“It thinks it is,” said Mma Makutsi. “It has adopted him, I think. That’s what’s happened, Mma. Dogs can sometimes do that. They see somebody and think, That’s a good person who will give me a lot to eat, and that’s that—as far as the dog’s concerned.” She rose to her feet. The kettle was beginning to boil and she usually made the tea. As she prepared the teapot and cups, she continued: “We had a case like that in Bobonong, you know. It was a long time ago. There was a very small man—really small, Mma; about half the size of Mr. Polopetsi, although he had a very big nose—and this big dog came into the village and sat outside this small man’s house. It was a very large dog, Mma—I’m not exaggerating when I say that when people first saw it they thought it was a donkey, but then it began to bark and they realised that it was a dog.”

Mma Ramotswe sat back in her seat. She had never visited Bobonong, and felt that her idea of the place, as depicted in Mma Makutsi’s stories, was an unlikely one; dogs as large as donkeys, very small men with outsized noses…it all sounded rather improbable.

“Anyway,” Mma Makutsi went on, “this dog just sat outside the small man’s house, and when the man came out of the house he licked him and almost knocked him over. He really loved that small man, and nothing would keep him away from him. The dog moved in and ate most of the small man’s food. He also took over the bedroom, and made the small man sleep outside on some sacking. I’m not making this up, Mma—it all happened.”

Mma Ramotswe watched as Mma Makutsi poured the tea. She hoped that the story would have a proper ending; often Mma Makutsi’s stories ended in doubt: she would say, “And I don’t know what happened after that, Mma, but it can’t have been good.” Or she might conclude, “Nobody knows what became of these people but I think they are late, or maybe not late yet—who knows?”

“So what happened to the dog?” she asked.

“That small man died,” said Mma Makutsi. “Somebody reversed a tractor over him. They didn’t see him, because he was so small; it was nobody’s fault.”

“And the dog?”

“Oh, that dog was very sad after his owner became late. He sat there and howled and howled, Mma—looking up at the sky and howling. Dogs think that their people will last forever, Mma—they do not understand about becoming late.”

“No, I suppose they do not.” And that made it easier for them—or, perhaps, harder. Mma Ramotswe felt that she would have to think more about that.