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morning I was of two minds about letting the dog out after I gave her a snack of breakfast. I didn’t want her to go kiting off before at least greeting Barbara, even if she couldn’t really wish her a happy birthday. But I let her out, and she was back within ten minutes, insisted on being let in. It was not a morning that invited casual strolls. The forecast had been for light rain, but up here in the hills it came as snow. More snow, which we certainly didn’t need.
    The dog came back in, and when Barbara came downstairs a few minutes later and I chanted, “Happy birthday, dear Barbara,” the dog seemed to sense celebration. She danced happily, softly barked a greeting and galloped about the library, then into the kitchen ahead of Barbara. And skidded on the linoleum, went sprawling and got to her feet with an absolutely clownish gesture of nonchalance. We laughed at her and she barked again, seeming to enjoy the laughter, even at her own expense. Most dogs act shamefaced or indignant when they are laughed at. Pat resented such laughter. Maybe this dog had a sense of humor, we decided.
    Barbara got her coffee, looked out at the falling snow, gave up on the weather. When she was really awake we got breakfast, and about nine she phoned the veterinarian in Barrington. Yes, Dr. Gulick said, they had had two bassets in for surgery in the past month. One of them only ten days ago, so obviously not the dog at our house; but the other back in February, about the right timing. He gave Barbara the name and phone number of the owner, a woman in Monterey, Massachusetts. That seemed a coincidence. The man who thought Pat might have been his dog had lost his hound on a mountain in Monterey. Barbara tried to reach the basset owner in Monterey, got no answer. So she called Dr. Vince in Canaan, and he said he didn’t remember treating a basset recently, but he would like to see this dog. Were we coming to Canaan this morning? Barbara said yes, we probably would, and he said to bring the dog over to his office, let him look her over.
    We had to do some marketing, so we got ready and went to Canaan in midmorning. Lacking a leash, I took a long leather thong and tied it to the dog’s collar. She thought I was playing some kind of game, and she wanted to play too. She grabbed the thong from me and dashed from kitchen to living room to hall to library. I finally cornered her and persuaded her to stop romping, took her to the garage, put her in the car. And we went to Canaan, to Dr. Vince’s office. There she wanted to resume the chase-me game but quieted down and became interested in all the marvelous dog smells. Dr. Vince came out and she thought he was a nice man, went with him to the back room and let him put her on the examining table. I wondered how she would react, if the stitches in that flank wound had been painful enough to make her suspicious. Not a bit of that. She was curious about what was going on, but that was all. He examined her, said the wound was well healed, removed the remaining two stitches, said it looked like a Dr. Gulick job, and we told him what Dr. Gulick had reported. He went on with the examination, said she seemed to be spayed, for her glands were very small, seemed to be inactive. He guessed her age at about three years. Barbara said she wanted the dog to have a bath, to be sweetened up a little, and Dr. Vince said that was easy; just to leave her there while we did the marketing.
    So we went down to the market and to the other stores, bought the groceries and household supplies—including an assortment of canned dog food. And I stopped at the hardware store and bought a chain leash and a black leather collar. I wanted no more of this nonsense of chewing a leather thong just for the fun of it. Then we went back to the vet’s office. The dog was ready to go, still damp but smelling clean, slightly perfumed. Dr. Vince had even trimmed her nails. She barked happily at us and