"Okay, Billy-boy," he said, referring to the name on the Stranger's license. All anger had left his voice, replaced by an impersonal, businesslike tone. "Here's the deal: As we both know, this agreement doesn't mean s.h.i.t - you could always say you signed it under duress, which in fact you did. So if you want your fifty bucks, you can come into my office on Monday before ten A.M. and sign another copy in front of witnesses. You'll get your fifty then. If you come after ten, I'll be in consultation and the offer will be withdrawn. Understand? In the meantime, I'm going to run a check on you for warrants and priors. Frankly, I won't be surprised if you don't show on Monday. And by the way, even though this paper isn't a legal contract, it's still evidence on my side, along with the pictures. The only reason I'm willing to give you the fifty at all is because I keep my word. I have to set a good example for my kids, right Billy-boy?"

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"Now, now, Billy-boy. You know, if you start getting abusive, we might still have to call the sheriff. Now I suggest you get up, turn around, and walk away without saying another word and without looking back. And don't think of this as a total loss - you learned a valuable lesson: Don't mess with a lawyer on his own turf."

Dad turned his back on Flopsy and told the kids to get in the car and wait for him. He waited until Flopsy got to his feet and left, then he and Mom walked to the porch, where Thor lay on his stomach, nervously thumping the floor with his tail and wishing he could make it stop. Thor had no idea what to expect.

Dad watched him with hard eyes as he came up the porch steps. He opened the front door and said, "Get in!" with a voice like stone. A physical sensation of dread ran through Thor's body. He was sure he would be left behind - alone - while the Pack went to the beach. He barely lifted his body off the floor as he slinked into the house.

Thor had no idea where he went wrong, but he didn't ponder it. Life was full of rules, some minor, some major, many completely absurd. There was no point in trying to figure them out. The only important thing was to obey them whenever possible. Breaking a minor rule wasn't too bad - a little scolding, maybe a halfhearted swat on the rump with a rolled-up newspaper if someone was really annoyed - but no big deal.

It was the Laws that counted. The Laws were much more than rules - they were the Pack's foundations. When Thor obeyed the Laws, he was a Good Dog. When he didn't, he was a Bad Dog.

Nothing was better than being a Good Dog, secure in the warmth of the Pack's love and affection. And nothing was worse than being a Bad Dog. To be Bad was to be unfit to live with the Pack, and risk having all love and affection withdrawn.

And yet, there were times when it was hard to be Good. The problem was that there were two sets of Laws: Natural Law, which came from the gut, and Dad's Law. Natural Law Number One was Protect the Pack; it had guided all Thor's actions toward the Stranger. He'd tried to obey Natural Law within the framework of the Pack's Laws, but apparently he'd failed. Mom and Dad appreciated Natural Law, even if they didn't always agree with it. While it was clear to Thor that they expected him to protect the Pack, they were extremely nervous whenever he took direct action on their behalf. Now Mom and Dad would wrestle with the conflict between the Laws. No one would argue Thor's case for him, and there would be no appealing their decision. He just had to wait to find out whether he was a Good Dog or a Bad Dog.

If he were human, he would have thought his situation unfair and unjust. Being a dog, he thought his situation was normal, and for him, it was.

As Mom and Dad discussed his behavior, it became apparent that Dad was sympathetic to Thor's good intentions. But Dad was annoyed with Thor's disobedience, and he and Mom were worried. Very worried.

Thor couldn't imagine what was worrying them. Flopsy showed incredibly bad judgment, but he didn't seem very dangerous.

Finally, Dad picked up the phone, poked it, and spoke to it.

When Thor was young, the phone had been a bottomless source of mystery. Of all the strange things the Pack did, talking to the phone was the strangest. Sometimes the phone chirped, and they went for it like it was the last piece of meat in the world. Sometimes they picked it up unbidden, poked it a few times, and waited. In any case, they talked and listened to it as if it were another person. Thor could often tell who the other person was supposed to be, but that person was never actually in the room, or even in the house. Like all the Pack's mysteries, the phone eventually became familiar without becoming understandable.

Dad talked to the phone for a few minutes, calling it "Bob." Thor had never met Bob, but Dad often spoke of him with admiration.

Thor listened intently, knowing Dad's verdict would hinge on this conversation. Dad told the phone what had happened on the lawn, read the piece of paper he and the Stranger had scribbled on, and a few times said, " . . . a flop, yeah, I'm sure of it . . ."

Then the tone of his conversation changed. Dad listened, and with rising hope in his voice said, "Are you sure?" He listened again, and hope was replaced by relief, which gave way to grat.i.tude. Whatever the phone was, it certainly possessed authority.

It had just acquitted Thor of Badness.

Dad put the phone down and sighed. All tension seemed to leave him, and he hunkered down next to Thor and leaned forward until they were almost face-to-face. Thor didn't like looking Dad in the eye. It wasn't his place; Dad was his superior. But Dad took Thor's head in both hands and forced Thor to look at him.

"Listen, stupid," Dad said earnestly, "I appreciate what you did. But you don't appreciate how close you came to a one-way trip to the carbon monoxide room. So you're going to have to start wearing the leash."

Thor understood only one word of Dad's soliloquy - LEASH.

LEASH meant he wouldn't be allowed to run free. But it also mean he was going to the beach.

He tentatively wagged his tail, trying not to show too much of his relief. Unrestrained joy at this moment would be inappropriate, considering how close he'd come to being found guilty.

"Okay, c'mon, stupid," Dad said, standing. Thor had no trouble understanding those familiar words.

"And try to stay out of trouble, huh?" Mom and Dad walked to the front door as Thor lay watching, pounding the floor with his tail. Dad opened the door and turned to him.

"C'mon!"

Thor ran to the door and leaped up to give Dad a wet kiss on the mouth. He knew Dad wouldn't like it, but he just couldn't help himself. Dad tried to dodge the kiss, but he was too late.

"Dammit, stop that!" Dad said, sputtering and laughing, and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Thor ran to the car, where the kids held the back door open for him. He jumped in and spun around to face Mom and Dad, who seemed to be taking forever to walk across the lawn. He barked at them to hurry and wagged his tail so hard that the kids had to press themselves against the opposite side of the car to avoid getting swatted.

It was going to be a glorious day after all.

Chapter 2.

"I thought you were pretty impressive back there," Janet said as the car barreled down the highway toward the Pacific Ocean.

"Right," Tom said sarcastically, "a couple more impressive performances like that and I'll be disbarred."

"Why did you keep calling him 'Flopsy'?" she asked.

"A lucky guess. I was in the living room when I saw him do something weird while you were bending over Thor. I couldn't see what he did, but it was so sudden and jerky, it looked like he was trying to provoke ol' brainless. So I thought he might be some kind of 'flop.' They're people who throw themselves in front of cars so they can sue the owners."

"You're kidding!"

"No, really, it happens all the time . . . well, not all the time, but often enough for lawyers to have a name for people who do it. Flops usually do their thing at big-city street corners, preferably in the rain, so it's hard for witnesses to see what happened. They wait for an expensive car to turn the corner - that way it isn't moving very fast when it hits them, and it's easier to claim that neither one saw the other coming. Sometimes they even break a bone in advance, so they'll be sure to have something to sue for. It's about as slimy as scams get. But then, there's almost nothing people won't do for money.

"Anyway, when I saw him waving his arm over you, I thought maybe he was working a new angle. Like maybe he's less scared of dogs than he is of cars. I figured if he was pulling a scam, I wanted him to know I was hip to his act, so I took a chance and called him 'Flopsy.' And G.o.d, was I ever right. He came up with a cute angle: 'Settle or the dog dies.' That's one way to keep it out of court." Dad paused and shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe I threatened to frame him. Jesus. What if he'd called my bluff? We'd be up the you-know-what-creek without a paddle. Or at least without a dog. Anyway, it worked. Apparently. But we're going to have to watch Thor a little closer from now on."

"What about Monday? I thought you had a meeting scheduled in Portland."

"I do. Bob is going to meet Mr. Sc.u.m for me, handle the whole thing. I really owe him for this. I just hope everything works out."

"Are you kidding?" Mom said. "With Bob, the Terrible Tyrant of Torts on the case? If everything you've told me about him is true, I wouldn't be surprised if Flopsy pays us to drop the matter." Tom gave her a thin smile, but he knew she was just cheerleading. He decided to do his best to put the whole incident out of his mind, at least until the weekend was over.

They drove in silence for a mile or so and Dad said, "So how's my favorite brother-in-law?"

"He says he's doing fine," Mom said. There was no need to add that she didn't believe him. "He won't even consider seeing a counselor. He says he knows what his problem is, and a counselor won't help. And he was adamant that we can't visit him."

"Can't?"

"Uh-huh," Mom answered, "his exact words: 'Sis, I don't want any misunderstanding here. I'm not saying I don't want a visit, I'm saying you can't visit me. There's a chain across the road and it's staying there until I take it down. And if you hike the last mile, I won't let you in the house when you get here.' "

"Jesus," Dad said quietly. "It almost sounds like he's scared to see us."

"Why would he be scared?" Mom said defensively, though she'd thought the same thing. How could he stand to be so alone after everything that had happened?

Tom took his eyes off the road long enough to see Janet holding her hair out of her face while she leaned her head on her forearm. It was a pose she unconsciously struck only when she was deeply worried. He decided to drop the subject. There was a lot more to talk about, but not in front of the kids.

Thor missed the entire conversation - not that he would have understood any of it. More important things occupied his mind, like the thrill of hanging his head out the window at sixty miles an hour, and the distant smell of brine that was already finding its way to his nostrils and making him squirm in antic.i.p.ation.

Since the beginning of the long partnership between dogs and humans, dogs' ability to understand large numbers of words has fascinated humans, tantalizing them with the thought of a talking dog. But dogs will never talk or otherwise communicate with words, not because they don't understand words, but because they don't think in words. No matter how many times Thor heard the word, "yes," no matter how well he understood its meaning, he would never think "yes" when asked if he was hungry, or if he wanted to go out. He might feel yes with every cell in his body, but his mind would never "speak" the word, the way human minds do.

Unlike humans, Thor had no mental language to give structure to his thoughts; he could not use words to construct complex ideas, or formulate questions, or help him remember what he was just thinking a moment ago.

For Thor, as for all dogs, words were strictly incoming, and thoughts were always fleeting. Which was why he could seem so intelligent and mature, and at the same time, so childlike and simple.

When Mom and Dad first discussed the BEACH trip, Uncle Ted's name had come up often enough for Thor to relate Uncle Ted with the BEACH. Now the smell of salt air brought Uncle Ted to mind again.

The plan to visit Uncle Ted had gotten only as far as the phone. Mom and Dad had agreed to a visit, and Mom asked the phone for final approval. She spoke to the phone as if it were Uncle Ted, but the phone disapproved, which seemed to worry Mom. Still, Thor sensed they'd visit Uncle Ted soon, and the thought warmed him.

He'd met Uncle Ted a long time ago, when Thor was young. The two had hit if off immediately and been good friends ever since. Uncle Ted was Thor's favorite relative.

Through the roar of wind rushing past his ears, Thor heard the steady pounding of surf, and his hind legs did a little involuntary dance of antic.i.p.ation. The car crested a hill and there it was: that glittering flat plane with its snarling, growling, churning edge. His old friend and playmate, the sea.

Dad parked the SUV next to some sand dunes and the kids opened a door. Thor pushed past them and was, as always, the first one out of the car.

He scanned the beach briefly and saw it was deserted. Then he checked the Pack's reactions, especially Dad's.

He relied heavily on the Pack as a second set of eyes and ears. Despite the inferiority of their vision and hearing, they sometimes saw threats he missed, just as he frequently saw threats that were apparently invisible to them. But neither he nor they saw any danger at the beach. In truth, the Pack led a very secure life, and Thor had very little to do in the way of protecting them. But like a cop, Thor was never really off duty. His responsibility was too huge. The Pack was everyone he loved and everyone who loved him.

For now, though, he accepted the security of the beach and thought only about the fun of exploring and playing with the Pack.

The day had just begun, and every minute of it would be a thrill. Life didn't get any better than this.

Hours later, as the Pack prepared to leave, Thor pushed past the kids to be first in the car (as always). He watched intently as the Pack got in, concerned that no one be left behind. Once satisfied that everyone was present and accounted for, he curled up on the floor behind the front seat and was sound asleep before the car left the parking lot. Snug inside the security of the Pack, the turns and occasional b.u.mps in the road were unable to disturb his nap.

Fifteen minutes later, he woke instantly when the car pulled to a stop and the engine died. He hopped onto the back seat and crowded past the kids to the nearest window, and saw that the Pack had stopped at a supermarket.

He sat up on the back seat, alert and awake. It was hard to sleep when the Pack left him alone in the car, as they always did at supermarkets. Instead, he would guard the car and watch the front door of the supermarket until they came out.

The Pack trusted him enough to leave a window open. He was proud of their trust, and had no intention of violating it.

It hadn't always been that way; as a young dog, he'd messed up badly on his first shopping trip. They'd left a window open for him, told him "STAY!" and left. As soon as they disappeared inside the store, he panicked. He leaped through the window and ran to the sliding gla.s.s doors of the store. An electronic motion-sensor opened the doors with a whoosh that startled him. But he saw his chance and took it; he darted into the store, frantic to find his Pack.

When he found them, instead of being happy to see him, they were furious, especially Dad. He called Thor a Bad Dog and dragged him back to the car, painfully yanking on Thor's choker collar the whole way. When they got to the car, Dad angrily repeated the "STAY!" command.

It was Thor's first lesson in a fundamental principle: Dad's Law overrides Natural Law.

Eventually Thor learned his lesson, and as time went by, the memory of his earlier mistake faded, replaced by memories of more recent, better behavior.

Now, years later, he only remembered how flawlessly he'd performed on these outings in the last year or so. Like a human, he used his memory to reinforce his Goodness instead of reminding him or his former Badness.

Of course, the earlier memories were still intact somewhere in his brain. He just didn't recall them.

When the Pack finally emerged from the supermarket, everyone carried a paper bag except Dad, who carried two. Thor barked once in greeting. Dad looked around to see if any cars were coming; seeing none, he called Thor, who eagerly leaped through the window and ran to meet them, barking for a bundle to carry.

It was a long-standing tradition. Since he was a pup, he'd always insisted on carrying a grocery bag with the Pack. It was one of the few ch.o.r.es he could help with, and he insisted on doing his part.

Dad took one of his two bags (the half-empty one he'd gotten specifically for Thor), and rolled up the top of the bag. He offered the rolled-up end to Thor, who took it gently in his jaws.

Thor strutted proudly with his bag, feeling completely adult, almost human. Few things felt better than full partic.i.p.ation in Pack affairs.

He carried his bag to the car, and when they got home, he carried his bag into the house. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

As the Pack sorted the groceries and put them away, Thor curled up on the cool linoleum of the kitchen floor and sank into the deep, untroubled sleep of the innocent.

Chapter 3.

"Thor!" Debbie called. "Here Thor! Heeere Thor!"

Thor lay on the porch with his eyes closed and his chin resting on his crossed paws, breathing gently through his nose and smelling the world go by. He'd killed countless afternoons that way, but in the past he'd always let his eyes drift shut. Not today. Not for several days. His eyes had acquired a habit of scanning the horizon for something in the distance, despite his sense that it was quite far away. Something told him the thing in the distance mustn't be allowed to catch him off-guard.

He listened closely to Debbie's voice but ignored her request. She could ask him to come, but she couldn't order him to come. He outranked her and was not obliged to do her bidding.

If she were to cry out in fear or pain, it would be a different story. Thor would be at her side in an instant, ready to offer whatever help he could. When it came to the Pack's well-being, every member was precisely equal. Rank did not figure into Pack security.

"Heeere, Thor! Heeere, Thor! Heeeeeere, Thor!"

Her calls became a chant, which Thor enjoyed. It kept him updated on her whereabouts and condition, and he liked hearing the sound of his own name.

"Heeere, Thor."

She could call all day if she wanted to. Made no difference to Thor, as long as she was in Pack territory and she wasn't in trouble.

It was a weekday, and life was back to normal.

Mom and Thor had gone for their morning jog; afterward, Dad had come downstairs, smelling of soap and after-shave and dressed in dark, creased clothes that somehow made him stand and move stiffly. He ate breakfast with Mom, kissed her at the front door, and left.

Thor hated to see Dad leave. It made no difference that he'd left practically every morning of Thor's life and returned practically every night. The fact remained, he left the Pack, and would be gone all day.

What if Dad met an enemy while he was out there? It could happen . . .

And Thor wouldn't be there to defend him. Dad could get killed, and the Pack would be without its male leader, without half its Mating Pair.