Sailor leads a pack of dogs he has whipped into a lather. Most are not as fast as he is, and drop away after one sweeping circuit out of the lake, onto the beach then back into the water. By then he is left with only another big dog—a loose-limbed Ridgeback. They fool around a little, chest-bump, then go down to the lake for a drink. Sizing up the possibility of friendship, finding a match in size and weight, energy level, good smell. The two of them slam against each other as they run in sync, taking the turns wide, angled low. From the side, they look like a single dog in motion, and then they are out of the water, up on the beach, then back in again. Cate has noticed that these sorts of temporary attachments, once formed, are exclusive. For their short duration, they are powerful. If a third dog tries to edge in, he gets barked away.

Watching Sailor run is a furious pleasure. He’s an Olympian in his prime. Cate is a forty-two-year-old woman with crappy knees from too much running on concrete through her twenties and thirties. She will never know what it feels like to be young and light on four legs. Tuning in to Sailor is the closest she will get. He watches her peripherally. Then, as he passes, spraying Cate lightly with the water flying off his fur, he looks back at her and grins. The dog beach is about him, but it is also about the two of them together. It is where she is learning about dogs. She’s a beginner. Graham never comes along with them; he is plageophobic, also anxious about melanoma.

A significant number of the surprised have shown up. The beach resembles its summer version—bustling with dogs and humans. People are dressed in variations on a new climate-change style—autumn resort casual. A lot of parkas with shorts. T-shirts and wool watch caps. November is the new August.

Sailor and his friend are now standing side by side, stock-still, biting hard on opposite ends of a short branch. Their serious jaws are clamped tight in a silent, stationary battle of wills. And then the stick loses all value and they are boxing in the shallow water. She doesn’t sense the presence of another human until a hand wraps around her arm just above the elbow, thumb pressing hard into her tricep, a gesture so familiar, so stupidly arousing.