Sue hadn’t suddenly materialized in her kitchen to voice her disgust, it was Zoe, who had been eager to help with the project—until she saw the glistening red lump of raw meat sitting on the kitchen counter.

“It’s for dog biscuits. Gourmet dog biscuits.”

“Mom,” said Zoe, her expression very serious, “I don’t think people understand what dogs really like to eat. They don’t like dog food at all. Not really. They only eat it because they have to. They would really rather have people food. Do you know what Libby’s favorite food is? Apple pie. With ice cream.”

Lucy smiled. “I think you’re probably right. Libby loves people food, but it’s not actually very good for her. Dog food has all the nutrients she needs to grow and stay healthy. That’s why we’re going to put this nutritious lump of liver in the biscuits.” She dropped the liver into the food processor. “It’s full of iron…” she said, pressing the button and producing a brownish red sludge. “And protein,” she continued, but she was talking to an empty room. Zoe had fled the carnage in the kitchen.

Zoe’s disdain for the gourmet dog treats continued the next morning, when Lucy suggested she take some along to Friends of Animals day camp to taste-test on the dogs there. “I don’t think so, Mom,” she said, with a sniff. “They’re my friends and I don’t want to insult them.”

“Libby liked them.”

“No, Mom, she didn’t. She buried them.”

“That means she likes them, right? She’s saving them for later.”

“If she liked them, she’d eat them right up.”

“Maybe she was full.” Even as she spoke, Lucy knew this was wishful thinking. Libby was a Lab and she would eat until she burst, that’s just the way Labs were. She’d eat sticks and rocks, she’d eat dead animals, she’d eat horse apples, she’d eat just about anything except the gourmet dog biscuits. The truth was unavoidable: the dog biscuits were a failure. “I guess I’ll have to find another recipe.”

“Try the Internet, Mom,” said Zoe, jumping out of the car. “I bet they have some good ones.” Then she was gone, running off to join her friends.

Lucy was a bit jealous as she drove on to work. If only there were day camp for grown-ups. She’d love to spend the day singing songs and practicing her backstroke and making something pretty in arts and crafts instead of slaving away over a computer trying to write an interesting story about the finance committee’s last meeting in time for the noon deadline.

“This came for you,” said Phyllis, handing her a business-size envelope.

Lucy took it, noticing there was no stamp and no return address. “Who brought it?” she asked.