The next morning, as Nancy got ready to leave for work, she put into David’s hand a small tear-shaped device, plastic, possibly a remote.
She loved her dog. As long as he behaved.
“What’s this?” asked David.
Nancy smiled in the bright way that David had come to find repellent. “So, David. If he starts going crazy again, which I don’t he think he will, you just press that button.” She saw his confusion. “The big one.”
“I don’t get it.” The button looked ordinary: gray, oblong, denoting the harmless functionality of opening a garage door or pausing a DVD.
Nancy laughed. “God, what a city boy! It’ll zap him.”