Tess was a year old and built like one of those dress-up dolls that make little girls aspire to anorexia -- the kind with inflated chest, depressedaist, and legs much longer than necessary to reach the ground. She floated, for the first half-hour, skimming the grass instead of weaving through it. During occasional returns to earth, the pup could have collided with anything, grouse or porcupine or snake. When I called her in, she rolled onto her back and wriggled, which is her method of appeasing cranks of all persuasions, human and canine. I sat to cool my dizzy damsel and the breeze pushed a shadow over us.