Sam had said, “Her owner died, and no one in the family wanted Francine. So the sweet old girl will probably live out her golden years in that noisy, stressful place.”
I turned out the light and tried to get comfortable but finally had to move the deadweight kids to the side of the bed. I curled into my favorite sleep position, then lay there waiting for Mr. Sandman to do his thing. But I guess he took the night off because sleep wasn’t happening. I kept thinking about Daisy and Tabitha winding up in a shelter if I died. I know that won’t happen because Mom and Pop would take them, but what if they couldn’t? Then Samantha would take them. But what if she moves away? Then she would have to come and get them. I need to talk to her about that.
I wondered if anyone had given Francine a home yet. I switched the lamp back on, flipped open the laptop, and scrolled the photos of dogs up for adoption at the shelter.
“Pitbull. Pitbull. Chihuahua. Boxer. Chihuahua. Chiweenie. Chihuahua. Pitbull. Queensland blue heeler. Dachshund.” I clicked on the photo of the black and tan dachshund. “Her muzzle is gray, so it’s got to be her.” I read her bio.
Francine’s Story...
Hello there. My name is Francine. I’m a mature sweet lady who is currently in search of my forever home. I enjoy walks and snuggling. I love kids, dogs, cats, and soft, warm laps. Although I’m not young, I’m healthy, and still have a lot of life to live, and I’d love to live it with you.
Primary Color: Black
Secondary Color: Tan
Weight: 12.5
Age: 12
Days in Shelter: 92
This morning
I was waiting by the shelter entrance when they unlocked the doors at ten. In the lobby, I asked the snowy-haired volunteer staffing the desk if I could meet Francine.
“Oh, she is such a dear girl,” said Nancy. “Did you see her online?”
“I did.”
“So you know she’s not a youngster.”
“Right. She’s twelve, which would make her eighty-four in people years.”
“Oh, my goodness, no. She’s not my age. We don’t calculate dog years in a one-size-fits-all number. Dachshunds have a long life span, so Francine is around sixty-five or so. She’s in excellent health, although when she first joined us, she was rather obese.” She shook her head with a grimace. “Don’t get me started on people overfeeding their dogs.”
“I could stand to lose a few pounds, but my yellow Lab and cat are in perfect shape.”
“Oh, honey. You’re beautiful just as you are. You must’ve been too skinny before.”
I love this lady!
Nancy picked up a walkie-talkie. “I need someone to watch the front. A lovely young woman is here to meet Francine.”
I heard a “woo-hoo” on the other end.
Nancy grinned. “That’s John. He volunteers here and adores Francine, but he already has a houseful. Me too. One of the perils of working in a humane shelter.” She pulled a shiny blue walker to her side and stood. “I had a hip replacement recently, so I’m a little slow.”
I held the door for her, then followed her past several dog pens. It was difficult passing all those hopeful faces pressing against the chain link barriers, reaching their paws out, eager for a touch.
“Here we are,” said Nancy. “Francine, you have a visitor.”
The little dog lay in the corner on a blue blanket, cuddling a purple squeaky bone.
Nancy opened the gate. I stepped inside and sat cross-legged on the concrete, a few feet from the dog.
Francine regarded me with her solemn brown eyes, and my heart melted into a puddle of mush. I held out my hands. “Hi there. I’m Katy.”
She observed me for a moment. Sizing me up, I guess. Then she picked up her bone, came to me, squeaked it once, and dropped it in my lap.
I scooped her into my arms and snuggled her close. “Time to go home, Francine.”
Updates
COINS AND CADAVERS
The Twenty-Four Gold Coins: The coins have been transported to Oliver Kershaw’s coin business in Los Angeles. Once they have been evaluated, I can start selling them. I keep seeing those gloom and doom commercials on TV about how precarious our dollar situation is and how we should all be buying gold. Since the coins will continue to increase in value, I will only sell one at a time as needed. However, I am not going to horde them like Mabel did. Life is too short.
Chad: Poor old Chad-the-cad still resides in the memory care clinic. The last time I dropped in for a visit, I was told that it’s best I quit doing that. He still thinks we’re married and he gets distressed after I leave. I felt bad when they told me that—which is so odd, considering how nasty he was before a dose of poison and a gunshot wound turned him into a sweet, lovable idiot.
Heather: Chad’s ex after me, is living in Montana with her mother and doing well. She had a full recovery from her stroke. Her baby, Noah, is healthy and now at seven months he’s sitting up and starting to roll around the house. Heather tells me you’d never know he only weighed ten and a half ounces at birth.
Afterword
COINS AND CADAVERS
Dear Readers,
Like Ruby, I had a bigamist grandfather. As a young woman, my Norwegian grandmother left her small fishing village and came to America. In Boston, she married a man and gave birth to my father. Soon after that, her husband told her he had another family, and then he skipped town.
My bold, determined grandmother then went to work as a housekeeper for a widower with several children in Minneapolis. Eventually they married, and my father grew up in a loving family.
A few years ago, I decided to try and find out what happened to my biological grandfather. Turns out he pulled this trick more than once, and my father had a half-brother who was also abandoned. That search led me to a younger cousin, and several months later we had a meet-up in Malibu. He has a beautiful wife and two incredibly cute, loveable kids.
The wacky brassier lady in the airport was a true story—except it got even funnier. After we were all seated on the plane and ready for takeoff, our flight was delayed because of a pesky little red light flashing in the cockpit. The pilot announced that we had to wait until the mechanics checked out the problem.
That’s when Bra Lady decided she desperately needed to go to the bathroom. The attendant told her she would have to wait until we reached cruising altitude.
The woman begged to leave the plane, but that wasn’t possible because the plane had already pulled away from the gangway.
“Oh, my gaawd!” she wailed in her wonderful southern accent. “I really gotta pee! If I can’t use the potty, I’m gonna wet my pants!”
I don’t enjoy flying, and that dear, funny woman was a delightful distraction for me.
Respectfully yours,
Pamela
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Coins and Cadavers
About the Author
I live on the California Central Coast with my husband, Mike, and our furry canine kids. I enjoy gardening, reading, yoga, riding my bike, playing guitar, binge-watching TV shows (especially British ones), and playing with our three awesome grandkids.
Pamelafrostdennis.com
Recipes from the books
Was it Murder?
#4
In the latest Murder Blog Mysteries novel, Katy finds herself at loose ends. She’s jobless, but not penny-less thanks to a recently discovered box of rare coins in her attic. But she’s clueless as to what her next career will be. Plus, her sizzling romance with Josh, is doing a fast fizzle since he left town to continue nursing his ex-wife through her cancer battle.
Just as Katy is settling in for an extended pity-party of weepy old movies and tubs of mint-chip ice cream, her mother calls with tragic news. A dear family member has met an untimely end.
Now Katy and her grandma must travel to the scenic Cotswolds of England to sort out le
gal matters. When they arrive, they’re overwhelmed by the friendly villagers who offer help and moral support.
However, when Katy and Ruby become the target of vandals, they realize that not everyone in town is pleased about their presence.
Is murder next on the list?
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 78