They watched as the truck drove on to the point where, its brake lights suddenly glowing red, it stopped. They saw a barrel point out of the window, swing about for a moment, and then slowly rise. They saw the puff of smoke first—a tiny cloud of white issue from the barrel, and then they heard the report. It was like the cracking of a whip above the heads of a team of oxen—a sharp, decisive sound.

A short while later the two policemen had climbed out of the truck and made their way into the bush. After a few minutes they emerged, dragging the body of the dog by its front paw.

Precious had gasped. “They have shot that poor dog!”

The cousin sighed. “It was very ill. It would have died.”

She turned away and cried. “It was not biting anybody,” she sobbed.

“It would have,” said the cousin. “That poor dog would have bitten somebody, or even some cattle.”

They heard later that it had already bitten cattle, and the cattle themselves had had to be shot.

“Rabies,” said the cousin. “You see. That is what rabies does.”

Mma Ramotswe put the memory out of her mind. Turning to their present dilemma, she said, “I think Mma Makutsi’s got a point. We can’t have that dog here and you don’t really have room at your uncle’s place for a dog. I think it best to see if the dog will find its way home. Somebody must be that dog’s people. Most dogs have people somewhere.”

Now she offered to help. “Is that place far?” she asked. “The place where you ran over this dog?”

Fanwell explained that it was only a couple of miles away.

“I’ll take you in the van,” said Mma Ramotswe. “After tea, you and I will take the dog and set it free.”

Fanwell looked at the dog, who stared back up at him intently with wide, rheumy eyes. For a brief moment its tail began to move in a gesture of friendliness, but caution—the attribute that had enabled it to survive thus far—took over, and it rolled over in submission, as if waiting for a blow or kick.

“I think this dog likes me,” Charlie said. “Even though Fanwell ran over him.”

“He thinks you’re going to give him something to eat,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Dogs think with their stomachs.”

“Like some young men,” said Mma Makutsi. “Not that I’m thinking of any young men in particular.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at her watch. “I will have another very quick cup of tea and then we shall go. There’s somebody coming in at…”

Mma Makutsi looked at her diary. “At twelve o’clock,” she said. “There is a lady from Canada.”

“We shall go very soon,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Then I shall be back in time for the client.”

“What does this lady want?” asked Charlie.