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slide through this metal culvert and bite each other. I'm not a cognitive psychologist. All I
knew, watching the videos, was that their constant play and experimentation together, even
what appeared to be occasional, perhaps accidental cooperation, was additive and exponen-
tial. They were raggedy, impulsive, enthusiastic, distractible. Their coordination wasn't quite
as smooth as a rugby team's, but you could see hints of what their future might hold: an en-
tire pack of puppies, tails wagging, diving into dense underbrush and climbing over rubble
to search.
At first Little Bit couldn't climb over obstacles as easily as the larger pups. In one video,
Kathy chuckled quietly as five-week-old Little Bit growled in frustration, flinging herself re-
peatedly at a broad plywood teeter-totter, a wobble board, until she finally scrabbled on, us-
ing her back feet and belly to propel herself like a turtle. Then she ran off to play games by
herself, sliding around in a big metal culvert, grabbing her own tail, going in circles inside
the circle. I showed David the videos of her and told him sternly not to get attached and to
look at all the strengths of the two big handsome females. It had been easier with Solo; there
hadn't been a choice.
In the end, Kathy made the choice for us. She called me when the pups were eight weeks
old. She had spent all day evaluating them—one of the big females I had yearned for early
on was “neck and neck” with Little Bit in hunting tests. By the end of the day, it was clear
to Kathy that Little Bit hunted longer and harder for her toy than any of the other pups. It
was behavior that one needed in a cadaver dog. Little Bit would disappear in the dark down
the road, worrying Kathy, and then come back toting a lost ball in her mouth. She found
her mother's blue ball in the snow before her mother did, and grabbed it, the whites of her
eyes showing against her black fur as her mother turned sideways to try to snatch it. No dice.
Little Bit was independent and contrary. She would be a pain in the butt and a joy to train.
A plush toy with razor-sharp teeth and a brain.
David smiled broadly when I got off the phone. Early evaluation isn't destiny, but it helped
our confirmation bias.
Kathy told me that she and Danny had a five-minute “pity party,” as Kathy called it. This
pup had stubbornly squiggled her way into their hearts. Then Kathy stopped calling her Little
Bit and started calling her Coda.
• • •
We pushed hard on the toll roads, driving from West Virginia back to North Carolina to
beat the setting November sun. I stewed most of the way home, certain Solo would kill our
precious sleeping cargo with one big paw and a bite. So much for Little Bit. I went back and
forth on arrangements, micromanaging the details of their meeting, dreading the tragic out-
come. We decided that I would drop David at the house, he'd exercise Solo thoroughly, and
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