The boy and the younger girl were staring at Boyd, expressions of fascination/repulsion distorting their features. Bible Girl had her eyes shut, clenched fists pressed to the lids. Every now and then her chest gave an involuntary heave.

Boyd was with them on the far side of the hedge, lunging forward then backpedaling, snapping at something a yard from the base of the growth. Every few seconds he’d point his nose skyward and let loose with a series of high-pitched barks. His hackles were engaged, giving him the look of an auburn wolf.

“You kids al right?” I gasped, pushing through the gap in the hedge.

Three solemn nods.

Katy and Palmer and one of the McCranie sons raced up behind me.

“Anyone hurt?” Katy panted.

Three head shakes. A tiny sob.

Bible Girl ran to McCranie, wrapped her arms around his waist, and col apsed against him. He began stroking the crooked part between her ponytails.

“It’s OK, Sarah. You’re fine.”

McCranie looked up.

“My daughter’s a little high-strung.”

I shifted my attention to the chow.

And knew immediately what was happening.

“Boyd!”

Boyd whipped around. Seeing Katy and me, he loped forward, nudged my hand, then darted back to the hedge and reengaged.

“Stop!” I shouted, bending to relieve the stitch in my side.

When unconvinced of the wisdom of an order directed at him, Boyd rotates the long hairs that serve as his eyebrows. It’s his way of asking “Are you crazy?”

Boyd turned and did that now.

“Boyd, sit!”

Boyd spun and resumed barking.

Sarah McCranie’s arms tightened around her father. Her playmates watched me with saucer eyes.

I repeated my command.

Boyd twisted his head and did the eyebrow thing, this time with feeling:Are you frigging nuts?

“Boyd!” Keeping my left hand on my thigh, I leveled my right index finger at his snout.

Boyd canted his head, blew air out his nose, and sat.

“What’s wrong with him?” Katy was panting as hard as I was.

“Dork Brain probably thinks he’s discovered the lost colony fromRoanoke .”

Boyd turned back to the hedge, flattened his ears, and drew a long, low growl from deep in his chest.

“What?”

Ignoring my daughter’s question, I picked my way through roots and undergrowth. When I drew close, Boyd shot to his feet and looked at me expectantly.

“Sit.”

Boyd sat.

I squatted beside him.

Boyd rocketed up, tail rigid and trembling.

My heart sank.

Boyd’s find was much larger than I’d expected. His last hit had been a squirrel, dead perhaps two or three days.

I looked at the chow. He returned my gaze, the large amount of white visible in each eye an indication of his agitation.