by Jo Noelle
Chapter 10
Cole Zamora
There are probably a dozen holes in the walls the size of a boot. I barely understand the theft—they took something they could sell, but the destruction? I can only shake my head. The disappointment must be huge to Jenna. At least they didn’t mar the apple blossoms Jenna hand painted above the windows.
Jenna and I have been working on her cottage for a few hours after work for the past few days, but today we’ve had all afternoon too since there aren’t any guests until day after tomorrow. Now and again as we work, I indulge in a fantasy of what it would be like have my own home. I imagine Jenna walking down the hallway of that home and me taking her in my arms. For a few moments each day, it seems real enough to happen.
The two-way radio blasts with Walter’s voice. “That dog of yours has done it again. You’d better get over to the parking lot. There’s a woman waiting for you, and she’s none too happy.”
Jenna and I look at each other from across the room. The only one who doesn’t move is Seal, happily sleeping on the kitchen floor. I set down the drywall I was cutting for the next patch, pick up the radio, and answer. “I’ll see what’s going on.”
“I’ll come too as soon as I place this patch and hit it with some mud.” Jenna presses the wire mesh over the patch and picks up a trowel while I head out the door.
I walk up the path, trying to think of a time in the last couple of days that Seal’s been out of my sight. While I admit, emphatically, that he’s a sneaky one, lately he’s either been beside me while I work or he’s been in our apartment above the storage room. He’s been a model of doggy decorum. There’s a little hope that the woman is mad about the wrong dog. But only very little.
As I near the lot, the woman is behind her car, scowling, arms folded, definitely mad. That must be her.
“Hello. You wanted to see me?” I ask. I hear the faint sounds of barking from inside her car.
“Where’s your dog?” Her voice sounds angry—fits her look.
I’d better tread carefully on this one. She looks ready to blow. “He’s not with me right now. How can I help you?” Good thing that lazy dog stayed with Jenna.
“He’s a menace.”
Even though it might be true, it’s like hearing someone rail on your child, and I’m more than a little annoyed. I reply, “Sometimes. What happened, exactly?”
Behind me, I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel and turn to see Jenna and Seal approaching. When she stops by my side, Seal jogs toward the woman.
“Sit!” I command, and Seal sits—see, model citizen—his tail raising dust as it swishes making a divot like one wing of a snow angel behind him.
“That’s the dog,” the lady screeches, “and now this is your problem.”
When the woman opens the back of her SUV, the sound of yapping intensifies.
I turn to see my dog, his paws on the bumper—so much for sitting—sniffing the air toward the box, his tail wagging wildly behind him.
“He’s the father, so these are yours.” She simply steps aside, waving her hand for me to look in the large box.
There are eight little repeats of just what Seal looked like as a pup—all fluff and kinetic energy—tumbling around inside.
“Is your dog a Blue Heeler also?” I ask.
“No. She’s a Pointer.”
Those are some pretty strong genes he has.
“Really, Seal? Eight puppies?” I doubt he only went over there once. If any of them have his personality, we’re in for eight little terrors.
“Wait.” Jenna touches my arm, then she looks back at the lady. “How do you know Seal is the father?” She looks over the edge and gives a low whistle. “You dog.” Her voice is mildly scolding. Seal thinks she’s congratulating him. His tongue lolls out to lick her arm. Then Jenna looks back at the woman. “Are you here to offer us a stud fee?”
The woman snorts. “Hardly.” Then she begins to pull on the box, but it’s too heavy. “Help me with this,” she snaps at me.
“Just a minute, Cole,” Jenna answers. For a moment, I think about stepping in and helping, but Jenna looks like she’s doing great without me. “When did they mate?” she asks.
The lady clenches her teeth then says, “Obviously about four months ago.”
“And you saw this?” Jenna asks with a broad smile.
“No, but there’s the proof. They all, every one of them, look like him.” She points a finger at Seal, who is close enough to lick the woman’s hand. She huffs and wipes off his attempt at reconciliation on her jeans.
Jenna continues, “Then I assume it was consensual, given they both have that instinct for the survival of the species. We’ll keep four. So will you.”
Jenna hands me two puppies from the box and grabs two more. Without turning to the lady, she says, “Have a good day” as we walk away, Seal jumping and romping around our feet.
Before I set the puppies on the back lawn, I command Seal to lie down. He complies but can’t take not being part of the excitement and belly crawls up to us. The puppies seem just as interested in him, as he is in them.
Seal yips and runs around the edge of the group of puppies and soon has them chasing after him. Their pudgy legs can’t keep up with their frenzy, sending them tumbling over each other or to the ground. Seal waits with his head near the grass and his hind end in the air. Then when they approach, with their soft ears flopping at the top of their heads, Seal jumps and darts away from them.
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jenna laughs as the tide of puppies tries to catch Seal.
I smile broadly and get a little choked up.
Jenna looks into my eyes and asks, “What’s the matter?”
“It’s ridiculous, but I was thinking that I was glad they got to meet their dad. You know?”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Me too.”
A few times, Seal rolls onto his back and lets them catch him. They mob around him and try to climb on top, only to slide down and start chasing him again. When they are so worn out that they aren’t able to run anymore, we pick them up and carry them into the supply room.
“We could use an appliance box as a bed for them,” Jenna suggests.
We lay down newspapers, turn the refrigerator box on its side, cut an opening, add more newspapers and place the pups inside. Jenna puts a pan of water in the box. After having a drink, they pile in a heap and fall asleep, laying across each other. Cutest dog pile ever.
Walter peeks in just long enough to say, “Goes without saying, you’ve got to find homes for that bunch, and quick.”
Jenna sits back against the wall. “How’re we going to do that?”
“Can you imagine four more little Seals running around the cottages? No one would stay here.” I reach in and run my finger over the downy head of the puppy I’m going to name Gordo. “Daddy’s a kleptomaniac, little guy.” My voice sounds all mushy. “We don’t want him teaching all of you bad tricks.” The puppy digs a little deeper into the mass of bodies. “We should start tomorrow, while they’re tiny and cute.”
“And before we get attached and do something stupid like naming them.” Jenna sounds tough, but the gentle grin on her face tells me she’s half in love with them too.
Oops—did that already. “Great point. We can take them to the supermarket and sit outside with a sign.”
I get up a couple of times during the night and again in the morning to take some of Seal’s food into the kitchen, wet it down and bring it back, placing it in the box beside the water dish for the pups to eat.
On the way to the store, we have the puppies in an apple box on Jenna’s lap. It takes both of her hands, constantly moving to keep them in there. When we get to the market, we put them in the back of my truck. Jenna ties a ribbon around each one’s neck to indicate which ones are the boys and the girl, and the little beasts are nipping at those like it’s the funnest game ever.
It takes us all d
ay, but we finally give away the last one. As we drive home, Jenna’s phone rings every few minutes. She presses reject each time, then finally turns it off.