“No, really,” I said to Bones, “what are we going to do about Utah?”

We were back inside in our (ugh, there’s that we again) cozy living room to be precise. Thankfully, Bones had not invited the horse indoors with us. If he had, our living room would have been considerably less cozy.

“We shall get to that, my dear Catson,” said the dog. “But first, I’m famished, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” I agreed.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Pardon?”

“The state of being famished is an extreme state to be in, so I don’t think you can be a bit famished any more than one can be a bit dead. The states of being dead or famished are both either/or propositions. In other words, either you are or you are not, and there is no ‘a bit’ about it.”

“Thank you so much for the language lesson, Bones,” I said sarcastically. “Now that that’s out of the way, what would you like Mr. Javier to prepare us for lunch?”

He considered. “I could go for a nice Dover sole.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Mr. Javier has gone off fishing.”

“You mean to say the turtle is not here?”

“No, that is not what I mean to say at all. By ‘off fishing’ I do not mean it in the usual way to imply one is on vacation somewhere. I mean he’s gone off the thing itself. He refuses to do it anymore.”

“And why is that?”

“He says some of the creatures who live in the water are friends of his and he refuses to be party to their being turned into dinner anymore.”

“The turtle says all that, does he?”

“He does, as of this morning. Although, to his credit, he says all of that quite cheerfully, given the subject.”

Since Bones had created the jetpack, a change had come over Mr. Javier. Many changes, in fact.

Oh, to be sure, in the beginning, when Mr. Javier first got the contraption, he had trouble controlling the thing. He was forever banging into walls and bashing his head against the ceiling.

But as the days passed and he gained mastery of the device, a new confidence was instilled in him and I noted an increased joy in his work. This made me wonder, guiltily: Before Bones came, had I been a bad mistress to Mr. Javier? But there hadn’t been much time for me to feel guilty because with his new confidence in his work, Mr. Javier had also acquired a stronger sense of self-worth. Which had led him to make what were becoming increasingly more annoying demands.

Like the off-fishing thing.

“So, no more fish?” the dog said.

I shook my head ruefully. “Not even a shrimp.”

The dog considered. “I suppose there will be a lot of chicken in our future, won’t there?”

“Well, unless the turtle goes off chicken too.”