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it. Even the friendly advances of well-meaning bystanders should not be acknowledged by a well-trained service animal. The dog must become an extension of his person—his eyes, his legs. At times, his physical representative in the world. People with disabilities might as well be invisible, I was learning. A large dog, though? When one of those pushes against you, you make way for the human who follows.
    What was new for me was the extent of it—the total immersion. Some of that is because of my so-called gift. When you can hear what another creature is thinking—sense its needs, its fears and desires—then you care less about wanting to inflict your will on that creature. I mean, it’s just too much fun knowing why Fluffy is scratching at that one chair. Of course, that’s partly me. I’ve never been what you might call leash-trained, so I’ve never felt a particularly strong drive to inflict that discipline on others. But with service dogs, total obedience is a must. And the dogs who are best at it are the ones who want to lose themselves in their person. No wonder Wallis scoffed at the whole idea. Then again, it paid. More to the point, it kept Doc Sharpe from fussing too much about me, and that meant I had a little more freedom.
    Not that all collars are visible, I reminded myself as I turned onto one Beauville’s nicer streets. Laurel Kroft lived here, her renovated Victorian a direct reflection of what my tumbledown old house could be, if I ever had the money to fix it up. I’d only been inside the first floor of her home, but I recognized the care and labor that went into refinishing those old, wide-board floors. I wondered, of course, how much nicer the rooms upstairs were. But as I pulled into her neatly paved driveway I tried to block the images that came to mind. I didn’t want to be tied down, and that meant giving up the right to tie down anyone else. But, hey, like dogs, some men want the leash. Nothing I could do about that. In that way, I was like my father, who had taught me more about playing cards than he did about familial responsibility. Before he took off, that is—leaving me to bear the brunt of my mother’s resentment.
    We were simply different types of animal, my mother and me. And there were a lot more like her in the world, I thought, as I pulled up in front of the glossy green door. Laurel Kroft opened it and stepped out as I emerged from my car, giving me one more reason to be grateful for my poker face.
    “Hello, Pru.” Whatever kind of animal she was, her coat was sure sleek, and her long, lean legs spoke of breeding, as well as the gym. “I’m glad you’re here.”
    “Oh?” I tried to keep my voice light. I was here because I had a contract to work with the dog, not as any special favor to her. She needed to understand that, and I needed to understand what was bothering her.
    “It’s probably nothing.” She tossed her hair, shedding any trouble that would dare cling to those dark blonde tresses. “A little stress.”
    “Is Spot acting out?” I’d get more from the dog himself about what was bothering him. I didn’t often get an entrée into the woman, though. “Would you like to talk?”
    “I don’t really have time right now. I’m scheduled for a session.” She retreated back inside the house, and I followed into a glorified foyer painted the kind of dark green you see in magazines. She was as tall as I am, which is rare. Her height all in those legs.
    “A session?” I was imagining a designer. Maybe a colorist. All those city affectations were making their way back here.
    “At LiveWell.” Her tone said she’d guessed my thoughts. “I run socialization workshops aimed at keeping the residents integrated into the larger community. It’s quite rewarding. In fact, I have been trying to engage Spot’s…” She hesitated, and I wondered which word she’d chose. “Spot’s charge.” That was good. Neutral. It meant she felt some reluctance about giving the