A few days into Nat’s strict grooming regime, Woody almost squeaked with cleanliness and smelled of something Apple called “Hallo Vera.” Nat was surprised to find that, minus the caked cow dung, Woody’s coat had turned out to be pure white, although uneven patches of pink skin still showed through. He agreed with Apple: It did look like someone had hacked at Woody’s coat with a knife and fork, but Nat couldn’t for the life of him think why anyone would do such a thing. Weirdly, it seemed that whoever had given Woody his hacked-off hairdo had allowed the fur to grow freely on the top of his head and neck in a kind of halfhearted Mohawk. And Nat was glad to see that when Woody’s coat was dry, it shone like spun silver.

“What a beeyoodiful example of canine coiffure!” Nat grinned, proud of his efforts. He stepped back to admire Woody, who yawned, making the supersonic jet noise again.

“Sorry if you’re bored,” he apologized. He supposed Woody couldn’t care less whether he smelled. Nat checked that no one was around, then looked deliberately into Woody’s amber eyes.

“Are you bored?” he whispered.

Woody gazed back unblinkingly.

“Come on, Woody,” said Nat, feeling slightly foolish. “Are you receiving me?”

Woody stared back — his eyes were still the usual mild amber, not the flashing golden colors Nat was hoping for. Woody yawned again and scratched his belly, punctuating every scratch with a satisfied grunting noise. Nat grinned. When Woody scratched the side of his face, he looked so dumb that the idea of him possessing supernatural powers was suddenly very funny. Nat got the giggles. Whenever he tried to stop, he started again until his sides hurt and he felt weak. He plopped down on the grass next to Woody, who had stopped mid-scratch, big ears cocked, looking goofy and confused.

“Sorry,” Nat apologized. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear! It’s just that …”

Nat glanced again at Woody, who was looking at him now as if he had gone completely bonkers. “It’s just that” — he lowered his voice — “I thought you’d called to me with your mind, and that maybe you made me see what was going to happen to you if we didn’t take you away. I guess I must have imagined it after all.”

Woody placed a large paw on Nat’s shoulder; maybe he was reminding him he hadn’t finished grooming him just yet. Nat picked up the brush, thinking hard. He was still convinced that Mr. Tate had lied about Woody and his reasons for getting rid of him.