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kennel that he was building for their female man. Until it was completed, she would, as required by the law, sleep in the house.
    The proper kennel was three hla-cubits tall and four hla-cubits wide on each side. It would take up more than half of the backyard. Its walls were made of brass mesh and wood, its roof constructed of tin. When it was finished, it would have two windows of glass—one that looked beyond the yard, and one that faced the window of the boy’s room.
    The work was not difficult, but time-consuming and costly because of the legal constraints.
    The father complained to the boy one day as they worked, “It would not be so bad if the authorities didn’t come by every day to check on our progress. There is wood that is less expensive we could use. We could chop down a tree, but they won’t let us. Chopping down trees is against the law. Trees are protected by the law! We must use these expensive, store-bought boards to build a house for a man—a pet! I guess that’s just fine if you have the silver to throw away. And the roof does not have to be made of tin. We have old boards lying around the yard that would make a perfect roof, but it will not pass inspection. And the proper lock—where will we find the money to pay for a proper lock? And then turn around and pay for the lock on the door she broke on the home of the wealthy! Where are we going to find the money? Everything is about money. I am a loader, I make very little money. My pockets are not weighted down with silver, but here I am building this expensive house for a man! If she were not pregnant, I would kick her for the mess she has gotten us into. If she were not pregnant, I would beat her with a big stick. If she were not pregnant, I would put her to fight at the circus. If she were not pregnant, I would sell her as meat and pay for this expensive house I am building. And when the litter is born, can I sell it to make back some of my money? No. Instead I must surrender the litter to the wealthy! I could surely save a lot of money by just allowing them to remove her thumbs. I could surely save a lot of money by selling her for meat and then moving us all into this expensive house of hers that we are building. I would surely be better off if I lived as a pet. The government protects pets! What about protecting people?”
    The boy, with tears in his eyes, passed the boards and the nails as his father labored and complained.
    His female man, watching them, sat on the grass with her legs folded beneath her and drummed her thumbs on her expanding globe of a stomach.
    The boy rubbed his eyes red and wondered at his female man drumming her pregnant stomach with her thumbs. Did she understand what his father was saying? That her thumbs would be removed to prevent her from breaking into houses and other mans’ proper kennels?
    He looked at her face, which appeared to have understanding. She seemed full of fear as she drummed her thumbs. She seemed full of fear and indecision.
     
    * * *
     
    “When I was a boy,” spake the sacred speaker, “there were almost no mans left in the swamplands of the Eternal Grass because they had been hunted to near extinction. They were hunted for food, of course, and captured alive to be sold as pets, for they are easily domesticated and are loyal to their owners. I was told that back in those days, their number fell from several million to less than a few dozen in the swamplands. But stricter laws, which banned hunting out of season and which declared vast areas of the swamplands as a natural preserve for the mans, have brought their numbers back to a sustainable level. The last post–hunting season count put their number at close to half a million, which is a good thing for us, because without mans the swamplands were dying. The water was disappearing. The le-gator number was increasing, which meant the number of birds was decreasing, which meant the number of fish was increasing because there were no birds to