Dr. Kriss had invited me for a briefing at Ocean General, the local hospital where Rubicon was conducting the trial. I took a cool shower and was heading for the Escape when a dog caught my eye. It came limping up the block, hind legs rigid, a pale tongue drooping out one side of its mouth. I looked around, but there was no one on the street, no obvious owner. The dog paused in front of me, crusty eyes twitching. The sun flogged the two of us. I didn’t want to be late to meet Dr. Kriss, but I couldn’t just leave the dog like that. I gathered her into my arms and headed up the path to the backyard. The dog was light and pliant, bones jutting out. I set her down beneath the Spanish moss and she watched me trot back to the bungalow for a bowl of water.

She lapped it eagerly. She wasn’t wearing a collar, and so, while I generally don’t like calling animal rescue—the first step toward the crematorium—it wasn’t my place to keep a dog here. I found the number in a phone book in the kitchen.

A woman answered dully, “Retreat Wildlife Services.”

I said I’d found a dog. She asked me what kind, and I gave a description, a mutt with short hair, blondish, pretty sick-looking.

“Can I ask if you’re a visitor?”

“I just got here from New York.”

“That’s what I thought.” She exhaled. “You found a stray.”

“Stray?”

“It’s a problem here. Get out into town and you’ll see. They’re all over the place.”

I looked at the dog through the patio door. Now she was dozing by the water bowl, green flies flicking past her ears.

It was then I felt a bite, and looked down to see black dots prancing on my arms. I yelped and dropped the receiver, sweeping off the fleas. They scattered and leapt back onto my legs.

I heard the woman: “Ma’am?”

I picked up the receiver and started pinching the fleas individually, lacerating them between my fingernails until they popped with greasy blood.

“What should I do?” I said.

“We can send somebody, but we have orders to shoot strays on sight. And anyway, they’ll be a couple hours.”

“That won’t work for me.”

“Then I’d try scaring it off. Grab a stick.”

I broke one off the sweetgum tree and made my way toward the dog, thrashing it through the grass quite menacingly, I thought. But she just lifted her head and regarded me steadily. I’d have to actually strike her, but all I could muster was a prod to her ribs. The dog didn’t budge, though she did look annoyed. I could annoy her. I considered taking away the water bowl, but instead refilled it and left her in peace in the shade.

4.