Seven in the morning in August, dew still on everything, and somewhere behind a chain-link fence a dog is making its rounds while the mower warms up. Yard Dogs works the shaded south-side streets of Quincy where the back lots are deep, the gates are narrow and the grass under the old maples grows in its own stubborn way. Mowing, trimming along the fence line, edging the walk, raking out what has collected in the corners — and the gate latched again on the way out, every time. Late summer here can go from soaked to scorched in a week, so the cut gets set to whatever the lawn is actually doing. Quincy and the towns close around it, all season long.