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Coco was there, licking at me anxiously, but I ignored her, making a beeline for the gate.
    Just as I knew he would, Bobby opened the gate and came into the Yard, his hose in his hand. The fight was over; Fast had made peace, and Sister was hiding behind the railroad ties. So it was my leg that drew his attention.
    Bobby knelt in the dirt. “Good dog, Toby. Okay, boy,” he told me. I gave my tail a feeble wag, and when he touched my paw, sending a searing pain all the way up to my shoulder, I licked him in the face to let him know I knew he hadn’t done it on purpose.
    Senora went with us to see the nice lady in the cool room.Bobby held me down while she poked me with the same chemical-smelling needle she’d used on me before, and then the pain in my leg didn’t bother me anymore. I lay drowsily on the table while the lady tugged on my leg, listening to her voice as she spoke to Bobby and Senora. I could feel her concern, her caution, but couldn’t make myself care as long as Senora stroked my fur and Bobby leaned into me to hold me still. Even as Senora drew in her breath when the nice lady in the cool room said “permanent damage,” I didn’t so much as raise my head. I just wanted to lie on the table forever or at least until dinner.
    When I got back to the Yard I was wearing the stupid cone collar again and I sported a hard lump of something encasing my wounded foot. I wanted to tear into the lump with my teeth, but not only did the collar look ridiculous, it also prevented me from getting at my foot! I could only walk on three legs, which Spike seemed to find amusing, because he came over to me and knocked me down with his chest.
Fine, Spike, go ahead; you are the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.
    My leg hurt all the time and I needed to sleep, and usually Coco came over and rested her head on me as I did so. Twice a day Bobby came in and gave me a treat, and I pretended not to notice that there was something bitter inside the roll of meat, though sometimes instead of swallowing it I waited a bit and then spat it out: a small white thing the size of a pea.
    I was still wearing the stupid collar the day all the men came. We heard several doors slamming in the driveway, so we took up our usual chorus of barking, though many of us went quiet when we heard Senora shriek.
    “No! No! You can’t take my dogs!”
    The grief in her voice was unmistakable, and Coco and I nuzzled each other in alarm. What was going on?
    The gate swung open, and several men cautiously entered the Yard, carrying the familiar poles with them. Several held metal canisters out in front of them and were braced as if expecting an attack.
    Well, whatever this game was, most of us were willing to play. Coco was one of the first to approach, and she was snagged and pulled without resistance out through the gate. Most of the rest of the pack followed, lining up willingly, though several hung back—Sister, Fast, Spike, Top Dog, and myself, because I just didn’t feel like limping over to them. If they wanted to play, let them play with Spike.
    Sister broke into a run around the perimeter of the yard, as if expecting a hole to open. Fast went with her at first and then stopped in despair, watching her panicked, pointless flight. Two men closed in on her and captured her with a rope. Fast let them take him right away, so that he’d go with Sister, and Top Dog stepped forward with dignity when they called to him.
    Spike, though, fought the loop, growling savagely and snapping at them. The men yelled, and one of them directed a thin stream of liquid from his canister at Spike’s face, the scent instantly burning my nose from all the way across the Yard. Spike stopped fighting and fell to the ground, his paws over his snout. They dragged him out and then came to me.
    “Nice doggy. You hurt your leg, boy?” one of the men asked. I gave my tail a feeble wag and ducked my head a little to make it easier for him to slip the loop over my head, which took a