Jerod Pennot stood in the gravel parking lot in the wee hours of an Arizona morning because that’s what he’d been told to do. That’s what did, what he was told. His mother told him to look for job, so he did. His girlfriend told him to under no circumstances look in fast food. So he applied here, at Golf Links Veterinary, having no inclination he’d be hired.

Then the guy called, told him to be here, this morning, this time, a late summer morning. Sure, sleeping in would have been nice, but he’d had nearly a whole summer of that. Even now the heat and humidity of monsoon season were building to discomfort, but he’d be inside soon enough. Besides all that, there was something about the guy’s voice, a sense of excitement about it all.

The gravel shifted and groaned under the hastily driven car, a white p.o.s. four door. Once the car stopped, the guy, the vet, Dr. Samuel Stevens practically leapt out of the car. He was smiling, looked ready to roll. This job might not entirely suck after all.