"Baker, here," Childermass does, eventually, call them off of Reira, though he doesn't need to leave his beach chair. He just calls, firm of voice, across the sandy terrain to the Growlithes and they all jump back, turning to look with varying degrees of goofy-looking ears flopped in random directions and tongues lolling out their jaws.

Then they're off again, tearing up the sand and yipping and yapping until they reach where he's lounging, upon which they all settle around in a semi-circle to sit. The magician, for his own part, lowers his sunglasses to eye them from just over the rims.

"Hm... Good boy." Well. "Boys."

Potentially girls, too, but in this dream, it just makes sense that they're all Bakers, every last one.