A Dog's Breakfast (excerpt)

There was a crunch beneath his feet. At first he probably thought it was dead leaves, but it was spring and there were no dead leaves on the ground. He lifted his feet, and there was a dead snail squashed on the sole of his shoe.

"Yeurch," he muttered, scraping his shoe against a tree trunk. "Stupid snails."

A moment later, he nearly tripped on the small person, who had reappeared on the path in front of him, standing squarely on the ground with its hands on its hips.

"It's not the snail's fault that you refuse to look where you're going," it said. It was scowling now.

"If it doesn't want to get stepped on, it shouldn't live on the ground," said Glen, as if he thought that should settle it. He made as if to step over the person, but when he tried to lift his leg, he found he couldn't move...