4
February days were short. It was already dusk by the time Winnie left the Animal Adoption Center.
She was bushed. Her mind felt fatigued. Her legs felt cramped from all the hours crouching in front of the kennels of dogs who needed her special attention.
Clover needed her dinner. Winnie needed hers, too.
And she needed to spend some time strategizing. Because there was another piece of work that was obviously hers to do.
Clover greeted her at the door, leading with her nose.
“Oh, I know. Where have I been?” Winnie said. “Who are all these dogs?”
She let Clover sniff her pants as thoroughly as she wanted.
But the dog would have to follow her around the kitchen while she did it. Winnie needed bread. Two thick slices of the loaf she made yesterday, toasted. A bowl of leftover Hungar
