Dream. Trigo had six legs and looked rather frightening. He moved around our kitchen at home like an insect, enjoying himself, looking at one paw and then another, but ignoring his left front.

“Where did you get all those?” I asked.

“The leg store,” he said. “They were having a special.”

“Why did you buy so many?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean isn’t four the standard number for a dog?”

“What do you mean standard number?” he asked.

“Dogs have four legs.”

“I’m a dog and I had one leg. Are you saying I was supposed to have four?”