Across the park Ortiz spots a squirrel and chases after it, bounding through the overgrown grass.
“Ortiz!” I call, and he stops on the spot. Part beagle, part rat terrier, he comes back to me, his pink tongue pushed forward between his teeth.
“Good boy,” I say, kissing his head, the squirrel now safely up a tree. He can wait out squirrels for as long as need be, but today we cannot linger. I’m finally healthy enough to do some volunteer work and need to be there within the hour.
“Come on, buddy,” I say, saddened to pull him away from his hunt. He hesitates, eyeing the squirrel, who taunts him from a low branch. Then he follows me.
