Walter spent three days thinking. He sat in his armchair. He sat on his porch. He walked around his garden with his hands behind his back, frowning at the ground. His goldfish watched him from the window with what Walter interpreted as patient encouragement. At night, Walter wrote things in his notebook, then crossed them out, then wrote something else. He made a list. He made a second list. He drew a small map of the front lawn with dotted lines and small labels. He circled certain items at the hardware store in the catalogue he kept under the coffee table.
By Thursday, the plan was ready. It was not loud. It was not mean. It would not hurt anyone — human or dog. But it would, Walter felt certain, make a very clear point. He needed some supplies, a little help from his neighbour, Mrs. Chen across the road, who owed him a favour from the time he had watered her plants for three weeks while she visited her daughter. He also needed to make one phone call — a very important one — and book something for a Saturday morning. He smiled to himself as he dialled.