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to pick leaves out of her hair and retrieve one shoe
from the muddy trenches where Juniper had dragged her enthusiastically through
the fence in pursuit of peanut buttery goodness.
     
    Her heart was pounding with excitement. She was sure that
this would be the trick. After hours of reviewing the psychology references,
Cleo had discovered a universal truth: there is not a more powerful force in
the world than a cheerful golden retriever. These children would be putty in
her hands.
     
    Juniper promptly sniffed the air, grinned over his shoulder,
and took off through the trees, his leash flapping in the wind. Cleo shouted, “Juniper,
get back here!” But, this was Juniper’s first time out of his own yard, and he
was not about to have it cut short.
     
    She chased him, and he liked it. So, every time she lunged
for the leash, he would zig or zag just out of reach and then wag his tail. He
found the stream, and the mud at the bottom of it. He collected burrs in his
now-matted hair. He found something disgustingly dead, rolled in it, and then
brought her a piece. Then, his whole body tense, he sniffed the air, barked
once, and then ran at high speed until he disappeared from sight.
     
    Cleo picked the leaves out of her hair and considered
leaving him to the wolves, or whatever it was that prowled this forest at
night. But then she heard it—the voices of children. Heaving a sigh, she walked
in the direction that the dog had taken, calling his name periodically.
     
    She heard a small scream and picked up the pace, running
into the yard to find her dirty golden retriever on the ground with the legs of
a child sticking out from under his belly. “Damn it, Juniper! You can’t eat my
cannibal before I’ve finished my research!”
     
    She looked around for a good throwing rock, scowling because
the dumb dog was just grinning at her. From behind her came a question.
“Ummm…did you just say a bad word?” asked the boy. Cleo turned to look at him,
and then from under the dog came a girl’s voice saying, “Is this your dog? I
think he likes me.”
     
    The boy helped Cleo pull Juniper off of the little girl. Her
clothes were filthy, but she was smiling, so Cleo figured that was a good sign.
     
    They spent the rest of the afternoon together, talking,
playing, and eating popsicles. Cleo really loved the trampoline, especially the
fact that a really high bounce gave her a clear view into the master bedroom of
the house. Afterwards, they took turns removing burrs from Juniper’s fur and
throwing them at each other. It was the only playful interaction that Cleo had
experienced in years, and it made her miss her sister.
     
    ***
     
    The next morning, Juniper was AWOL. Cleo searched for a
quarter of an hour and then decided that he had served his purpose with the
children. She went through the fence on her own.
     
    Returning home hours later, enthusiastically humming a song
that the boy had taught her, she approached the fence at the usual spot and
encountered solid wood where the hole had been. It was fresh—she could still
smell the sawdust. It also wouldn’t move. To the left and right was nothing but
perfect fence as far as she could see. It was also too high for her to climb
over. As it turns out, Juniper’s state of dishabille, and more importantly, his
incredibly pungent odor, had prompted Darwin to investigate its cause. Upon
discovering the hole in the fence, and sniffing the dog one last time, he
ordered the gardeners to repair it. Juniper’s absence that morning had been due
to a thorough bath he was receiving behind one of the greenhouses. Cleo had
left, and the gardeners had dried themselves off (golden retrievers are not
good bath-takers) and fixed the fence while she was gone. And now Cleo was
trapped outside of a 112-acre, fully fenced estate.
     
    If she just followed the fence, Cleo knew that she would
find the house eventually. She just had to decide which direction to take in
order to make her journey