The Day of the Dog Everything on the garlic field is coated in a fine, choking dust. Rows of brittle brown stalks sit trapped in the August dirt, waiting. The Mennonite women wear wide-brimmed hats that hide their faces, while their husbands, clad in heavy overalls, bend over the rows like fishhooks weighted by a catch they can’t quite haul in. The field is an ocean; the families are so far apart…