Come disconnect the dots with me, poppet

David the Collie craned his neck and bayed. Down his genetic line lingered the ghost of a wolf ancestor, and some lucky recombinance made the atavism surface on clear nights. Julie knelt by his side and stroked the golden mane. The name came from a chapter of her brother's history book, about the war, when the Jews wore their yellow insignias. "Star of David" sounded fierce, like a shield or torch held by an ancient watchman. She wished the symbol had existed to protect, but it just marked them instead.

Her dog would be a protector. By an instinct needing no experience, she knew you couldn't keep someone from choosing you as an enemy like the Nazis had done; that everyone brave gets their own Nazi.

They wandered far into the pasture, and the motion lights on the long porch dimmed and died. Hidden among the withered wheatgrass, Julie leaned into the panting dog's warmth. She followed his gaze, and the moon's bludgeoned eye returned the ache in gloomy, muted white. David's longing echoed her own, throbbing tonight and always with the wrenching distance of faith.