I didn’t know what to say. I felt like that a lot around Claudia. At times she seemed both too childish and too grown-up for her age. “They’re good dogs, and you’ll like the company,” she said, like she was an expert on the subject. I took a bite of my burger and remembered how Claire had said she’d wanted the puppy and then let him go the next moment without a fight. I tossed down the last bite to Blue Bonnet. Maybe Claudia would go the other way – decline at first but grow into the idea. Her phone rattled on the glass tabletop and she ignored it. “Thanks, anyway,” she added, “It was a nice thought.” An hour later, Reginald and I walked the two-dozen steps back to the house. I slipped into my sweatpants and turned on the AC. The white noise of the box murmuring in the window and the rhythmic tack-tapping of paws on the floor set the soundtrack for the night. I decided I’d stick with the name Reginald, gender be damned. It fit her: a sturdy name, capable of barking and birth, able to stir up inquiry and change in even the dullest of lives.
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