"Some fifteen feet away from the child, her dog - a young dachshund, wearing a green leather collar and leash - was sniffing to find her, scurrying in frantic circles, his leash dragging behind him. The anguish of separation was scarcely bearable for him, and when at last he picked up his mistress's scent, it wasn't a second too soon. The joy of reunion, for both, was immense. The dachshund gave a little yelp, then cringed forward, shimmying with ecstasy, till his mistress, shouting something at him, stepped hurriedly over the wire guard surrounding the tree and picked him up. She said a number of words of praise to him, in the private argot of the game, then put him down and picked up his leash, and the two walked gaily west, toward Fifth Avenue and the Park and out of Zooey's sight. Zooey reflexively put his hand on a crosspiece between panes of glass, as if he had a mind to raise the window and watch the two disappear. It was his cigar hand, however, and he hesitated a second too long. He dragged on his cigar. 'God damn it,' he said, 'there are nice things in the world - and I mean nice things. We're all such morons to get so sidetracked. Always, always, always referring every goddamn thing that happens right back to our lousy little egos.' "