The cats wound themselves around my feet, popping in from all over the property as if they were transmitting through cat radar that I was home. I went over to the lambs’ homes, and they all clipped on over, right in line: Padre, Momma, Jay Rae, Raptor, and The TMan. I pet their heads and said hello.

Butch and Cassidy bounded out of the house through their dog door, tongues wagging. “Hi, guys,” I said. “Where’s Sundance?”

As if they knew what I was asking, they started barking and running toward the house, then back to me, then running toward the house. I ran behind them, past the wild flowers and the verbena and Jupiter’s-beard, knowing something was wrong. This had nothing to do with a premonition, but you know to follow a dog who is barking and turning around to make sure that you’re following.

And there was Sundance. Groaning, on his side, panting, on my porch. He obviously had been trying to make it down the steps, probably to say hello to me.

“Sundance,” I said, getting on all fours, feeling my eyes fill with tears. “Sundance, honey.”

He panted, then grunted, and his eyes rolled back. “Oh no. Oh no.” This was bad. I picked him up and ran toward my truck, tripping at his weight. Sundance is a big, heavy, furry dog, and I love him, but he’s built like a dog tank.

I had to put him down on the ground to open the passenger door. Butch and Cassidy both licked him, the cats about ten feet behind. They obviously did not do well with emergencies.

I gently put Sundance in the front seat, then ran around and jumped in the driver’s seat. “It’s okay, Sundance,” I said, my voice breaking, petting his golden furry head, his stomach heaving up and down, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s okay.”

I drove down our long driveway to Robbins Drive, then down the winding street through the main part of town, past the blue bay and my yellow bookstore on the left and into the hills, then back out toward the ocean. I turned at Marco’s driveway, the sun headed down when I pulled in front of the clinic. “Hang in there, Sundance, it’s okay.”

There was only one other car there. A teenage girl was leaving the clinic, cradling her cat.

I ran around the truck, trying not to cry, and grabbed Sundance. He was panting, making choking sounds.

The teenage girl, Tari, ran for the door and held it open for me, her cat in one arm, elongated like a cat rubber band, as she struggled to hold him and the door. The cat had a disgusted look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe this undignified thing was happening to him. I ignored it. I had an emergency.

“Thank you,” I said.

Gayle wasn’t there, but I could see Marco in the back of the clinic.

“Marco!” I called out. He saw my face and came running, opening the door to the reception area.