It seems best to start at the beginning, yet that is not possible, as you will eventually understand. There is, however a place. It may even be useful. I choose a place: August 1, 2004. The barking dog. The barking dog was at it again that morning. A barking dog. Michael was in bed thinking of a toy he had gotten one Christmas, a stiff, stuffed, battery-operated thing with a little red switch. It barked and bounced when he turned it on. Within a few days the batteries wore out, and he subsequently lost the dog in the toy box.