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you give me just a minute?”
    â€œSure, Aunt Rose,” I said guiltily. The poor woman had been standing in front of the house waiting for me for the last fifteen minutes.
    â€œAbout the Dachshund puppy . . .”
    Of course, the puppy.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” I told Bob. Rose and I went inside. “Let me get you a crate. I have a little one in the basement that I used for housebreaking Eve last fall. It should be just the right size.”
    On the way, I gave my aunt a crash course in puppy management. We covered feeding, teething, crate training, and basic discipline, with Aunt Rose nodding thoughtfully as each new topic was outlined. I’d seen my aunt in action before. Now that she knew the fundamentals, I had no doubt that she’d turn the little Dachshund into an upstanding member of society in no time.
    â€œCall me if you have any questions,” I said as I walked Rose out to her car. Over by the curb, Pam was putting a saddle on Willow’s back while Bob led the kids in a game to guess the pony’s name. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
    â€œYes, we will,” Rose said firmly. “You know, I’ve never had a dog before. I had no idea they could be so endearing.”
    I smiled, enjoying the notion of my very proper aunt being wrapped around the tiny paw of a Dachshund puppy. “Have you given him a name yet?”
    â€œNot a real one. Because, of course, he isn’t ours. Peter and I have just been calling him Dox for short.”
    I stowed the crate in the back of her car. “Good luck.”
    Aunt Rose cast a meaningful glance toward the melee at the curb. “You, too.”
    As she drove away, I lingered by the side of the yard. Pam had finished tacking up the pony. Davey, wearing a huge grin, was holding Willow’s reins and waiting to see what would happen next. After rummaging in the back of her truck, Pam produced a white plastic safety helmet which she fitted to Davey’s head. A strap fastened under his chin.
    Bob walked over to join me. “He’s just going to take a little ride around the block. Then we’ll load Willow back up and take her back to the barn.”
    Pam looked over at Bob, waiting for permission. “Ready?”
    â€œNo!” I cried suddenly. “Wait!”
    I ran back to the house and emerged a minute later with the camera, freshly loaded with film. “Okay, now.”
    Pam led Davey around the pony’s left side and boosted him up into the saddle. He landed lightly and clutched almost immediately for Willow’s bushy mane. Pam gave him a minute to get comfortable, then showed him how to fit his feet into the stirrups. Though she put the single rein in Davey’s hand, a lead rope snapped to the side of the bit gave her control. I shooed Bob back over to stand beside them and lined up my shot.
    â€œSmile!” I said.
    The command was wholly unnecessary. All three looked enormously pleased with themselves. The adults stood on either side of the pony, and when Bob reached a hand around his son’s back, Pam did the same. They linked arms, cradling Davey between them. Willow lifted her head and pricked her ears, and I took the picture.
    â€œBe back in a bit.” Pam’s braid swung between her shoulder blades as she turned the pony in a small circle away from the trailer.
    Bob flashed me a “thumbs up,” then steadied Davey as Willow began to walk. The other kids skipped alongside, forming a neighborhood parade. I thought about going with them, but Pam and Bob, who were now chatting across Willow’s back, seemed to have the situation well in hand.
    Besides, I could hear Eve barking in the house. The Poodles didn’t take kindly to being locked away when there was something interesting going on. Exciting as the new pony was, I had other priorities.
    â€œDavey, wave!” I called.
    He did and I snapped another picture. Then I went in the house to