Lynn Hall often adopts the pose of a celestial eavesdropper to observe the psyches of troubled dogs. Here both the setter stray Royal and the waifish Rhody -- the only child still at home in a nearly deserted town -- are viewed from the same perspective of indulgent detachment. One suffers for Rhody, though not with her, as she pitches a tent in the backyard and stays day and night at Royal's side to break him of his inveterate wandering. And one applauds her decision to let the dog go back to his roaming ways after he nearly hangs himself trying to escape, but Rhody's farewell -- when she hikes with Royal into the woods and then falls asleep, allowing him to slip off while she slumbers -- is just too sticky to float the rather winsome lesson about love and freedom that is foreshadowed on every page. Carefully constructed, but only for those whose age and/or sensibilities predispose them to mourn along with Rhody.