Because I have heard that animals have secret names, I take Daisy to one side. Bababoos, I suggest. Piggywiggywoowoo. Daisy does not blink. She does not transform into an eagle or sit up any more attentively. She is not ready to be commanded. Pretty much nothing is happening. Earlier she had leaned with all her weight on the living room door and then trotted in and curled up on the sofa. She would like to get back to that. Daisydoos, I say softly. With this, I don’t know it might be pity, she licks my hand. Look, she says, there are no secrets. There is nothing here for you to find out.