My husband has two Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. The dogs, my husband announces, will be therapeutic. That the dogs have to be taken care of and need you is how they will help, I surmise.

One dog is male and large. He has a sunny temperament and appears to be smiling most of the time. The other dog is female and smaller. She is more neurotic, prone to whining when she wants something but cannot articulate her needs because she is a dog and, therefore, cannot speak.

My husband goes out of town on a business trip. On the first morning, it snows. The dogs and I go out in the still dark. The streets are empty, and it is very quiet.

I pick up the dogs’ steaming yellow-green turds, my hand encased in a bag, and I can feel the heat from deep inside their bowels through the plastic.