The first time I saw my dog dreaming I took it for some kind of fit. She had been napping, stretched out on her side at my feet—a small sign of comfort in those early, wary days. It began with a flick of one paw, then a second; soon all four tapped out an arrhythmic beat. Her tail brushed awake and thumped at the floor. Her little face drew in tight: her eyes squeezed shut, her muzzle rolled in spasm, the line of her mouth danced over pointed teeth. Her brows jerked and wriggled; her nose—the small, black apex of her being—appeared to yank apart from itself. The shuddering spread down her body, and this most silent of dogs began to puff, whinny, and occasionally let out a long, rolling woof.