It was a dog’s life. I was glad Jerry had said the things he had. Why hadn’t I told Father what I thought of him? A dog’s life—because we didn’t count, because he was always right, always the explainer, and most of all because he ordered us to do these difficult things. He didn’t want to see us succeed, he wanted to laugh at our failure. And not even a gun dog could find a small propeller at the bottom of this river.
