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snoring. The room was dark except for a faint silvery band between the curtains. I got up—feeling good, appetite sharp, a bit thirsty—and went to the bedside. Bernie lay on his back, just his face showing, from the chin up. His forehead was all wrinkled, the way it got when he was thinking hard about some big problem. There were dark circles under his eyes; he looked more tired than he had going to bed. I lay my head on the blanket.
    A car came down the street. This one didn’t keep going but stopped with a little squeak. A door slammed shut. Just from that slamming sound, I was pretty sure who it was. I trotted out of the bedroom, through the kitchen, and into the TV room. The window looked out on the street, and yes, there was Leda, striding up the walk. Charlie sat in the car, staring out.
    I ran into the bedroom.
    “Chet, for God’s sake.” Bernie grabbed the blanket, tried to keep me from pulling it away. “Knock it off. I’m sleeping.”
    Ding-dong. The front door.
    Bernie sat up. “Someone’s here?”
    Ding-dong.
    “Chet! What the hell? Get off the bed.”
    I was on the bed? And kind of pawing at Bernie? Oops. I jumped off. Bernie rose, threw on his robe, the one with lots of holes and a missing belt. He hurried out of the room, hair all over the place, breath pretty strong. I followed.
    Bernie opened the front door, blinked in the light. Leda had pale eyes, like the sky in winter. She looked at Bernie, his messyhair, his robe; then at me; and back to Bernie. Bernie just stood there, mouth open.
    “Does it make you feel good to humiliate me like this?” she said.
    “Huh?” said Bernie.
    I didn’t understand, either. I’d always had trouble understanding Leda, even from point-blank range like this, where I could see every movement of her lips, every expression on her face.
    She whipped out a piece of paper, thrust it at him.
    “What’s this?” he said.
    “A letter from the school, obviously.”
    Bernie gazed at the letter, his eyes going back and forth. “The tuition check?” he said. “But I’m sure there was enough money in the account. I even—”
    Leda snatched the letter from him. “Don’t worry—Malcolm covered it.”
    Malcolm was the boyfriend. I’d only seen him once. He wore flip-flops and had long skinny feet and long skinny toes.
    “So now you owe him.”
    “But I don’t see how—”
    I trotted out to the car. Charlie opened the door. I jumped up, gave his face a nice big lick.
    “Chet the Jet! How you doing, boy?”
    Just great, never better. Charlie stroked my back.
    “Hey, what’s this?” He was picking at my coat. “You’ve got a tick.” A tick? I hadn’t been aware of it at all, but now I felt it coming out: a pinch and then a tiny soundless pop, very satisfying. Charlie held up the tick, a horrible bloated thing. “Gross,” he said, and tossed it in the gutter.
    There was a strong current of air in the car, very pleasant. I didn’t realize at first that it was on account of my own tail waggingso hard. Charlie laughed: the best sound made by humans, bar none, and kid laughter is the best of the best. Charlie had a round face and a funny mixture of teeth, some big, some tiny.
    “I just vacuumed that car.” All of a sudden Leda was right behind me.
    “Chet doesn’t shed,” said Charlie.
    “All dogs shed.”
    I backed out of the car. Leda gave me an angry look. Things were happening fast, always did when Leda was around. Shedding is a big problem, I’m aware of that, but humans shed, too: Hairs and all of kinds of stuff are raining down all the time, I assure you.
    Bernie approached, tugging his robe closed. “Hi, Charlie.”
    “Hi, Dad.”
    “He’s going to be late for school,” Leda said.
    “See you on the weekend.”
    “Can we go camping?”
    “Don’t see why not.”
    “Because it’s going to be ninety-five degrees,” Leda said. She got in the car.
    “Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    And they drove away, sunlight glaring off the back of the car,