Dr. Vinograd’s office was a burrow of scholarship. Every time Alfonzo visited, the number of books and files had grown and the empty space had shrunk proportionally. Mounds of paper sat fading beneath the window. Tree-sized stacks of books swayed as the door closed. A careless paw or hoof could upset the whole ecosystem.

The forest was made of books sent for free by academic presses and acolytes of the professor. Vinograd’s own collection squeezed together in the nooks and shelves. Alfonzo could not understand how Dr. Vinograd found time to read about Procyonidae abstraction, fruit imagery in precolonial art, the theory of non-silence, and post-Kokoian linguistics, in addition to keeping up on his research interests. This was a professor always busy applying for—and winning—grants and awards. He had just been named the Hackler Foundation chair of the department and was going to teach abroad for a semester at the Wolf Liberty Hum Center.

Once upon a time Alfonzo had been allowed to borrow some of these books. This special privilege was reserved for students in Dr. Vinograd’s good graces. Alfonzo had some time ago stumbled out of such graces.

He saw A History of the Black Rat Market. Alfonzo had pored over that text two summers back. On another shelf Nose Logic and Cryptic Noise leaned against The Crisis of Globalized Monkey Business. Of course, he had Hooves of Iron, Hooves of Empire, and Honeyed Tongues: Bees in Literature and Life on display. When borrowing, Alfonzo had always taken special care never to read the professor’s books around coffee or food. Just the sight of these familiar works grounded him. Maybe someday they could exchange books as colleagues, maybe even as friends.

“Let me just…” Dr. Vinograd ducked under his desk.

There was a burst of energetic rustling. Alfonzo wondered if he should be helping somehow. A disembodied tail wagged like a periscope while his hidden body continued to sniff out something. The professor growled, then popped back into his seat holding a paper bag.

“Dried grubs?”

Alfonzo declined.

“They’re organic and wild-collected? Maybe these guys died of old age. But that doesn’t make sense, does it. Isn’t a grub a baby? Anyway—you should try one.”

Alfonzo explained he’d already had breakfast.

“My wife insists I eat healthier. She’s trying to turn me insectivorous.”

The dog began crunching away.

The professor’s black fur was gray around the temples and jowls; a fine thread of spittle hung from one curl. Alfonzo marveled at this creature who had so much power over him and generations of students and yet so often appeared loose and sloppy. He was lovable, but Alfonzo had always sensed he was capable of biting his throat. Vinograd excelled at staring without blinking, and Alfonzo shrank into himself as the professor studied him.