I'm at a strange house on a steep hill, perhaps at the beach. I'm down at the bottom of a long flight of stairs in the back yard, perhaps 50 feet down the bluff from the house, at night. My dad is there, and some dogs, who have run over into the neighbors' yard. We call them back, but at least one of the neighbor's dogs comes too, so I have to manipulate the gate to let our dogs through but not theirs.

One of our dogs is a tiny black one, like Charlie but smaller, and very hyperactive. My dad seems to regret having adopted him. We go up the stairs with the dogs.

"Dogs must get lonely really fast," I say to my dad. "When you're gone, they just seem to miss you so much." But then, the conversation continues, some people leave them outside all alone constantly. I guess they get really mentally damaged.