The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  Bridget opened her mouth but Duff spoke before she could. “We’ll hire the help we need. But thanks to you, we have enough light to cook dinner.”

  “And count the mutts, I hope,” he said.

  “Would you like to stay for a bite?” Duff asked. “Nika makes a mean vegan chilli.”

  He was backing toward the door. “I’m good. You ladies enjoy your housewarming,” he said. They all followed him out and somehow, he nearly stepped into the exact same puddle as he had a few days earlier.

  “Careful,” Bridget called, and he dodged at the last minute, with surprising grace.

  “Fill that in, will you?” he said. “It’s a drowning hazard.”

  She thought he laughed as he disappeared into the bushes but she wasn’t quite sure.

  “Oh my god,” Maisie said, once they were back inside. “That guy is so hot.”

  “He’s an ass,” Bridget said.

  “Full of himself,” Cori said.

  “He seemed nice to me.” Nika pulled tinned beans off the shelf and then dug around in the drawer for the can opener. “Very nice.”

  “He’s all those things,” Duff said. “A mutt, like everyone else. He’s just upset about losing the house. Still, he did the right thing with Fritz.”

  “I saw how you worked your wiles on him, Duff,” Nika said. “I gotta try that.”

  Duff smiled. “I wouldn’t waste your efforts on Sullivan. He’s only got eyes for Bridget, I’m afraid.”

  “What?” Bridget turned from the cupboard, bowls in hand. “He was glaring at me.”

  “He only took his eyes off you to fix the light. Just an observation.”

  The bowls clattered as Bridget set them down hard. “He must be calculating what it would take to poison me, or something.”

  “Or marry you and claim the house for his own,” Nika said. “There’s more than one way to get the deed for a place.”

  “I’ll take the poisoning, thanks.” Bridget went over to the couch and wedged herself in between three dogs. “Sullivan Shaw may be hot, but we’d be a match made in hell.”

  Chapter 7

  Bridget smelled a rat. Or possibly a hamster, a gerbil, or even a guinea pig. Her sense of smell wasn’t refined enough to distinguish one rodent over another, but she knew exactly where it had lived last, because Beau had gone into a point. Aiming his long muzzle toward a corner, he lifted his right front paw and then froze. Bridget had never trained him to point but there were sporting dogs in his background. She knew that because she’d submitted his DNA for testing, as she did all of her rescues. Subtle differences in breed traits could help in handling and motivating a dog to learn. More knowledge never hurt, she figured.

  Today, Beau’s Irish setter genes pointed to a possible lie in Ross Stanley’s application for one of Bridget’s rescues. Her 20-page questionnaire—part one of the application process—specifically asked if there were small animals in the home. Bridget had nothing against rodents, but her goal was to set her dogs up for success, and depending on the dog’s proclivities, a hamster could be a tasty temptation. That would be bad for her reputation and worse for the hamster.

  Crossing Ross’ living room, she made a show of glancing out the window before inspecting the floor in the corner. Sure enough, there were stray curls of wood shavings, and a couple of sunflower seeds by her feet.

  She turned back to Ross. “Nice view of the park.”

  “It’s the highest rated dog park in Dorset Hills,” Ross said. “As you probably know.”

  He gestured to the couch and Bridget perched on the edge. Meanwhile, Beau did a circuit of the room, nose to the ground, reading all there was to be read.

  “Any small pets?” she asked. “Hamsters, rats, gerbils or the like?”

  “Nope, not a fan,” Ross said, smiling.

  Strike one. A brazen lie, offered with a smile. She jotted some words in a spiral-bound notepad, none of them flattering. “How about children?”

  “Nope, no kids.”

  “Nieces and nephews? Occasional young visitors?”

  “No. Why?” Ross shifted uneasily, as if suddenly aware of the Cheerios and Goldfish crackers under his chair. Further back was a small doll with pink hair.

  Strike two. Another lie. There had certainly been a child around, and it was only a matter of time before Beau vacuumed up some of the evidence.

  Bridget had nothing against children, either. Her dogs were well socialized with kids, but there was no telling how good the children were with dogs. As much as she loved her furry charges, Bridget was under no delusions. They were animals, plain and simple. All the training in the world couldn’t guarantee a rescue dog with a troubled past would tolerate a child pulling its tail and ears or riding it like a stallion. Kids might come into the picture later, but by then everyone would have a chance to adjust. It was her job to reduce risk upfront, even if that meant discriminating against families and rodents. There was never a shortage of people competing for her dogs, so she could afford to be choosy.

  “I just like to confirm the information in your application,” she said. “Sometimes circumstances change in the months after people submit.”

  “Nothing’s changed. Still just your average single guy wanting a dog buddy.”

  “Well, you have a lovely home.” Bridget got up. “Do you mind if I use the washroom?”

  While the water ran in the sink, she took a peek underneath. Shampoo and conditioner for color-treated, curly hair. Both bottles damp and recently used.

  Strike three. Ross was nearly bald and had little use for premium hair products. Someone else must have stopped by for a shower.

  If Bridget had to guess, Ross was probably dating a woman with frizzy hair whose little girl owned a hamster. Maybe it was too early in their relationship to make it official on his application. She understood that, but the fact remained that he had misrepresented the truth. If he lied about the basics, then what else?

  It was always disappointing to discover people weren’t forthright, but in the end, it didn’t matter that much. Even if everything he’d said had checked out perfectly, Ross would never have been a pageant contender simply because he’d failed the sniff test. Beau’s, not Bridget’s. The dog had given Ross’ hand a cursory inspection when they arrived, and then turned away slightly. More telling was Beau’s tail. Its gentle wave slowed, then stopped, and finally dropped. Once that tail sank, you were toast. She had never known Beau to change his mind about anyone.

  Sometimes the reasons for Beau’s strong opinion surfaced quickly. Other times, she just had to take his word for it. She trusted him implicitly.

  Bridget couldn’t tell Ross he’d been failed by a dog, of course. In fact, she didn’t tell anyone how she really made her decisions. Every year the pageant brought in thousands of charitable dollars from sponsors, organizations and regular contributors. They liked to think there was rigor behind her method. And there was. Her seven-step screening process consisted of a written application, a phone interview, a personal video of the applicant’s home and neighborhood, an in-person interview, a series of lectures, a hands-on training test, and a team-building community activity on the day of the actual pageant.

  Even before Beau arrived, Bridget’s success rate was impressive. In fact, she’d never had a dog returned. Not once, with more than a hundred dogs placed. Her screening worked well, but it wasn’t easy. Many people passed the test with flying colors, so the final choice came down to intangibles. Bridget trusted her own intuition, but she trusted Beau’s even more. Unlike her, he never had a moment of self-doubt. He wasn’t swayed by emotional cases, and he felt no guilt over turning down perfectly decent people. No matter what decision his tail conveyed, he slept well at night. The same couldn’t be said for Bridget.

  Now she had to go through the motions of being polite to Ross when he was doomed to be dogless, at least through this channel. She couldn’t leave right away. It had to look like a fair, considered process. And she had to leave him with
hope, because the finalists wouldn’t be announced for another week. Bridget hated giving false hope to people who didn’t stand a chance, but what was a contest without suspense and surprise?

  Her phone buzzed and relief flooded through her. She’d initially resisted Duff’s suggestion of tag-teaming for these visits, but even with Beau at her side, she’d always felt vulnerable in strangers’ homes. She’d seen odd things over the years, and some potentially dangerous things. Having backup was safer, and she billed it as quality control. Now there were two sets of eyes and ears, not counting Beau’s.

  Duff blew into the apartment like a breath of fresh air. Her cheeks were pink from the brisk day, but there wasn’t a hair out of place. She quizzed Ross lightly and quickly, and then whisked Bridget out the door.

  “That guy had fail written all over him,” she said, once they were safely in Bridget’s car.

  “Right? Do you think he knew?” Bridget pulled out of the parking lot and headed into the city core.

  Duff shook her head. “You have a great poker face. I barely know when you’re telling the truth. Only your mom could tell.”

  “Bet I could fool her, too.” Bridget smiled, but it didn’t linger. Of all the places they’d lived, her mom had most hated their two-year stint in Dorset Hills. The town was “too full of itself,” she’d said. Bridget didn’t disagree. Yet when she finished college, she’d fallen for Dorset Hills’ siren call. All she knew then was that she wanted a life filled with dogs, and this town could give that to her. Now, she had exactly what she wanted, but a pack of dogs made travelling difficult. Her mom had visited once after Bridget’s dad passed, but it felt like she couldn’t get out of Dog Town fast enough. Sometimes Bridget felt adrift in the world, but she had Beau, of course, and the Rescue Mafia became more of an anchor every year.

  “Left on Main, right on Deerbourne,” Duff said, pulling out her phone. “Let’s keep Trixie on track so that we can grab a coffee before the last home visit. Remind me why you cram so many into November?”

  “Because whatever people tell me in spring is out of date by November. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with right before the pageant.”

  “So it ends up being your worst month… and your best month?”

  “Pretty much. Then layer on the new house stuff this year. I don’t know what I’d do without my Mafia.”

  “You know we’d do anything for you,” Duff said, as Bridget parked outside the next applicant’s apartment building.

  Trixie Dayton greeted them in the lobby, and there was almost no need to go upstairs to her fifth-floor apartment. Beau liked her. He really liked her. The typically reserved dog practically danced around her.

  “Beau, settle,” Bridget said. “Did you roll in dognip, Trixie?”

  Trixie laughed, brown eyes nearly disappearing into round cheeks. It seemed like she must be as sweet and decent as she smelled to Beau. Nonetheless, she apologized on the elevator about the size of her apartment, its location, and her average-paying office job. “But I promise you, if I got one of your dogs, I’d treat it like a queen. Or a king.”

  Bridget was expecting a shoebox, but the apartment was a decent size. A dog could practically live in a closet as long as its owner was prepared to get out and have fun with it. At least, her rescue dogs could.

  As Trixie showed them around, Beau’s tail fanned steadily. Normally he’d have settled into calm nonchalance by now. Trixie was in his top five—a definite contender for the pageant.

  “No other pets?” Bridget asked, as she sat down next to Duff, and across from Trixie.

  Trixie shook her head. “My last dog died a year ago and I haven’t been ready.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bridget said. “What happened?”

  “King was twelve, and his kidneys failed.” Her eyes filled and spilled over. “I would have done anything, but the vet said he was suffering.”

  Beau moved close enough to invite a pat on the shoulder. He never offered his head to someone he didn’t know well; even then it was a privilege he preferred to reserve for Bridget.

  Trixie paused with hand raised and looked to Bridget. Before she could nod approval, Beau had shoved himself under her hand. They all laughed. Running her hands over Beau’s shoulder and back, Trixie calmed immediately. They went on with the interview, and Duff typed notes into her phone.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for a new dog?” Bridget asked.

  Pressing her palms into her eyes, Trixie shook her head. “I always said King was the dog of my heart. Do you think it’s possible to have two like that in one lifetime?”

  Bridget looked at Beau, the dog of her heart, knowing there was no way another dog could replace him. Not in this lifetime, or even the next if there was one.

  “Here’s what I think,” she began. “You’re not even thirty, Trixie. You got lucky early. But you can’t go the rest of your life with only the memory of one great dog. Each one will be different, and they may not all be superstars, but I guarantee you’ll love them.”

  “Yours are all superstars,” Duff said.

  “True that,” Bridget said, and they laughed.

  Trixie turned to Duff. “Do you have one of Bridget’s rescues?”

  Duff jumped to her feet. “We’re done here, right?”

  “Trixie, Duff had the perfect dog once, too,” Bridget said. “She was only 12 when she lost him, and she won’t try again. Isn’t that tragic?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Trixie said. “You should try again, Duff.”

  “Some day,” Duff said. “Maybe. Anyway, we’ve got to run. See you on Thanksgiving.”

  “Come ready to win, Trixie,” Bridget said, as they walked out. “Don’t be Duff.”

  Duff cuffed her friend as they walked back to the elevator. “Must you? Some of us are satisfied living dog-free.”

  “I must.” Darting ahead, Bridget and Beau played a little game of chase on the way to the parking lot. “Because I know how much you’d love a dog. I will hook you up yet, Duffers.”

  “Save your matchmaking for people who need it,” Duff said. “I bet you get Trixie a dog and a boyfriend.”

  Opening the passenger door with a flourish, Bridget said, “Let’s see what magic this pageant brings.”

  Duff waited till they were on the road before pulling a sheaf of papers out of her purse. “Let’s see what money this pageant brings.”

  “Must you? Must you drag my vocation down to that level?”

  “I must. Because I know what’s riding on this event.” She waved a spreadsheet under Bridget’s nose. “I’ve got a few ideas to streamline operations.”

  Bridget’s eyebrows shot up. “A few? That looks like a complete overhaul of my life.”

  “Oh, relax. I just want this year’s pageant to be the best ever.”

  Making the next turn with one hand, Bridget patted her friend’s arm. “You relax. I know you’re worried I’ve overextended myself with the house.”

  “You did overextend yourself with the house. And I let it happen. Therefore, I’m invested in your success.”

  Finding a parking spot near Bellington Square was difficult but Bridget eased the van into a tight spot. “My system works just fine, and every year the pageant does better. You said so yourself.”

  Leaving Beau behind, they walked to Puccini Café, where the coffee was great and the people-watching fantastic. They took a seat by the window and Duff signaled a waitress.

  “That’s true,” Duff said. “But once I started thinking about it, I could see that you were ready to take this to the next level.”

  Bridget glanced at the spreadsheet. “What’s the next level?”

  Tapping the spreadsheet with a maroon fingernail, Duff said, “Sponsors. More sponsors. Better sponsors. Every year, you get the same old mom and pop businesses to back the pageant. Yet this is one of the biggest draws on the Dog Town calendar.”

  “When I tried getting bigger sponsors everyone turned me down.”

  “That w
as then, this is now. Look around, Bee. Things are changing in Dog Town.”

  Duff gestured across the street. On the sidewalk in front of another café called Barkingham Palace sat a statue of a corgi.

  “What the hell?” Bridget said. “I thought only public institutions could have the bronzes.”

  “Look closer.”

  Bridget practically pressed her nose to the glass. “The proportions are wrong. Its muzzle is snubbed. Wait… is that a knockoff?”

  “Yep. I knocked on it yesterday. Fiberglass.”

  “Oh my.” Bridget tried to keep a straight face as the waitress set a large latte in front of each of them. “What’s City Council going to do?”

  “I give that corgi a few weeks, tops. And there’s a weird-looking spaniel over on Mortimer that’s not regulation, either.”

  Taking a sip, Bridget tried to make sense of it all. “What’s going on? What are you hearing?”

  Leaning closer, Duff whispered, “Not everyone’s impressed with Bill Bradshaw.”

  The new mayor had taken office in June, right before the summer slowdown. He’d made only a few public appearances, including riding a float in the Labor Day Parade. There had been photos in the Dorset Hills Expositor of Mayor Bradshaw in a tux at a gallery opening. He was tall, handsome and permanently tanned, like some movie star her mom had always liked.

  “He’s not folksy like Stan Thompson,” Bridget said. “Always liked him. Shame he got voted out.”

  Duff shook a bit of sugar over her latte. “Bill Bradshaw comes from old money and big business. I’ve heard he cares about appearances. A lot.”

  “So, the corgi… that’s like flipping the bird to Mayor Bradshaw?”

  “Testing the waters, I’m guessing.”

  Bridget tried to catch up with Duff’s thinking. “Are you saying I need to care more about appearances?”

  Duff met her eyes as she stirred her coffee. “I think it would help grab the mayor’s attention.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “—care about appearances. I know, Bee, and I love that about you. But sometimes you need to play the game to get ahead.”