“Tom! The dog practically attacked me. He’s half wild! He needs proper training. He needs to go to obedience school.”
Tom laughed in a way that made me want to stuff a smoked oyster down his throat.
“Buster doesn’t need obedience school,” he said. “I figure a dog only needs to learn six tricks to make it in this world. And Buster already knows four of them.”
“What are you talking about?”
Tom stood up. Buster came running over to him. “Sit,” Tom said. Buster sat.
“Speak,” Tom said. Buster barked.
“Roll over,” Tom commanded. Buster fell onto his side.
“That doesn’t count,” I said. “He didn’t roll.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Okay then, let’s call that one ‘play dead.’”
“That’s four,” I said. “What are the other two?”
“Housebreaking and staying,” Tom said.
“Oh. I thought you were going to say ‘begging.’ He’s definitely got that down pat.”
Tom smiled. “So, what do you say, Val? If I can teach Buster to do his business outside and not run away, can he stay?”
I looked down at Buster and his begging eyes, then back up at Tom. I felt as if I were being double-teamed. Two against one. Not fair! Still, I’d be a jerk not to let Buster stay at least until someone called and claimed him. “Okay,” I sighed.
Tom grinned and leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Thank you!”
“But only until his owner comes, Tom. And you need to take full responsibility for him. I don’t know anything about taking care of a dog.”
Tom cocked his head, confused. “But you babysat Charmine.”
Oh crap.
Tom’s phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my seat. “Hey!” I said. “You better get that. It might be important!”
I scrambled out of my chair, grabbed some dishes and hustled into the kitchen. Tom answered his phone, but mostly listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. With only the occasional “yes,” and “uh-huh,” I had no idea what was going on. I was washing up the last dishes when he finished his call.
“Yes, okay,” Tom said over the phone. “If you’re sure. You know you can count on me. Bye.” Tom hung up.
“Who was it?” I asked.
Tom bit his lip. “My boss. Seems the governor’s called some emergency meeting. He wants me to drive to...uh...Tallahassee.”
“Oh. When?”
“I have to leave tomorrow morning.”
“What?” I nearly choked. “Why?”
“It’s complicated,” Tom said, and bit his lip again. “You see, my boss needs to brief me before this political thing. He wants me to deliver this speech.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
Tom shrugged. “Yeah.”
“I guess not going isn’t an option, then?”
“No.” Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh crap, Val! I hate to leave you alone with Buster like this.”
Me, too. “I’ll manage,” I said through pursed lips.
Tom hugged me. “I know you will. You always do. Who knows? Maybe by the time I get back you two will have hit it off.”
“Maybe,” I muttered. “But if his owner shows up....”
Tom nodded. “Of course.”
“You’ll miss the Barkmitzva.”
“The what?” Tom asked, his head cocked to the side.
“I knew you’d laughed yourself into brain damage that night we were at Vance’s. The Barkmitzva. Milly’s party for Charmine on Saturday?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tom smirked. “Well, life is full of little sacrifices.”
“Ha ha,” I said. I looked over at Buster. He lifted a leg and christened my couch. “Dang it, Tom!”
“Oops.” Tom cringed.
“Whether he stays or not, you have to buy me a new couch.”
Tom hugged me tight and kissed me on the nose. “Deal.”
“And bring me back some Minneola tangelos from Indian River.”
“Deal.”
“A big sack. A twenty-pounder.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tom smirked.
“And be nice to me, or I’ll call my mom and tell her you’re in the neighborhood.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “You are a cruel-hearted woman, Val Fremden.”
“You said it yourself. Life is full of sacrifices.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Don’t forget my tangelos,” I said as I kissed Tom goodbye.
“I won’t. Be nice to Buster, okay?”
I frowned. “I will. I’m not into animal cruelty, you know.”
Tom smiled apologetically. “I know. And I also know that you didn’t sign up for this whole dog thing. Sorry for bringing Buster home without checking with you first. And thanks for giving him a chance.”
The right corner of my mouth hitched upward. “Seems I’m a sucker for old dogs with no place else to go.”
Tom grinned and turned the key in the ignition. “Thank God for that.” Unexpectedly, he turned the ignition off. He stared at me as he bit his lip.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“You know, I was going to wait until I got back, but I changed my mind.” Tom leaned over and opened the glove compartment. He retrieved a small, gift-wrapped box and handed it to me. “Open it.”
I grinned. “Really?”
“Yes. Go on, open it before I change my mind.”
I tore open the paper and lifted the lid on the small, white box. Inside was a pair of gorgeous, diamond-stud earrings.
“Oh Tom! They’re beautiful! But...why?”
“Do I have to have a reason?”
“No, but....”
“Let’s just say because I love you. And to make up for the engagement ring disaster. And because you’ve been so great about the dog.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I fumbled.
“Well, that would be a first.” Tom shot me a boyish grin complete with dimples. I laughed, leaned in the car and kissed him. He kissed me back.
As he fired up the engine and backed out of the driveway, I waved, then watched him and his SUV until they disappeared down the street. After the engine faded, I heard Buster whining through the living room window.
It was going to be a long weekend.
I SET THE EARRINGS on the counter and poured Buster his breakfast. He gobbled down the brown kibble like there was no tomorrow.
“Hungry, huh?” I asked. He looked up and whined. So I poured some more. He scarfed that down, too.
I figured I should feed Buster about as much as Milly had written in her instructions for Charmine. But then again, males always seemed to be able to eat more than females without gaining an ounce. Another injustice I was going to talk to God about later. I searched around for the list Milly had brought over the other day, but couldn’t find it. So I decided to call the guy who’d been in charge that day.
It took a strip search of my house to find my cellphone. It had hidden itself on the nightstand in my bedroom under my copy of Love’s Lusty Love. I grabbed it and punched a familiar number.
“Hey Goober. How much food should a dog eat?”
“Who is this?”
“Cut the crap. It’s me. Val.”
“I thought you were done with dog sitting.”
“So did I. But Tom brought home a stray. The little mutt is eating me out of house and home.”
“Huh. How big is the dog?”
“I dunno. Maybe eight pounds?”
“How much have you fed him?”
“Three...maybe four cups of kibble?”
“I see. What’s today?”
“Huh? Saturday. Why?”
“Well, don’t give him any more food until Wednesday. And make sure he’s outside when he explodes.”
“Explodes?”
“You’ve fed that dog half his body weight in food, Val. That stuff’s gotta go somewhere. And I mean that literally.”
“Crap!”
“Exactly.
”
“Ugh. Thanks, Goober.” I hung up the phone and padded back to the kitchen. What awaited me there made me take the dog’s name in vain.
“Buster!”
One of the kitchen barstools was knocked over. The open bag of kibble that was once on the counter was strewn all over the floor, along with bits of chewed cardboard. I followed the short trail of clues to Buster, who was contentedly sleeping off his feeding frenzy in the sunrays beaming through the sliding glass doors. Next to his snout was the remains of a small, white box.
“Oh, no! You didn’t! My earrings!”
I counted to eight million and picked up the phone.
“Goober?”
“Who is –?”
“It’s me again!”
“Exploded already? That was fast.”
“No. It’s something else. The dog ate my earrings. What should I do?”
“Depends on how much they’re worth to you.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s only two ways I know of to get ‘em back. Surgery or poop patrol.”
“Poop patrol?”
“You gotta follow the dog’s every movement, or should I say bowel movement. Then you’ve gotta search through his poop.”
I looked over at Buster’s swollen belly. “How much does surgery cost?”
“WHAT’S PROPER ATTIRE for a Barkmitzva?” I asked Milly.
“Oh, just something you’d wear to church.”
Seeing as how I hadn’t been to church since the current year started with a one and not a two, that wasn’t helpful. “Okay. See you soon.”
I clicked off the phone and searched through my sundresses, trying to find one that would show dog hair the least. I found a brown-and-green patterned sleeveless A-line with a cute leather belt that matched my green sandals. Only one problem. Those sandals were in the trash – chewed to death by Charmine. I hung the green belt back on its hook and found a blue one. It didn’t really go with the dress, but matched my blue sandals. I shrugged. Who was I trying to impress, anyway? Dogs didn’t give a crap about fashion...did they?
I looked down at Buster. He was lying at the threshold of the bedroom door, watching me intently, still recovering from the scolding I’d laid on him.
“What do you think?” I asked, and held the dress up to my torso.
Buster whined and put his paws over his eyes.
“Everybody’s a critic,” I sneered, and unzipped the dress. “You ever been to a Barkmitzva?”
Buster yipped. I wasn’t sure if that was a ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ but at least his bark didn’t sound like a run-over rubber duck. I finished dressing and did my makeup, then tied a red kerchief around Buster’s neck. I thought he looked pretty dapper as I toted him in the laundry basket out to the car. I set the basket on the driveway, fumbled for my keys and opened the car door. Before I could bend over to pick up the basket, Buster leapt out of it and onto the passenger seat.
“Looks like you like to travel,” I said. I set the basket on floorboard. “Get in the basket.”
Buster looked up at me as if to say, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Okay,” I said. “Have it your way. Behave yourself and you can stay on the seat.”
Buster yipped. I slid into the driver’s seat. The sky looked clear, so I left the top down, turned the ignition key and backed into the street. As we cruised down Gulf Boulevard in Shabby Maggie, I discovered that Buster and I had something in common. We both enjoyed the salty sea breeze on our faces, and watching the sunburned tourists stumble by in attire that, worn anywhere else, would probably have gotten them arrested.
When we arrived at Milly’s mansion, I realized Buster and I had another thing in common. Both of us had hair as tangled as a bowl of spaghetti in a tornado.
By the time I managed to brush all the snarls out of my hair, it was frizzy enough to win first prize in a Rosanna Danna look-alike competition. With no other option at hand, I used the same brush on Buster. He seemed to enjoy it, and thanked me with a lick on the hand. It wasn’t my diamond earrings back, but it was a goodwill gesture.
“Hey Buster. I never asked, but are you by any chance Jewish?”
Buster poked his chin sideways and barked. I took it as a “no.”
“Me either. But I suppose to a dog, God is God, right?” Buster yipped out what I was pretty sure was a “yes.” I smiled. “Okay, then. Glad we got that settled. Here we go.”
I scooped up Buster and carried him to the massive mahogany door. After ringing the bell, I whispered into Buster’s fuzzy little ear, “Remember what I said, now. Play nice!”
Milly answered our knock.
“Hi, Val!” She said. Then her eyes locked on Buster and my existence was forgotten. “Oh my! Is this the little cutie? How adorable!” She reached both hands out to pick up Buster. He growled out a warning. She flinched and took a step back.
I was as shocked and surprised as Milly. Then a tinge of pride swelled inside me. Now you know how it feels, Miss Milly Halbert-Pantski! Buster likes me, not you!
I smirked. “Be careful. He’s a little...protective of me.”
Milly took another step back. “I can see that. Well, come on in.”
I stepped inside and set Buster down. He shot out of my arms like a fuzzy cannonball. In a split second, he joined the pack of other small dogs busy sniffing each other’s rear ends by the stone fireplace. Thank goodness humans didn’t greet each other like that. At least none that I knew of....
I glanced around the opulent Tudor palace, then warily took my place among the handful of snooty, pucker-lipped, sour-faced women gathered around the punch bowl. Every last one of them appeared to have kissed somebody’s butt to get where they were. So maybe we weren’t so different from dogs after all. Marrying a wallet might have assured these women a nice house and fancy clothes. But I’d rather take my chances roaming the streets without the leash.
“My Hildegard came from champion sire Albert Weissington,” said a lady holding a trembling white Chihuahua that looked like a naked mole rat having a nervous breakdown.
Pedigree-shaming? Really? “How nice,” I said haughtily. “Buster, of course, hails from the House of Squalor.”
“Is that a Chanel scarf he’s wearing?” another woman asked. “My little Tiffany adores her designer things.”
I looked at the Dollar Store kerchief on Buster. “D.S.K.,” I replied.
“Oh! Who’s that?” the woman asked.
“A very up-and-coming new designer,” I said, looking around for Milly. Where did all these women come from? I needed a familiar face. I was beginning to feel like a plucked chicken trying to swim in a lake full of geese. I turned and sighed with relief when I saw my friend coming up behind me.
“Val gave Charmine her beautiful dress,” Milly said.
“Oh,” the women said as one chorus. Something in their tone suggested my presence had been legitimized.
“Wherever did you find it?” asked the lady with the naked rat-dog.
“The new baby boutique on Central Avenue,” I said.
“But it’s direct from Paris fashion week,” Milly blurted, as if that made it all right.
I wasn’t sure where Milly had been going with that comment. The dress label had read, “From Paris.” But I wondered if somehow my answer...or maybe I myself...wasn’t good enough for this crowd. I looked around for the only other friendly face in the room. Buster. When I spotted him in the doggie pack, my face grew hot with embarrassment – for both him and me.
Mixed in the crowd with Charmine in her hundred-and-fifty-dollar dress was a Yorkie in a jewel-studded yamaka and a pug in what I hoped was a fake diamond tiara. A spaniel wore a fancy leather collar with a silk bow tie. A Pekinese had on a pearl choker. Geeze! Buster was the only dog not wearing designer bling. He also didn’t have a manicure – or a professional trim. But then again, neither did I....
I was...a bad doggy mother!
“Have you been to the new doggy day spa on Ninth?”
a lady with a tight, shiny face and swollen, rubbery lips asked.
“I...uh....”
“Grrr!” “Yap!”
The pack of munchkin dogs had erupted into chaos. I turned my head and saw Buster humping the pug. “Buster!” I yelled. He stopped, looked at me, then took off after a pink, fuzzy blur of fur. I curtseyed to the ladies. Their faces were frozen. Whether it was from horror or botched plastic surgery was anyone’s guess.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said.
I walked calmly out of Milly’s huge living room in the direction Buster had gone, my heels clicking on the polished hardwood floor. Once I was out of sight, I bolted down the hallway. Every one of the dozen-or-so doors along the hallway were shut – except one. I pushed it open and peered inside. There, in the corner of a posh guest room, I found Buster and Charmine in a compromising position.
“Buster! Charmine! You should be ashamed of yourselves,” I whispered. The two stopped for a moment and looked up at me. I shook my head. “You can dress ‘em up all you want, but you can’t take the trailer trash out of a pair of mutts. Break it up or I’m calling the cops.”
The copulating couple returned to their business at hand. But when I took a step forward and clapped my hands, they both took off past me out the door.
I was halfway down the hall after them when I heard the first shriek. By the time I got to the living room, it sounded as if I were crashing some kind of posh ladies’ cussing convention.
“Look what that %%$#& dog has done!” screamed rat-dog woman.
“Well, I &#@$% never!” shrieked rubber lips.
I looked in the direction their gel-nails were pointing and my mouth fell open. Buster was standing in the middle of the Barkmitzva cake, munching away like a plow through a snowdrift. Milly tried to grab him. He leapt off the table into a collection of crystal water bowls set out on the floor for the dogs. They clattered like wind chimes as they scattered across the floor.
Dripping with soggy white frosting like a melting snowman, Buster leapt over a crystal bowl and stopped dead in the middle of the circle of ladies that had surrounded him. He yipped once, then shook out his coat. Everyone within a six-foot radius was splattered from head to toe in a shower of sticky, white mess. I could scarcely believe it. For once in my life, I wasn’t one of the unfortunate bystanders!
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