The bone dog came alive at dusk. It was not quite completed, but it was close. She was bent over the left front paw when the skull’s jaws yawned open and it stretched as if waking from a long slumber. “Hush,” she told it. “I’m nearly done—” It sat up. Its mouth opened and the ghost of a wet tongue touched her face like fog. She scratched the skull where the base of the ears would be. Her nails made a soft scraping sound on the pale surface. The bone dog wagged its tail, its pelvis, and most of its spine with delight. “Sit still,” she told it, picking up the front paw. “Sit, and let me finish.”
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