Sailor has been sitting up between them, his head turning from one of them to the other, as though he’s watching a tennis match. But now he goes under the table. He doesn’t like it when talk gets a certain kind of serious, sharp at the edges. They think his previous home contained a lot of arguments. Also a lot of salads. If any salad is left on the table, he eats all of it, then licks the carton or bowl. They’ve tried to extrapolate his previous life from clues he gives them. From the salads and the arguments, they think his former humans might have been corporation lawyers. Shitty corporation lawyers who left him off in the exercise yard by the shelter, closed the gate, and that was that. What did he think, watching them drive away? Until then, he thought they were his best friends. Cate can’t hold on to this image for too long. All the time people send her videos of rescued dogs and how happy they are now. Like a dog so frightened by his past that he stands facing a yellow wall, his nose an inch away. He just stands there. Then he’s shown in his new happy home playing with another dog. Isn’t this heartwarming? the sender will say. But all Cate can see is the dog staring at the yellow wall.

“Let’s talk in upbeat tones,” she says.

“Okay. Here’s the thing!” Graham says, in the voice of a balloon-making children’s entertainer. “I’m just not all that interested in what’s going on outside. Taking Sailor for walks fills my need for the out-of-doors. AND SAILOR IS SUCH A GREAT DOG! I can see that you still find things to go out for, but I’m not there anymore. I’m someplace way elsewhere.”

“That kind of thinking is agoraphobia.”

“I’ve already been to the agora. It’s always the same stuff on sale. The same people walking around. It’s repetitious. Maybe if the agora was in Morocco. But I don’t want to waste my time being outside just for the sake of appearing normal. I have too much to do in here.” He gestures. “Just to keep up. I’m falling behind.”