Pete is our camera-shy smaller, auxiliary dog. And, I should add, at 9 years old and 68 pounds, he is the boss of 115 pound, 2 year old Moses, our sweet-tempered German Shepherd. Moses generally does what Pete tells him, but for some reason the other day, he didn’t feel like it. When Pete bit him, Moses lunged back, and in the scuffle, poor Pete dislocated his elbow. Now he has a cast, and pain pills, and antibiotics, and the most pathetic cry a dog ever made. So I’m sleeping on the library couch so I can be near him. Pete has many talents: among them a knack for drawing sympathy.