“‘THOSE ARE not fleas. Those are my nipples,’ my dog said as I hunted across her body for bloodsuckers. I’d stopped in the grand veldt of her pink and brown belly, fingers sniffing for prey. ‘You do this every time,’ she said. ‘OK,ok,’ I said and moved to the wilds of her back, the region behind her ears, under her muzzle. I chased one down her neck, snapped it between my thumbnails. ‘Atta boy,’ she said. ‘Atta boy.’”