The merchant shrieked like a schoolgirl and then, in a polylingual monologue beginning with Russian, announced he was being insulted, robbed blind (French), that turkey buzzards were surrounding his house (Farsi), that the temple was missing its lemons (his Greek wasn’t that good), and, finishing in English, that shame should befall the man with the dogs. And eighty dollars would close the deal.

Less than an hour later, the captain whom he had bribed handed him ducats for a ship leaving at noon the next day, a reflagged German ocean liner, the S.M.S. Sonnenseit. It would take eighteen days to get home, a bit longer than was routine, but since it wasn’t strictly a military transport, the rules about animals were slightly more lax. The passengers weren’t American Expeditionary Force, but associated groups and volunteers; would Leland go?

Leland pled poverty, but the officer had been thinking about it, and if Leland successfully bred either dog back in America, he wanted the pick of the litter. Leland considered it, and then, with a weird ray of hope beginning to glow in his chest, he shook on it.

That night, Leland and his two dogs retired to a straw mat just inside a livery. The pass to the boat was solid—it couldn’t be taken away from him. He worried for several seconds about Stateside customs, and then he felt calm, for no particular reason. The sheer unlikelihood of having gotten as far as he had suggested to him that perhaps life was a series of challenges to overcome rather than be murdered by.

So he celebrated impossible odds: the dogs were on either side of him, curled up tightly, as if ready to be lowered into hatboxes. On one side, Nanette, who was faster and smarter and tougher than anyone had ever seen, a dog who might just make his fortune. She still had sweet puppy breath, brilliant white teeth, and a photogenic halo of hair by her ears. On the other side was, well, yes, another dog. An amiable dog. Boy.

Leland patted him on the head. Boy was sweet. He had an engaging smile. He could run quickly, and what else? He wanted to do right by his owner, even if the details eluded him. He seemed to lie sometimes. Leland considered the smile again. Perhaps the world would love to see a smiling dog.

Boy was smiling now. When Leland frowned, Boy frowned. Leland thought of how Boy had limped when he sensed he was going to be fed ham fat. Leland wasn’t sure what to make of that.