until teatime to collect eleven lemons. Pim sat on the verge with his hands in his lap and wondered aloud whether a dog could be a homie, if homie was a word they used in Wennick. Mustard dropped a soggy lemon on his boot. Pim laughed until he had to lie down in the grass, and when he sat up the dog had already pushed the cart back onto the road, waiting for him, as if the hill had never been a problem at all.