by Marta Acosta
“Ten works for me. Do you mind if I bring my dog? He’s a licensed companion animal.” I should probably see about getting that license.
When I told Kenzie about the consultation, she said, “You’re clear after a reading with a guy who thinks his wife has been reincarnated as his bloodhound.”
“Really? I’d like to train a bloodhound for the Midnight Runners.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. God knows, you can’t get behind yourself. You’ve got a chuck of hair missing from the back of your head. Get the clippers,” and she buzzed around my neck until I couldn’t stand it and jumped away, feeling a sharp pinch.
“Sorry, Mad. Let me put antiseptic on it.”
“You’ve done enough, thank you. I’m not a poodle.”
“But you are a bitch.”
“Bitches are faithful, brave, and affectionate, so thank you.” I itched all over from the hair trimmings poking through my shirt, so I hopped in the shower. I never should have showered with Oliver, because now I was stuck with unwelcome associations of water running over his taut body and the way his skin tasted and the way he’d made me shudder with pleasure.
I’d have to shower with someone else to exorcise them. Claire liked baths. Hot baths with scented soaps on chilly nights and cool baths with lemon slices on hot days. Oh, Claire, my beautiful girl.
PLYWOOD COVERED THE front windows of the restaurant, a blocky 1940s building with peeling white paint. A new hanging sign in gold lettering read Penelope’s Catering.
Penelope had told me to go around to the back, which was surrounded a new redwood fence. The door was open and Bertie and I both sniffed at the wonderful aromas wafting out. I went to the doorway and saw a square-built woman with a silver-gray bob in front of the stoves. White plates covered a long stainless steel counter, and tools hung from racks. Her tanned faced was rosy with heat.
“You must be, Maddie. Come in! I’m Penelope.” She wiped her hands on a terry towel and reached out. Her grip was strong and brief.
“Hi, Penelope. Nice to meet you.” I glanced over the stoves, but whatever smelled so good was undercover.
“I recognize Bertie from the news story. Can I give him a treat?”
“He likes anything meaty, but he enjoys apples slices, too.”
She went into the cold room and came out with a large bone. She hesitated as she looked at my big dog, as if she wondered if she was tempting fate.
“Call him and offer it. He’s a gentleman, but it’s good to ask because some dogs don’t know the difference between a French fry and a finger.”
“Bertie, here,” she said, and he stepped forward and carefully took the offered treat. Penelope smiled and said, “Maddie, what can I show you?”
“I wanted to check the yard and am glad it’s fenced securely, which it is. Any dog you adopt will have to sleep inside.”
“I’ll install a dog door and I live upstairs. I’ll show you.” She led the way through the restaurant to a side stairwell. The 2nd floor was an open space with minimal furniture and piles of cardboard boxes. “I haven’t finished unpacking yet. I thought I’d put a dog bed over by the window.”
“It has a nice view outside—dog TV. Have you owned a dog before?”
“My husband had a nice old Labrador. He got him in the divorce.”
“One person always gets the best friends in a breakup.” I asked Penelope how much time she’d spend with a pet and her social habits. When I was satisfied she’d be a responsible pet owner, I said, “You know that if you adopt a dog it’s a lifetime commitment. Not to you, but for the dog. Depending upon the breed and age, you’ll be responsible to care for this animal for let’s say fifteen years. Can you do that? There are times when you’ll to work late or want to take long trips. There are vet bills, food and health care. You might get the flu, but your dog will still need daily exercise. When a dog is older, it might become senile, incontinent, or disabled. Will you be there in difficult times as well as the fun times? Because if you adopt a dog, it’s a commitment until the end, to their death, and that’s the hardest thing, releasing a pet you love because it’s time.”
She nodded. “I can...I will do that.”
I smiled. “All right. Let’s go to the animal shelter and pick the perfect dog for you.”
“Today? Already? Will they have a chocolate lab?”
Most dogs were brown and several were bound to be part lab. “Yes.”
Penelope locked the restaurant and we got in my truck, Bertie happily carrying his bone. As we wound over the highway, I pointed out the Lakeview Cabins Motel Luxury Rooms by the Hour sign. “That’s deceptive branding. There’s no lake in view and there is nothing luxurious about the place. The owner, F. Dirkson Bell, aka Dirk, gives free drink chips for his scuzzy bar, the Ring-A-Bell, with every rental, most of which are by-the-hour. When did you move here?”
“About a month ago. I had a catering company in Napa, but I couldn’t afford to expand there, so I came here. One of my pals calls Coyote Run the ‘lesbian price point.’ I have clients on both sides of the mountain,” she said. “When I saw you on the news report, I recognized you.”
I glanced at Penelope, trying to place her. “Have we met before? I’m not good with faces.”
“Almost. I catered a big birthday party last year for twins, a woman and her brother.”
I gripped the steering wheel, released, gripped, released, gripped, released. “Oh.”
“I had to keep everything warm for hours because the hostess, Claire Desjardins, insisted her girlfriend would show up. She got into a shouting match with her brother, and everyone was talking about a girl named Maddie, who could communicate with dogs, but not human beings.”
“That would be me.”
“As catering gigs go, it was a disaster. Then I saw you in the news report about the search and rescue. Are you still with Claire?”
“No. I should have gone to the party, but I got skunked. It’s an occupational hazard when you deal with animals in the country.” I parked and let Bertie out of the back seat. “He’ll help us recognize a dog with balanced energy.”
We went through the front doors and saw Georgie, leaning against the reception desk and talking to a little girl, who was holding a cardboard carry-case with a kitten inside, while her parents stood nearby. Bertie’s ears pivoted toward the mewling, and I said, “Sit.”
Georgie waved to me, a big onyx and silver cuff bracelet sliding on her wrist, and told the girl, “Let’s start with one kitten and prove you can take care of it every single day, okay?” She left the family to fill out paperwork and came to us.
I introduced the caterer and Georgie said, “Penelope, you’re lucky to have an expert’s advice.”
“Georgie means Bertie,” I said, and we went to the double doors leading to the kennels. “It’s going to be loud and upsetting, because you can’t save them all. We’re going to select top candidates and then we’ll go into the yard for one-on-one time.”
She told Georgie, “I’m looking for a smaller size chocolate lab.”
“Chocolate is a non-specific synonym for brown. Walk calmly by the kennels.”
As we passed through the doors, the agonizing symphony of howls, barks, growls, and whines escalated so conversation was almost impossible. Bertie was by our side, inspecting every animal we passed. At least will save one today, I told myself to keep from weeping, we will save one today.
Only a tumble of long-haired puppies seemed unaware of their misfortune. An elderly Gordon setter curled forlornly in the corner, a mastiff mix paced, and three pugs, the detritus of backyard breeders, watched us with deformed eyes. “The exposed membranes look terrible, but the condition’s easily fixed,” I told Penelope.
“Pugs are always popular,” Georgie said. “Pug Rescue is collecting them in the morning and will take care of the eyes before adopting them out.”
Penelope hung back by the puppies and then lingered near the lab mix, who bared her teeth at Bertie and charged
the bars. There was ugly scarring around her neck, as if she’d been tied up for years.
“That one is probably not adoptable,” Georgie said, “She’s friendly enough with people, but unsocialized with dogs and has other issues.”
“If her time runs out, bring her to me,” I said. “Same with that nice old setter.”
I noticed a pocket-size pit bull with black and white splotches like a cow, who waggled as we passed and presented her bottom as a greeting to Bertie. He sniffed and wagged his tail in response.
“A stray we picked up last weekend,” Georgie said. “Housetrained and a bit on the skinny side so she may have been on the streets for a while.”
“What a sweetie-pie. We’ll look at her.”
There was a larger mutt, another stray, with dark markings around his eyes and short caramel brown fur lying in the last cage. When Bertie approached, he looked up and then dropped his head on his paws, not particularly interested, but aware. His tail thumped a few times on the cement.
“Him,” I said. “The pocket pittie and bring one of those pups, too.”
Georgie brought each dog separately into the exercise yard. Penelope was most excited by the puppy, as it dashed wildly through the yard, chewed on her shoe, and jumped in Bertie’s face.
When the unhurried mutt was brought out, she asked, “What breed is this?”
“Looks like a purebred ABD, American brown dog,” I said. After the dog and Bertie greeted each other, the dog sniffed around the yard. He found a sunny corner and lay down.
The little pit bull was friendly, but peed nervously several times. Georgie said, “That’s why her owners turned her in.”
“She has too much energy for Penelope’s kitchen.” I handed her back to Georgie. “If someone wants her, tell them I’ll give them a free class on dealing with the submissive peeing and follow-up phone calls. We’ll take the ABD.”
“What about the puppy? I want a younger dog,” Penelope said.
“Puppies only stay puppy-size and cute for a few months. Then comes adolescence with chewing and shenanigans.”
“He doesn’t look very lively.”
“You say lively, but I think you mean cute. Maybe you eat with your eyes first, but it’s no way to choose a long-term housemate. If he’s this content and amiable after living in the stress of a shelter, he’s going to blossom with attention and affection.”
Georgie gave Penelope a patient smile. “Every animal here needs a home and we have a one-week return policy, so if a pet doesn’t work out, you can bring it back and exchange it.”
My arms flapped up and down. “That’s horrible, Georgie. I can’t think of anything more traumatic for a dog.”
Georgie glared at me. “This is more of an art than a science. Maddie has her instincts—”
“Impeccable instincts!”
“Peccable instincts,” Georgie said sotto voce.
Penelope raised her hand. “I’d like the American brown dog. He’s bigger and older and not as pretty as I thought I wanted, but who isn’t?”
She filled out the adoption papers and received a kit with an inexpensive nylon collar and lead, kibble samples, and pamphlets. On the drive back to her place, I gave her a rundown of care basics. “You can get everything you need at Gaskell’s Feed Store. Tell them I sent you. Take him to the vet for a thorough exam and for annual shots. Dr. Ben Meadows at Coyote Run Veterinary Clinic is very good.”
“He was on your rescue team, right? Gorgeous man.”
“Planning on switching teams again, Pen?”
She laughed. “If I did, I’d go back to my husband and disarm him with my cooking long enough to kidnap the Labrador. There’s no such breed as an American brown dog is there?”
“I’m not a credentialed dog geneticist.”
I helped Penelope introduce the dog to her house and, as I left she said, “Thanks so much, Maddie. I’m having an open house soon. You should come.”
“I don’t like chit-chatting with strangers,” I said, but with regret as I took a sniff of the wonderful food smells.
“Then call me when you’re around and I’ll cook for you.”
“Only if you promise to bill Beryl for it.”
“Of course I won’t! I wish all my clients were as nice.”
“She pays her bills promptly,” I said. “You can read basic dog training info on my website, and you can always call me if you have any questions or just want to give me a progress report. Don’t expect everything to go smoothly. He’ll do things that will make you want to scream. You’ll both need to learn about each other and bond.”
“I’ll give you an update tomorrow.”
“I hope you’ll have a name for your new pal by then.” I bent over and rubbed the dog’s fur. “Welcome home, fellow.”
HEIDI’S OWNERS PICKED her up on a sunny midweek morning. The Rottie was ecstatic when they arrived and jumped right into their Escalade without any hesitation.
“Another success story,” I said, watching as the car drove away.
“I’m going to miss that big girl.” He had been moping all morning.
“She won’t miss us. Dogs live in the now.”
“You can say that all you want and I’m not going to believe it. I think they might live more in the now than people, and we know they bring their past.” He frowned and kicked his shoe in the dirt.
“Jaison, is there anything you want to tell me about your past?”
“Nah, I’m trying to live in the now. Anything you want to tell me, boss?”
“Yes, my brother said he’s coming to visit. He may or may not show up.”
“Better hide your stash and bury your cash.”
“Look, he gets bored easily and looks for entertainment. Don’t let him drag you into any of his hijinks.”
“Hijinks?” Jaison burst out laughing just as Oliver’s Jeep arrived. He got out wearing a khaki polo shirt with the sheriff’s department logo. Jaison was still saying, “hijinks,” and cracking up when Oliver joined us. My shoulder jerked up when I saw the stony expression on his face.
“Hello, Sherriff. Let’s get Zeus.”
Oliver and I went to the dog’s kennel and he said, “Did you tell anyone?”
“Only Kenzie. I suppose you told your sister, too.” I felt sick at the thought of Claire knowing what I’d done. “Let’s get this over with. Tell me the most common places people get lost.”
He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but hesitated before saying, “On the mountain. They swerve off the road at night and if they survive, they wander around.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go.”
“You drive because I don’t want my Jeep to smell like dogs.”
“No, you drive, because you have to start getting used to the smell and Zeus is your dog.”
It was a brilliantly clear day as we went west on the highway. As soon as we passed the Towering Pines Casino complex with its sprawling parking lots, the bright open fields gave way to dense forest of oak, manzanitas, pine, and scrub growing on volcanic red bluffs, and the road began to twist and climb up the mountain. I was conscious of the way Oliver smelled faintly of neroli and of the network of scratches on his hands and arms, the same as those on mine. I was conscious of his thighs pushing against the fabric of his pants, and the way his eyes changed color in the shifting light.
Oliver pulled onto the shoulder and then he placed his cherry top on the dashboard. We waited for three logging trucks to roar by before we took the dogs out of their crates.
I’d brought along Kenzie’s favorite red suede flats, because I thought they would have the most scent. We put on plastic gloves and I handed one shoe to Oliver, saying, “Give me a ten minute lead.”
“Don’t get lost because there’s no signal here. Goddamn, I suppose I have to buy walkie-talkies for you.”
“You have no problem buying a tank, but you’re bitching about basic SAR equipment.”
“I am not—” he began, but I was alr
eady scrambling down the slope, trying to keep sight of the road above, which was soon obscured by the branches weaving overhead.
A narrow creek splashed somewhere below. The shrubs, trees, and ferns rustled in the soft breeze. Birds called, and now and then I heard the whoosh of a car on the road I could no longer see.
I kept parallel to the highway and marked a path with Kenzie’s shoe by scraping it along the ground, slapping it against tree trunks, and dipping it in damp soil. When I had walked for several minutes, I hid the shoe under a bush, covered it with leaves and soil, and made my way back up to the road, altering my steps, zigzagging, and backtracking to confuse the trail.
Oliver was leaning against his car, the dogs sitting by him. “Part of me was hoping you wouldn’t come back, but then I’d be stuck looking for you.”
“I’d rather go feral in the wilderness than have you find me. Take the lead on tracking. Show me what you can do.”
He gave me a pointed look and then let the dogs sniff Kenzie’s other shoe, and I gave him guidelines on controlling Zeus, who could move faster than a human could on this terrain.
Oliver gave Zeus his signal and they started quickly down the hill. Even though Bertie and I had a slower pace, I lost my footing on thick layers of leaves. I sat cross-legged on the ground to enjoy the quiet and peace. Bertie came for a rub. “Let’s run away, Bertie, and live in the woods. Let’s hunt and forage and howl at the moon and ford swift waters. What do you think?” He licked my cheek with his sandpaper rough tongue. “You’re the only one allowed to do that because you’re the most special dog of all.”
I stood and let Bertie track whatever he pleased, which I suspected was Zeus, and we met up with our partners on their way back.
Oliver’s smile was as unexpected as bright light in the shadowed forest. He held up the filthy shoe and said, “Piece of cake.”
“Okay, let’s try something harder. This time I’m the bait with ten minutes head start. If you don’t catch me, I’ll meet you back at your car.”
I grabbed the shoe and set a path diagonally down the slope. Bertie helped pull me across a steep patch that slipped abruptly to a gully, where I saw the rusted and torn bumper of a car against a tree. I brushed branches across my path and scrambled over a boulder. When I checked the time almost twenty minutes had gone by and I had no idea where I was. I sat on the velvety moss of a fallen tree trunk and waited.