I’ve lived in La Ronge for my whole life—two hundred and seventy-five years last month—and I love it. I have a really good job there too. I mean, not a high-paying job, but one that I actually care about. They licked a paw and ran it over an ear. But you know the routine. Wages haven’t kept up with the cost of living, my landlord hiked up the rent, and now I’m out on my ass without a tongue to clean it. Scrubjay looked at the camp outside—not just as a form of land use, but as a set of social interactions—and began to assemble an uncomfortable analysis. “You couldn’t find another place to
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