The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  “You’ve done a wonderful job capturing the spirit of the season,” the mayor said, admiring the decorations Duff and Maisie had set up on the stage. Instead of the typical pumpkin patch hokeyness, they’d found very tall vases and filled them with even taller bundles of grasses tied with brown and gold ribbon. Other clear vases were filled with hundreds of the multicolored miniature gourds banned by City Council. Cori had already scared off kids with nefarious designs on them.

  “I’m thankful for my artistic and talented friends,” Bridget said. “The best is yet to come.”

  Duff picked up a microphone and got the show rolling. First, she introduced the 24 short-listed human contestants, who paraded in a row down the runway, pumping their arms, dancing and generally hamming it up. The crowd applauded and cheered, and the mayor joined in.

  Then Duff called for silence and signaled to the tech volunteers. In the space of a week, volunteers had assembled a short video of each of the 12 rescue dogs. Bridget had recorded the voiceover, describing the conditions in which the dog had been found, and its long road of recovery. After each video played on big monitors, Niki walked the featured dog down the runway as strobe lights flashed. She had the dog sit, lie down, roll over, stand and give a play bow before walking back.

  There was hardly a dry eye in the dog park, other than Bridget’s and the mayor’s.

  “Well,” he said, glancing around. “You certainly know how to play to your audience.”

  “Everyone loves a story where the underdog comes out on top, sir. Don’t you agree?”

  He gave Bridget an appraising look. “I think I underestimated you, Birdie.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “If I’m honest, the pageant seemed dated and stale. You’ve shown me today you can take old faithful and give it a facelift.”

  Bridget smiled. “Makeovers are my speciality, you know.”

  He stood and smoothed his jacket and pants. “Tell me what you need to make my first Thanksgiving as mayor an event to remember.”

  Having rehearsed her pitch with Duff several times, Bridget launched into it seamlessly now. “Sir, I want to hold the event here. This is probably the worst dog park in the city, and we can make it the best in just a few hours. We’ll resurface it, add some planters, and build an agility course, just for starters. I’d love to install a pond with a fountain.”

  “A pond sounds a little ambitious.” He was smiling though. “And expensive to maintain.”

  “It’s an investment, mayor. People come to places like this and hang out for hours. In Dorset Hills, the dog park might just be the most powerful meeting ground. By fostering community spirit you’ll gain support for the changes you want to make.”

  “You’re starting to think like a politician,” the mayor said, leading her back to the entrance.

  “Oh, sir, you flatter me,” Bridget said.

  They both laughed.

  “All right, I’ll find you some sponsors and drum up support for building supplies, refreshments, and whatever landscaping you can do in November. But I’m not promising a fountain.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll put everyone to work on Thanksgiving, sir. Including you.”

  He chuckled. “No one likes a politician with dirty hands, Birdie.”

  “You can wash them in the fountain, sir. And please… call me Bridget.”

  Leaving with his entourage, the mayor gave a backwards wave. “Nothing wrong with Birdie.”

  Chapter 15

  The sun was low in the sky as Bridget drove home after a day of visiting sponsors with Duff and organizing the refurbishment of Seaton Park. The prospect of a hot shower and a cuddle with the dogs on the couch had never been more appealing. Still, she slowed to enjoy the drive along the twisting, hilly road. Plenty of leaves still clung to the trees, burning bright as the sun sank. Usually rain or high winds had claimed them by now. The sentinel oaks at the bottom of the driveway were almost bare, but their thick boughs seemed to reach out to welcome her home.

  Home. This place had felt like home since the day of the viewing. And every day since, that feeling had grown.

  Beau clearly agreed. He’d been standing in the passenger seat since they’d turned off the main road, his feathery tail fanning into her eyes.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t see the white van until she’d practically pulled up beside it. On the bright side, she hadn’t run into it.

  Officer Moller jumped down from his van when she slipped out of hers, leaving Beau inside. All she needed was for the dog to protect his turf against the Canine Corrections Department. As it was, he barked fiercely from the driver’s seat.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” Officer Moller said.

  “Hello, Dog Officer Moller,” she replied. “What brings you here again?”

  He cleared his throat in preparation. “There’s been another complaint, ma’am.”

  “The number of my dogs hasn’t changed, and it won’t until Thanksgiving. At that point, I’ll be left with only this one.”

  He looked at the car. The black dog whirling and hurling itself at the glass looked like some kind of specter, although the thuds were real enough. “One’s probably enough.”

  “I’m in the business of many, though.” She leaned against the car and crossed her arms, trying to block Beau’s view. The dog hopped into the back to continue his assault on the glass.

  Pulling out his phone, Officer Moller read from the rap sheet. “Ms. Linsmore, there have been complaints about disruptive barking at your residence.”

  Bridget’s stomach sank. “Complaints? Plural?”

  “On multiple occasions, yes. I can send the dates to you.”

  “By multiple people, or just one person, making multiple complaints?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”

  Again with the ma’am-ing. It felt like a tactic. But she was determined to put up a good defence. “How am I to address the so-called complaint when I don’t know who’s making it?”

  “You’re not, ma’am. We are. All you need to address is the barking.”

  “Alleged barking.” She pushed herself off the car and walked towards him. “It’s Sullivan Shaw’s word against mine.”

  “I can’t speak to the source or sources of complaint, ma’am. But I assure you, the noise has been verified by the CCD.”

  “Verified how?” She was right in front of him now, but he didn’t step back, as she’d expected.

  “With recordings on several occasions, ma’am.”

  “Recordings? It could be any dogs.”

  He pulled out his phone and pressed with his thumb until a loud cacophony began. Sullivan had been right. It was like an unholy coyote choir.

  “That’s not my dogs. I don’t know what that is, but listen.” She gestured toward the house. “They’re all in there and they’re not making a peep.”

  “It is your dogs. I recorded it myself yesterday afternoon. And the day before… this.” He pressed again and more eerie barking ensued. The volume went up and up, although he wasn’t adjusting it. She couldn’t pick out any one voice in the crowd.

  Suddenly a yodeling howl rose in the recording. It was immediately echoed by a yodel inside the house. Fritz.

  “I don’t understand.” Bridget groaning, pressing fingertips into her temples to keep her head from exploding. “My dogs hardly ever bark, let alone howl. Only Beau barks. He’s the lead dog.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they howl when their lead dog’s not here. I’m no expert on pack dynamics. All I can tell you is that this noise exceeds the allowable decibels for a residential neighborhood.”

  It would exceed the allowable decibels inside the gates of hell, Bridget thought. “It sounds like I’ll need to have a talk with them, Officer.”

  “If you want to make it to the pageant, you’ll need to do more than that, ma’am.”

  “More threats, Officer?”

  “Well, that’s the second complaint. Again, I’m authorized to remove the dogs.�
�

  Bridget took a deep breath, and then another, but the delay only prevented her from actually striking him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but ominous. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

  Officer Moller blinked a few times and cleared his throat again. “That won’t be necessary. Maybe you could have someone stay with them while you’re out. Or use muzzles.”

  “Muzzles! Muzzles would traumatize them. This is a big week for the dogs and I can’t afford to upset them.”

  He got back in the van, rolled down the window and hit play again. “Ma’am, like I said, I’m no expert on pack dynamics. But it sounds to me like your pack is traumatized already.”

  Bridget clung to the edge of his window. “Wait. I can’t afford another complaint. One more and—”

  “You’ll ruin your chances for a kennel permit. I know. That’s why I came twice to verify before proceeding.”

  “But Officer…”

  “I don’t like having to do this, ma’am. I’m a dog lover, too. This bothers me as much as it does you.”

  Bridget suddenly felt as small as a child looking up at him. “I very much doubt that, Officer. Unless you’re about to cry right now.”

  He gunned it out of the driveway, shooting gravel back like tiny bullets.

  “No whining,” Bridget said, holding her phone over her head as a flashlight.

  Beau pushed behind her, making distressed peeps.

  “I don’t like having to do this, Beau. This bothers me as much as it does you.”

  He panted an anxious rebuttal. Beau had never liked adventures after dark, particularly in the bush when something might jump out at them.

  “Sorry, I don’t care. I’m not going over there alone. And this is probably preferable to being in the house with 12 coyotes.”

  Finally, after falling twice, Bridget emerged on Sullivan’s driveway. She hadn’t stopped to consider that he might not be home. Or that driving over made more sense. She’d left her driveway on the winds of rage and descended on his deflated. Now she was here, and his silver sports car was shining under the porch light. She might as well have a word with him. What that word would be, she’d didn’t know. Hopefully she’d be as eloquent as she had been with the mayor yesterday. Dealing with asses was just another element of her job now.

  She rapped the knocker once, easing Beau behind her. “Be nice. That’s how we roll, buddy.”

  The porch light came on and Sullivan opened the door, looking disheveled and surprised. His dark hair was tousled and his face stubbly. He was the kind of guy who could practically grow a beard overnight. “Bridget. Hi.”

  “Why?” That was the only word that came to mind. “Why?”

  He stepped out the door and let it close behind him. “The city needs more housing, that’s why. But we’re going to preserve a section of the marsh, I promise you. It’s an important part of the Dorset Hills ecosystem.”

  “No.” She waved her hand, but still couldn’t spit out her real reason for coming.

  “I know it’s upsetting, and I feel bad about the tadpoles and frogs.” He hopped on the cold porch, and then held up one bare foot against the opposite leg. “And the herons. And whatever else is in that stinking cesspool. Seriously, I do. But you can’t let it upset you this much.”

  A few tears trickled down Bridget’s cheeks, and she dashed them away with her sleeve. “Don’t poke my butt,” she said.

  “Pardon me?” he said. “I’m not—”

  “Not you, the dog. He’s, er, nudging my butt.”

  “Oh. Well then.” He smiled. “Can’t blame a guy for that.”

  Some tiny muscles revived and tugged at the corners of Bridget’s mouth. “Never mind.”

  “Come in.” Sullivan stepped back. “And bring the dog, even though he hates my guts.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.”

  Beau had to be pulled inside, and the hackles on his back rose as fast as his tail dropped.

  Sullivan took another step back. “Obviously, he does. I have no idea why.”

  “He doesn’t hate anyone else,” Bridget said. “You should feel special.”

  Sullivan led her into the living room and motioned to a long, deep, chestnut leather couch—a man cave couch. The walls were paneled with cedar, and a massive fireplace sat full of logs waiting to be lit. Meanwhile, a football game played silently on an equally huge TV screen. Grace certainly hadn’t made any inroads here. Her doll collection would run screaming.

  “Dogs usually like me,” Sullivan said, taking the armchair opposite and flinging his leg over the arm. “I guess Beau’s the only one who knows about my missing heart.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You told the mayor yesterday that a man without a dog is a man without a heart. If I got that right.”

  “Close enough,” she said. “If you called the city about my dogs’ barking, you truly are heartless. These rescues are set to join amazing homes in a few days, but someone’s putting their futures in jeopardy.”

  “I didn’t call the city. I’m the one who warned you about the barking, remember?”

  “I didn’t believe you. And I heard nothing myself.”

  “It’s happened a lot lately. But I didn’t think you’d welcome a call about it.”

  “I may not have welcomed the news, but I’d have been grateful.” She sighed. “At least, later. When my dogs weren’t snatched out of my care.”

  Sullivan straightened up and leaned forward. “They took the dogs?”

  “Not yet, but the dog cop reminded me he’s within his rights to do so. One more complaint and I’m doomed. Someone’s got it in for me.”

  “Not me.”

  “If not you, then whom?”

  “I’m not the only one with ears, Bridget. They could hear that wailing in Pemsville. And if you think I’m exaggerating—”

  “I heard a recording. Fritz’s yodel was unmistakable.”

  “Ah, Fritz. He’s quite a character.” Sullivan smiled. “If I had a heart, that’s the dog who’d prove it.”

  “You could have almost any dog,” Bridget said. “Why didn’t you go get a nice Lab after I turned you down?”

  He smoothed the leather on the armrest. “Guess I figured you were right—that I wasn’t ready for another dog. I had the perfect dog once, you know. Lightning probably doesn’t strike twice.”

  “You didn’t mention losing your perfect dog in your application. I’d remember that.”

  His eyes fixed on the TV screen. “I don’t like to talk about it. Even after 10 years.”

  “Okay, but knowing that might have made a difference.”

  Probably not, though. Beau, who was sitting perfectly still beside her, had cast his vote clearly. And whatever he saw in Sullivan then, he saw now.

  Still looking at the TV, Sullivan said, “Maybe it was for the best. I decided to make sure I was doing it for the right reasons, and not just because I was the new kid in town and lonely.”

  “It’s not personal, Sullivan. These dogs are rescues. Every last one of them has a troubled past. I have to be careful to place them in the right homes, so they’ll flourish. It doesn’t mean you wouldn’t raise a perfectly good dog from scratch.”

  “Right, I’m just not good enough for your dogs.” He was teasing, but she could hear the hurt behind his words. He got up, turned to the fireplace, and started crumpling sheets of newspaper into balls.

  “No one’s good enough for my dogs,” Bridget said, over the crumpling. “If I could keep them all, I would. But if the CCD has its way, I’ll only be able to keep four. That’s why I need to figure out who’s targeting me.”

  Sullivan bent to tuck balls of newspaper into the carefully arranged firewood. “Do you know the secret of a good fire, Bridget?”

  “I’m on the edge of my seat.” She made a show of settling even deeper into the cozy couch that felt like a giant hug.

  “It’s all about warming the flue.” Striking a match, he lit the last ball of newspaper. Then he he
ld the match over the logs in the fireplace. “Like so. A warmed flue coaxes smoke up the chimney, so that it doesn’t blow the other way and fill the house.”

  “Fascinating.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me this why?”

  He dropped the flaming newspaper just before it singed his fingers. Then he used another match to light the other bits of newspaper. “Seems like you live in a smoky house, that’s all. Clear it out and you’ll breathe easier and see better.”

  “Thanks, Confucius. I’ll have to ponder that. For the moment I just want to get through the pageant and then focus on expanding my kennel.”

  Sullivan winced. “You really want to add more coyotes?”

  “I really want to save more dogs. Dorset Hills has a no-kill policy, so they ship strays and surrendered dogs off to other towns that don’t. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “What?” He turned to stare at her. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Most people don’t. It doesn’t fit with the Dog Town brand.”

  “Huh.” Using an iron poker, he adjusted a log. “What a shame.”

  “If I manage to get a kennel license, I can save a few more each year. But the dog cop told me three strikes and I’m out.” Staring at the now-roaring fire, she sighed. “Twelve years in my old place without a single complaint and now two in the same month.”

  “I guess it’s too late to install soundproofing, although that would go a long way.”

  “In the short term there has to be an easier—and cheaper—way.”

  He set a screen over the open fire. “Maybe it’s time to deliver some home-baked cookies to the neighbors.”

  “You think I have time for baking?”

  He perched beside her on the couch. “I think you have time to buy some nice cookies and put them on one of your plates. And when people deliver it back, you invite them in. Be neighborly. Show them you’re not scary.”

  “Scary! I’m not scary.” Her voice rose a notch and Beau moved to keep an eye on Sullivan.

  “You kinda are.” He jabbed a thumb in Beau’s direction. “And he’s scarier.”