Where is the beginning? Do we begin, in the middle, this afternoon? Or at our birth? Or with the birth of our parents? Or, somehow, further back, with untold events on far-off shores? Daisy hears these questions and spins. She is trying to catch her tail. I laugh at this (quite frankly, I don’t know what she is doing) but Daisy is quick to observe that her spin is a serious matter. Are you seeking your beginning or your end? I ask. You tell me, she says.