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have an use for a handbag, am I right?”
    Ovidia pulled out my present from the Harrods shopping sack. It wasn’t gift-wrapped. And it wasn’t a pocket-book. “Here we are,” she announced.
    Ovidia’s pretty hand was still dangling the Singapore Airlines freebie toilet kit as I ran to the entrance, and up Phila Street.
    “Lousy day at the tracks? Something a drink can fix?” someone said in a nothing-to-lose voice. I kept running.

I had to nuke Frankie from my memory. No such person as Frankie, never had been a Frankie, no supercool superrich Asian lover who opened up a whole continent for me. I’d made him up out of needs I didn’t know I had. It suddenly came to me as I sat in the car why First Class Fong had dropped herself into my life. Oh Baby, thank you. You brought me more than the freebie toilet bag. If Wyatt’s vision for me was right, I’d be able to pay my own first-class Singapore Airlines fare, and buy a Saratoga apartment. One day I’d be tall, pretty, rich, a mover and shaker as long as I knew enough to lie low on bad days and scratch my fleas in private, right? Tomorrow I’ll wake up with a cold nose and bright eyes and the first rich couple with a big yard that comes in will take me home.
    No more rhino horns and tiger balls, think Animal Shelter Wyatt gave me a base to build from. He didn’t realize that a few of us are given chance after chance because we have life after life to get it right. In fact, I wouldn’t mind another couple of chances with Wyatt now that I am not a stubby, punk thirteen. One thing Wyatt got totally wrong: cuteness counts for some, but not for all. You get put down when you finally run out of wrath and a canny sense of timing.
    I drove straight to the pound. It was minutes to closing time, and the dogs mostly lay curled tight in their roomy cages, their backs pressed against the grille.
    “They look so sad,” I remarked to the Animal Shelter officer, a woman in her fifties. She was nursing a sick iguana, which she cradled against her chest as if it were a baby. “Do they sense time is ticking?”
    “Oh, they’ve just had a big supper,” she said, without taking her eyes off the iguana. “And they’re probably worn out from the good run they got today. We have a new volunteer this week, a high school kid who wants to study veterinary medicine. A really sweet kid whose Lab just died of diabetes.” She stroked the iguana. “Sniffles getting you down, Izzy?”
    “Mind if I take a quick look around?” I asked the officer.
    “Sure thing,” she said. “Glad for interest, glad for company. The cats are in the last two stalls, all the way down the hall behind that door and to the left. Be a big boy now, Izzy, don’t fight the medicine. Are you looking for a dog or for a kitty?”
    “I’m not sure,” I lied. “Probably a dog.”
    “Take your time,” the officer advised. “It never works when you choose on impulse. Not for you, and certainly not for the dog. Best to think through all the stuff like what breed’s best for your family, do you have babies, do you live in a big house or a tiny apartment, will your neighbors complain about barking. The big fellow in the first cage to the right as you go through that door was brought back last week. The man said his wife was afraid he’d trample the baby.”
    I walked in through the door marked ANIMALS & OTHERS , past Izzy’s empty case and two glass cases of thin snakes, to where the dogs, cats, rabbits and ferrets were kept. That evening I counted seven dogs, though one of them had a NOT FOR ADOPTION sign above its cage.
    The dog inside had a huge, grim head, and a don’t-mess-with-me-and-mine kind of muscular face; in fact, it looked more like a wild bear than a housebroken pet. But its body was long, slender and elegant, stuck on top of twitchy little legs.
    “See that head?” The officer lowered Izzy into its case, and whistled at the dog. The dog stared and stiffened its ears, but didn’t scurry