The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  In the ring, Cori handed a leash to each contestant. Trixie stopped bouncing the second the leash was in her hand. The brown Lab mix licked her hand and then sat watching Cori. For the next 20 minutes, they pretty much went in circles, stopping and starting, using the hand gestures Cori showed them to get the dogs to sit, lie down and walk nicely. They put the dogs in a down stay and walked around them. Finally, they summoned their demo dog by name, and offered liver treats and hugs. The leashes went back into Cori’s hands, and she bowed again.

  “Perfectly choreographed,” Duff whispered to Bridget. “She’s very good when she isn’t being a pain in the butt.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Bridget said. She shook the hands of the first contestants and signalled the next six to come in.

  This time the dog Trixie had been paired with was assigned to Jonah Barnes. He had a boyishly handsome face and handled the dog with the same steady earnestness that Trixie had. Somewhere in the back of Bridget’s mind a little bell rang. Jonah and Trixie seemed like a good fit. She’d make sure they worked together at Cori’s classroom training session the next week.

  After the third group finished, they took a break. Duff led Bridget over to the VIP area, where Mike was waiting with about a dozen sponsors.

  “Hey, this is going great,” he said. “The sheep were an excellent touch. The photographer for the Expositor just left, so I think we’ll get some play in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Not to mention social media,” Duff said. “Did you see all the cell phones waving? People love smart dog videos almost as much as dumb dog videos.”

  Bridget looked around. “Where’s the mayor?”

  Mike’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, Bee. He had other pressing business.”

  “Other business? Mike, the sitting mayor always comes to training day. And debut day. Then he announces the matches at the pageant. It’s tradition.”

  He patted Bridget’s arm. “I’m sure he’ll be here next week. Don’t read too much into this, Bee. He’ll see the coverage and be very impressed, I’m sure of it.”

  Bridget’s shoulders slumped. “He dissed me.”

  “Hush,” Duff said. “The show must go on, Bee. We have sponsors to woo.”

  Bridget followed Duff as they circulated among the sponsors, shaking hands. Finally, Mike introduced them to a man Bridget had never met.

  “This is Dave Hedley. He’s owns the franchise for Build Right, which is set to open next month.”

  Build Right had previously been shut out of Dorset Hills by the old guard lest they take business away from shops owned by longstanding citizens, like Hound’s Tooth Hardware. The fact that the huge store got a tract of land originally promised to a seniors’ center was indeed a sign that times were changing.

  Dave seemed like a nice guy, despite his big box store background, and was quick to tell Bridget he owned a rescue dog himself—a border collie mix.

  “I couldn’t believe that show with the sheep,” he said. “Never seen anything like it. It made me want to support your pageant. You’re the kind of community enterprise that Build Right likes to back.”

  “Wonderful,” Bridget said. “What did you have in mind, Dave?”

  He shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions. But this park leaves a lot to be desired. How about we bring in landscapers and turn it into a community dog hub?”

  “Perfect.” Bridget brightened. “I’d love to hold the pageant here and make the refurbishment a community event.”

  Mike’s hands were waving like a referee’s. He held a finger to his lips, then slashed across his throat and finally put both arms down as if calling a bad play. Bridget didn’t need a translator to know it all led to “shut up.”

  “Great idea, Dave,” Mike said at last. “Let’s run that by Council. They might have other ideas.”

  “Of course,” Dave said. “Whatever Mayor Bradshaw thinks is best.”

  Throwing a glare at Mike, Bridget stalked off to the ring, with Duff in pursuit. “Be nice, Bridget, be nice.”

  “I can’t believe it. Mike used to be on my team.”

  “You don’t pay his mortgage, Bee. The City does that.”

  Too angry to say more, Bridget gave Cori the sign to start the next training round. One of the contestants struggled to handle the Lab cross that had performed so beautifully for Trixie and Jonah. He jerked the leash around until the dog was thoroughly confused. Bridget got more and more agitated watching the dog stare up at the man, so eager to please and failing. Finally, the man gave the dog a little backwards kick to get its attention. Bridget recognized the move from a popular trainer, but that didn’t stop her from hopping right into the ring.

  “Did you kick that dog?” she demanded.

  The man backed away from her. “It wasn’t a kick, just a tap. He wasn’t listening.”

  “Well, you listen to me: never kick a dog. Never.” She held out her hand and he surrendered the leash. “You’re disqualified. Goodbye.”

  Nika swept the man away before anything more could be said, and Duff pulled Bridget back out of the ring. “I said be nice, not aggressive.”

  “He kicked the dog, Duff. I’m not going to just stand by and let that happen. What kind of message would that send?”

  “You don’t have to stand by. You handle it quietly and tactfully. As if someone sent an order of food back and you still wanted to be tipped.”

  “This was a dog, not a hamburger.”

  “The dog wasn’t harmed, but now a lot of people saw you lose your temper, Bee.” Duff craned around. “I can only hope Dave from Build Right didn’t see that. Now, fix your hair. You look like Medusa.”

  The breeze had picked up and Bridget ran her hands through her loose curls and secured her ponytail again. “It doesn’t matter how my hair looks. Can we focus on what’s important?”

  Duff turned to face Bridget and for once there was no trace of a smile on her lips. “That is what I’m trying to tell you, Bee. It does matter how your hair looks. In fact, your hair has never been more important and the future of the pageant may depend upon it.”

  Bridget stared, as if Duff had lost her mind. “That is ridiculous.”

  “Tell it to the stylist I’m bringing to your house tomorrow. My friend, you are about to get a makeover worthy of what you do to your rescue dogs.”

  “Won’t happen.” Bridget said. “Nope and never.”

  “Oh, it will. I’m your best friend, and I won’t see you let everything you’ve worked so hard for fall into ruins because you refuse to adapt. It’s survival of the fittest. And let me tell you this, Bridget: the fittest have great hair.”

  Chapter 12

  “Ouch, stop. Please. I’m begging you.” Bridget swatted Duff’s hand again and again as it zoomed in toward her face.

  “It’ll only hurt if you keep moving,” Duff said. “Maisie?”

  Maisie stepped forward and grabbed Bridget’s head as if she were a prize poodle. “I wish I had my grooming noose.”

  Cori laughed from her perch on the counter. Bridget was sitting at the kitchen table while Duff spearheaded a makeover. She hadn’t been able to line up a stylist on such short notice, so the mafia had done the heavy lifting themselves. Maisie had used her grooming shears to give Bridget’s hair a surprisingly nice cut, and then straightened it with a high-powered dog dryer. Nika and Duff had buffed, plucked and dabbed using a huge palette of makeup. All that remained was curling the lashes, and Duff had already given Bridget’s eyelid an accidental pinch.

  “Ow! I can’t. Leave it, Duff.”

  “I’m not leaving anything. Perfect lashes are like window treatments. It makes a house look done.”

  Bridget crossed her arms and turned her head. “Fine. Then I will be late for the wedding?”

  “Late isn’t an option,” Duff said. “Girls?”

  Nika and Maisie joined forces to subdue Bridget like a feral cat and subject her to forcible petting.

  Running her fingers through Bridget’s hair, Nika sai
d, “I had no idea how shiny your hair was under that wave, Bee. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous,” Maisie echoed. “You look like Beau.”

  “Excuse me?” Duff reared back. “Bridget most certainly does not look like a dog.”

  Maisie was taken aback. “I just meant their coats are similar. I mean, their hair.”

  Duff shot a scowl at her, but Bridget laughed. “It’s a compliment. I’m flattered.”

  “Living room,” Duff said, tipping the chair to make Bridget stand. “We have ten minutes to get you dressed.”

  The couch was heaped high with borrowed finery. Everyone except Cori had brought dresses for Bridget to try on. She hadn’t been to a wedding or any other formal event in years, and her only ‘little black dress’ had been dubbed dated by Duff.

  Bridget stopped resisting and let herself be dressed and undressed like a doll. Duff, Maisie and Nika conferred on each outfit, and took photos to compare notes. There was a lot of squealing and sighing, punctuated with occasional huffs of disgust from Cori, who’d sprawled across an oversized armchair.

  Finally, the team settled on a fuchsia silk dress from Duff, strappy stilettos a half size too large from Nika, and a bag and coat from Maisie.

  “You look stunning,” Duff said. “If I do say so myself.”

  She snapped a photo and waved her phone under Bridget’s nose.

  “I don’t even know that person,” Bridget said. “She looks too precious to get her hands dirty.”

  “The hands…” Duff sighed. Bridget’s short nails were freshly polished, but nothing could be done about the callouses. “I did the best I could.”

  Bridget pushed the phone away. “The mayor had better be at this gig, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “He’ll be there,” Duff said. “Lindsay is the daughter of his golfing buddy. The old boys come out for weddings.”

  Straightening in the armchair, Cori said, “Let me get this straight: Bee goes to the wedding and seduces the mayor in the receiving line?”

  “Receiving lines are so yesterday,” Duff said. “And no seduction is required. Or permitted, actually.”

  “As if.” Bridget shuddered. “I’d invite the bank to foreclose and live under the Monroe Street Bridge before I let that happen.”

  “Trolls have pride,” Cori said.

  “Exactly.” Bridget hobbled to the door. “Trolls don’t need to worry about falling off their heels and humiliating themselves.”

  “The plan, in case there’s any doubt,” Duff continued, “is for Bridget to bask in the bride and groom’s gratitude for matching them at the pageant two years ago. The mayor, who was previously inclined to dismiss Bee, will be forced to acknowledge her talent.”

  “And her cleavage,” Cori added.

  “That’s not mandatory,” Duff said. “I have a scarf that works perfectly with that dress.”

  Bridget eyed herself in the mirror in the front hall. “Scarves are for sissies. Go big or stay home.”

  Nika and Maisie laughed and even Duff smiled.

  “You really couldn’t find any other way to impress the mayor?” Cori asked.

  Turning, Bridget shrugged. “I was going to the wedding anyway. Lindsay asked me to wrangle Bruno up the aisle. He’s the Dog of Honor. Or Best Dog. Or something.”

  Duff walked over and straightened the hem of the dress. “Which is great because the mayor can’t miss you. Afterwards, you wait till he’s had a glass or two and make your move. Stick to the script. And for heaven’s sake, don’t get tipsy yourself.”

  Bridget dangled the car keys. “I’m driving anyway.”

  “You are not arriving in that green van, Cinderella. You’ll get dog hair all over my dress. I’ll take you and pick you up in my coach.”

  “I assume you’ve got an earpiece on her so that you can talk her through every conversation?” Cori asked.

  “Wish I’d thought of that.” Duff looked like she meant it.

  “I promise you, I will not blow this, Duff. The hardest part is going to be operating these shoes.”

  “Small steps. Make like a geisha,” Nika said. “Don’t risk a sprain so close to the pageant.”

  “True. So, no dancing,” Duff said.

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “Am I allowed to eat dinner? Lions need their strength to hunt.”

  “Yes, of course. Just check your teeth afterwards, and don’t get pulled into too much small talk. Right after dessert, you make your move. Then you text for extraction. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Bridget said, slipping her arms into the coat Nika held out. “Piece of wedding cake.”

  Bruno, a Boston terrier mix, turned into a whirling dervish when Bridget hobbled up the stairs of Dorset Hills Baptist, one of the oldest and prettiest churches in the city. The dog’s tail lashed like a whip, but he didn’t jump, he didn’t mouth, and he didn’t bark.

  “He’s still rock solid,” Bridget told Lindsay, smiling as she joined the bridal party in the vestibule. “You’ve done well with him.”

  Under the sweep of veil, the bride’s smile faded. “Oh, Bridget, I think we’ve made a terrible mistake. We agreed to take in Adam’s sister’s dog, Peaches, and Bruno’s been miserable.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Two months. Adam won’t hear a bad word about Peaches. Even though she’s torn up the couch, and pees everywhere when we’re at work.”

  “Separation anxiety.” Bridget motioned for the three bridesmaids to adjust their position and then bent to rearrange Lindsay’s train. When she straightened, she noticed the wedding planner’s frown, and backed off quickly. Managing a pack was Bridget’s default position. “Dogs need time to adjust when they’ve been rehomed. Cori and I will come visit after your honeymoon.”

  “Thank you.” Lindsay leaned over to hug Bridget. “I didn’t recognize you when you came in.”

  Bridget smirked. “That bad?”

  “That good.” She made as if to toss the bouquet. “I’ll send this your way, later.”

  “I’ll make sure my hands are full,” Bridget said, grabbing Bruno’s leash with both hands. “Don’t waste that magic on me.”

  The bridal party moved to the entrance of the church, and one by one the bridesmaids sailed up the aisle. The wedding planner gave Bridget a little shove from behind and she moved forward with Bruno. “Eyes up. Chest forward,” she told Bridget.

  Bridget fought a giggle, realizing she’d practically become a show dog. She did as she was told, focussing on the pulpit, and pacing deliberately up the aisle. Bruno never missed a beat, and neither did she. Not even when she glanced sideways at the second pew and saw Mayor Bradshaw. Not even when she saw another familiar face in the same pew: Sullivan Shaw.

  Taking a deep breath, she fell into position in front of the minister. Bruno sat like a statue through the ceremony and all the way back down the aisle. When they reached the church foyer, however, he began shivering uncontrollably. There was a sudden growl and a blur of gold. Bruno ended up on his back and pinned by a dog that looked like an oversized cocker spaniel. A fanged Muppet. Peaches, she presumed. The crowd reared back and a few ladies screamed, which only spurred Peaches to turn up the volume and mouth Bruno’s throat. He let out a screech.

  Dropping his leash, Bridget bent and grabbed Peaches by the hind legs. Then she backed away, as if pulling a wheelbarrow. Peaches tried to turn but couldn’t do much operating on only her front paws. Towing the dog into the church, Bridget dropped her legs and grabbed her leash all in one fluid movement. Then she gave a quick leash correction, and said, “Sit, Peaches. Watch me.”

  Miraculously, Peaches did as she was told. Then Bridget walked the dog up and down the aisle a couple of times until her tail was up, and her demeanor relaxed.

  The groom stood in the doorway, wringing Bruno’s leash with both hands. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I didn’t think she actually meant it.”

  “She didn’t,” Bridget said. “If she had, there’d be blood on Bruno’s tuxedo.”<
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  “I shouldn’t have brought her today. I just didn’t want her to feel left out.”

  “Oh, Adam.” Bridget shook her head. “They’re not kids, but this will be good training if you plan on having any. Peaches is going to need strong leadership from you.”

  “Lindsay’s crying,” he said. “What do I tell her?”

  She smiled. “Tell her you’ve taken care of everything—by letting me take care of everything. There won’t be any canine casualties on my watch.”

  Duff had been wrong about the receiving line. Bridget stood with the wedding party for what seemed like hours in the foyer of the Larkson Grand Hotel. The boutique hotel was too small to be truly grand, but it had been renovated nicely in recent years. The whole area by the Larkson Marsh had been getting a facelift. Bridget had mixed feelings about that, but there was no question that the hotel had become the perfect wedding venue. Its many tall antique mirrors made the place look bigger, and reflected the beautiful orange, red and yellow bouquets. They’d worked the Thanksgiving angle beautifully.

  By the time Mayor Bradshaw reached her in line, Peaches had settled down and become as sweet as her name implied.

  “You handled that incident very well, young lady,” the mayor said, flashing Bridget the movie star smile that had won him the women’s vote. “I guess you’ve owned dogs before.”

  “Well, yes.” Bridget eyed him dubiously. Was it possible he didn’t recognize her? “That’s why the Thanksgiving Rescue Pageant has been such a success, sir.”

  He blinked twice, just enough to give himself away. “Of course. Birdie, isn’t it?”

  “Bridget.” She transferred the two leashes to her left hand so she could offer him her right, calibrating her grip carefully. Duff had made her practice, saying her usual handshake brought people to their knees. “Nice to see you again, Mayor.”

  He appraised her, and not in a salacious way. “You do look… different, Bridget.”