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poor little Poopypie just started making pee-pee everywhere.” Penny Spender scratched the curly white topknot on her coiffed and perfumed teacup poodle’s head, then put her nose to the dog’s. “Poopypie just doesn’t do that, does he? No, he doesn’t! He’s such a good widdle Poopypie, isn’t he?”
    Maggie Maewood’s assistant had already taken the poodle’s temperature and a urine sample. Its eyes were clear, there was no dehydration, vomiting, or other obvious symptoms other than the fact that the poor little thing had been overbred, a likely product of a puppy mill. As usual, Maggie kept that opinion to herself. “It’s probably nothing,” she told Mrs. Spender after listening to the animal’s heartbeat, which was rapid but normal. “These little guys are naturally nervous. He might have some kind of U.T.I., but there’s no fever.”
    â€œU.T.I.?” Penny’s eyes widened with concern. “What’s that?”
    â€œUrinary tract infection. Annette’s checking now, we’ll know in a minute. Has anything changed around your house?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œChanges in routine can cause nervous reactions like inappropriate urination. Have you introduced a new animal into the house?”
    â€œNo. Poopypie likes to have me all to himself.” Penny let the dog lick her lips. Maggie almost expected her to lick him back.
    â€œHave you had any visitors? Moved any furniture?”
    Penny considered. “Janet Vining came by, but she does every week. Poopypie loves her, don’t you, sweetie pie? We have lunch, you know. Poopypie gets his own plate. He has his doggie food, while we have our people food.” She paused. “Let’s see. I paid the paperboy yesterday, but he didn’t come in. A man from the cable company came by a few days ago. But he was only there a few minutes and didn’t pay any attention to Poopypie. Dr. Maewood, maybe Poopy’s upset because he didn’t pet him?”
    â€œI doubt it.” Maggie turned over the dog’s problem in her mind, her thoughts briefly going to Will’s avian attack. What had upset those birds? And she’d seen several other apparently healthy but anxious animals herself today, too. Recently, she realized, she’d probably seen at least two every day—not an alarming number, certainly, but more than usual. From long experience, she knew that there were flurries of anxiety among animals, sometimes preceding an earthquake, but more often for reasons that never revealed themselves, though Maggie thought it was likely they had to do with natural disturbances undetectable by humans. Hopefully, that would be the case this time. No one needed an out-and-out earthquake.
    â€œDoctor?” Annette Neal, her assistant, stuck her head through the doorway.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThe urine’s clear.”
    â€œThanks. Well, Mrs. Spender, we can run some blood tests if you like, but, uh, Poopypie— How could anyone give a helpless animal such an awful name? —just had his annual checkup a few weeks ago, so I suggest we wait a day or two and see if the problem goes away by itself. I suspect it will.”
    â€œOh, I hope so. Can I get some tranquilizers for him in case he can’t sleep?”
    â€œSure, but please don’t use them constantly. On the off-chance there’s an illness, we don’t want to mask the symptoms. Annette?” The young woman peeked in and Maggie gave her a prescription to fill then turned back to Penny Spender. “Take him home and if you go out without him, you might try turning on the radio—a talk station, or soft music. Nothing noisy. That always helps anxious pets. And check around your house—you may have used a new air freshener or cleaner. Even something like that could cause a problem.” She paused. “You don’t let him drink out of the toilet, do