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negotiations. He has actually seen three grown women in what were clearly their best hats, playing in a tree house. They were so sparkling and lively in their feathers, even in the midst of this chaos, that it seemed to him monstrous, unforgivable that they allowed their bestiality to take over so completely. Also, as part of his researches, he has been to Macy's, or rather, tried to go, but that store, with twice as many guards as usual, has become a haven for any strange creature with money to spend. He left quickly. Later tried Bloomingdale's. Found it somewhat better. At least they only let in those who were presentable and who had a modicum of dignity, though he noticed they had added the most outlandish clothes to a department on the third floor, and their lingerie department was so upsetting that he lost his scientific detachment and hurried through it with eyes averted. On the way out he found the jewelry department full of masks and feathers and necklaces of sharks’ teeth or claws, plus a few shrunken heads. Clearly, haste in his research is called for.
    His wife, at least, is subdued through all this, somber actually, as well she should be. No, he will not take her down to the basement as his first experiment. She can be of help to him in other ways, typing reports and tidying up the dayroom and the cages. She has already re-covered an old couch for the basement, contributed cushions, made curtains for the high (and soon to be closed off) windows, though all these frills, or most of them, must certainly be removed when the grant people come to inspect the place. It wouldn't look scientific. But it's obvious she's trying to help. He will let her.
    * * * *
    Meanwhile, back at the pound, Pooch, under the name of Isabel, is wondering if she will live through the morning. Several of them have been lined up, including Pooch with the baby, but they are confused as to whether this is to be a lice check or death in the back room. Pooch asks Phillip if she will take the baby if this turns out to be “it” for the rest of them. Phillip says she hates babies, but that she will if nothing else can be found to do with it. Isabel says, “Love baby. Love it. ok. See to it. Love it,” but Pooch feels that it would be better to leave the baby with Phillip, who hates babies, rather than with Isabel, who keeps talking about love and who, probably because of the difficult night, seems to have degenerated to little more than three-letter words. This is not really so surprising since every single one of the inmates is rather the worse off mentally at this point, even those who are on their way up the evolutionary scale.
    The master has been notified and, it turns out, will not be coming to get his Pooch (Isabel) right away due to pressing business. Trusting her, he has told the keepers to put her on a Long Island Railroad train and to charge the ticket and the twenty-five-dollar fine to his Diner's Club card. He will, they tell Isabel, meet her at Wantagh and take her out to dinner and would she pick up a bottle of wine. Isabel, out of her cage now, is trying to convince the manager to let her go with the ticket money, but the more she talks, the more he wonders if she's capable of getting herself home alone.
    "One of two way,” she says, “so go now out and be in it. You say not go. I say fit to go. So do it in time and not for you to do it, too. But the money. Yes."
    "Are you sure your name is Pooch?” the manager asks. He is beginning to suspect something wrong here.
    "Is Pooch. You see me as I am. To be Pooch is to be me. To be me is to be Pooch."
    "But I seem to remember you coming in here last week fighting."
    "Not me.” Isabel gets so angry she snaps at the manager. Mostly she misses. Just scratches the back of his hand a bit. She had managed to hold herself in check just in time, or rather, almost in time.
    "To hell with you then,” he says. “I don't care who you are.” He charges