Yes, she thought, no amount of wishful thinking could obliterate the hard facts of existence. There were those who prospered, and those who did not. There were those for whom life was easy, not a struggle at all, and those to whom daily existence was painful and humiliating. That was the pain of the world, and it was all around us, washing at the shores of whatever refuges we created for ourselves. She thought of Fanwell, a young man who had very little in this life, and of his dog, who had even less. She could turn away and say that they had nothing to do with her, or she could accept that they had somehow touched her skirt. For that was how she viewed it: we all had a skirt, and those who touched our skirt became our concern.

After a few sips of tea, Mma Ramotswe had reached her conclusion. “Mma Makutsi,” she said, “you’re nearer the door. Could you call Fanwell in, please?”

Fanwell came in, wiping his hands. He looked timidly at Mma Ramotswe, expecting further reproach. But that was not what Mma Ramotswe had in mind.

“Fanwell,” she said. “That dog can come to Zebra Drive this evening. It can stay there until we work something out. You needn’t worry.”

Fanwell clapped his hands together, dropping the paper towel as he did so. “Oh, Mma…Oh, Mma, you are the kindest lady in Botswana—in the whole of Africa. That is one hundred per cent true, Mma—I’m not just saying it. You are the best lady there is…” He glanced at Mma Makutsi. “And you too, Mma Makutsi, you are a very good lady too. You are both very kind.”

Mma Ramotswe explained that she would need his help to create a run for the dog. “We’ll need a long wire pegged out so that we can attach his lead—you know the sort of thing. That will mean that the dog can run backwards and forwards when we are not there.”

“I’ll make that myself, Mma,” promised Fanwell. “The dog will be very safe there, at your place. And he will keep burglars away too, Mma. They’ll see the dog and think, I’m not going to steal from that place—not with that dog there.”

“No burglar would dare to steal from Mma Ramotswe anyway, Fanwell,” said Mma Makutsi.

“No, maybe not,” said Fanwell.

“Why?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

Fanwell looked at the floor. “Because…because…” It was to do with traditional build, but he could not say that. He had never witnessed Mma Ramotswe engaged in a physical struggle—not surprisingly, since she abjured violence of any sort—but he had heard that when absolutely pressed, she had been known to sit on people, crushing the resistance out of them remarkably quickly and efficiently. A well-informed burglar might know that, and give the house on Zebra Drive a wide berth for that reason.