I decided to fold pet stores into the mix, and I started making calls, telling my story until I had it down pat. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would want information about the sale of a pedigreed Pomeranian in the spring of ‘53, so I was forced to tell the truth. Geez, I hate that. “The dog was killed some years ago and for reasons too complicated to go into, I’m looking for the breeder. This would have been the spring of 1953. Do you know if someone was breeding Pomeranians in the area back then?”

The responses varied from curt to conversational, long stories of much-loved dogs and how they perished, tales of cats crossing state lines to reconnect with owners after long-distance moves. There were more succinct replies:

“No clue.”

“Can’t help.”

“Sorry, the boss is gone for the day and I’ve only worked here three weeks.”

“You might try Dr. Water’s Pet Hospital out on Donovan Road.”

“I already talked to him, but thanks.”

“What makes you think it was someone around here. Pomeranians are bred and sold all over the country. The dog could have come from another state.”

“I’m aware of that. I was thinking along the lines of an impulse buy. You know, you pass a pet store, you glance in the window, and there’s the cutest little pup you’ve ever seen.”

I chatted with veterinarians and vet’s assistants, pet-store owners, clerks, and dog groomers. I felt as though my tongue were starting to swell. I was on call number twenty-one when the receptionist at a twenty-four-hour emergency facility dropped the first helpful sugges tion I’d heard: “If I were you, I’d try Animal Control. They might keep records going back that far, especially if you’re talking about a puppy mill and there was ever a complaint.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

As it turned out, Animal Control kept no such files. The man who answered the phone was apologetic, and I thought for a moment that would be the end of it, but he said, “What’s this about?”

I went through my truncated account at the end of which there was a moment of quiet. “You know who I think you’re looking for? There was a woman who operated a boarding facility about six miles out Highway 166, right where it intersects Robinson Road. I believe she got into breeding Pomeranians in the early fifties, though it didn’t come to much. Rin Tin Tin was the popular dog in that day.”

“Is she still in business?”