18 Regular Dog The next day Charley wakes with the memory of Coyote’s fur under her hand and hurries to dress, wondering, now that Coyote has allowed her to pet him, what will be different today. But there has been no breakthrough, no miraculous change. All through the walk and the feeding, Coyote stays well out of her reach, seeming, if anything, even more wary than usual. It is Sunday. Sadie, probably chained while the Davises are at church, doesn’t swim across the lake. Without her, Coyote refuses to come close enough even to take a piece of liver from Charley’s hand. It is as if yesterday never happened. When Sarita gets back from church, Charley is sitting, near tears, at the breakfast table in the lake room. Her father is alternating between watching a Sunday morning news program and reading the newspaper. “What’s wrong?” Sarita asks the moment she sees the look on Charley’s face. “Nothing,” Charley says. “Some nothing.” Sarita sets to work in the kitchen, putting out the ingredients for the waffles she always fixes for Sunday brunch.
