“Nineteen. Can you believe it? So of course the doctor wants to see it right away. We’ll just have to keep Mollie happy for a few more minutes.” I fondle the soft beagle ears. “Poor baby. Have we got an upset tummy?”

“Vomited twice already this morning.”

“Oh, dear! Does she have a temperature?”

“Well, I don’t think so. But she’s a real sweetheart, our Mollie. I just hate to see her suffer.”

I rise and sit on the bench next to Mr. Caruthers. Mollie follows me and lays her muzzle in my lap, God knows why. “Tell me about Mollie, Mr. Caruthers. How old is she?”

“She was two years in August.”

“Still a puppy, almost!”

“She’ll eat anything, you know. That’s why I brought her in. Crazy dog. She’s taken a liking to you, though.”

“Oh, she’s just a friendly little baby, that’s all. Does she bay?”

“Does she!” He laughs. “She’ll just run right off after some rabbit, hollering and hollering. Comes back two hours later covered in mud and ashamed of herself. She’s terrific with the kids, though. Got a three-year-old wandered off a few months ago—you know how they are at that age, you turn your back for a second, we were frantic, I tell you—called the police, neighbors out searching, the worst thoughts going through your head.”

“I can imagine.”

“Worst day of my life. Night came on. Couldn’t sleep. Went right out again as soon as dawn broke and what do you know. Found him in the brush, curled up asleep with Mollie. She just looked up at us and wagged her tail. As if to say, Don’t you worry, I would lay down my life for this child of yours.”

“What a good girl you are, Mollie!” I scratch her forehead and she sighs, full of meaning. “A good big sister. You just go on taking care of those kids, do you hear? Give them a nice soft pillow to rest their heads on when life gets a little too much.”

Mr. Caruthers leans forward on his knees and reaches out to pat Mollie on the back. He clears his throat. “This cat of yours? She’ll be all right?”

“I hope so. Mrs. Lindquist’s had that cat so long, it’s like another child to her.”

“Gosh. I’m sorry.”

“You know how it is. People let you down all the time, they come and go, but she and that cat . . .” I stare into Mollie’s eyes, which are brown and soft with understanding. “I guess Mrs. Lindquist was practically a kid herself, when she got that cat. Now it’s just about all that’s left of the girl she was.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mr. Caruthers says softly. “Do you know what’s wrong?”