The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  “Eventually the landlord would have figured out we were in total violation of the two-pets policy and evicted us, anyway,” Lara finished. “I should never have let Evan talk me into moving into his place. But you know how he gets. He made an actual PowerPoint presentation demonstrating how I couldn’t swing the rent at the other house by myself much longer and how I could redirect a huge portion of my monthly income toward rescue expenses if I shacked up with him.”

  “You can’t argue with his PowerPoint presentations.”

  “I know. He had pie charts and everything. And he signed a contract swearing to become a dog person.” Lara paused at a stop sign. “Although it was written on a paper napkin and signed at a bar, so I’m not sure it’s legally binding.”

  “Well, then, he better get with the program. Especially if he wants to get married.”

  Lara tapped the brake at the mention of the M word. “Slow down. I just moved in with him last month. No one’s talking about marriage yet.”

  Her friend smiled knowingly. “Maybe you aren’t.”

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  “Last time he saw Richard, he asked for the name of the guy who designed my engagement ring.”

  “What?” The car came to a standstill. “When did this happen?”

  “Right about the time you were moving in.” Kerry paused for a few moments, then added, “You can keep driving, you know.”

  Lara pulled up next to a grassy neighborhood park, which was empty except for two young moms with strollers. “Excuse me,” she called. “Did you see a giant brown dog run by?”

  The women shook their heads, so Lara turned left at the next corner and doubled back toward Kerry’s house. She didn’t realize her fingers had closed around the wheel in a death grip until Kerry reached out and patted her hand.

  “Why are you freaking out? You love Evan, right? And he loves you.”

  Lara nodded, her throat dry.

  “So why the panic attack? Diamond rings are delightful.” Kerry stretched out her left hand and examined her bare fingers. “Although I had to take mine off last month since my fingers are so swollen.”

  “Marriage is just so permanent. I mean, that’s a serious commitment.”

  “You’ll commit unlimited time, money, and energy to any random stray dog off the street,” Kerry pointed out.

  “Committing to a dog is one thing. But committing to a guy . . . I just don’t think I believe in happily-ever-after.”

  Kerry finished off the water, then declared, “That’s your mother talking. Look, your family is totally jacked; I get it. But good marriages do exist, and Evan’s a great guy. The man made you a cake from scratch. Lock him down and throw away the key.”

  “Evan doesn’t want to marry me,” Lara said. “He wants to marry the image he has of me. What’s he going to do when he finds out what a lunatic I really am?”

  Kerry closed her eyes and shifted in her seat. “Oof. It’s like my uterus is a hotel penthouse and this baby is a rock star on a three-day bender.”

  Lara chose her words carefully. “Do you think Richard will be home more after the baby’s born?”

  Kerry stilled, but kept her eyes closed. “Nope.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I knew what his schedule was like when I married him. Besides, I’ll manage just fine. I’ve provided round-the-clock care for entire litters of puppies. Taking care of one little human will be a breeze compared with that.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Lara, almost daring her to contradict this. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Lara shrugged one shoulder. “You know, you might consider cutting down on the dogs until after you have the baby and get the new routine down.”

  “That’s what Richard said, too.” Kerry looked stricken. “But hear me now and believe me later: I’ll never be one of those people who has a baby and forgets her dogs even exist.” She sighed. “So you found a match for my sweet little Murphy, huh?”

  “Murphy’s match found me,” Lara said. “And I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” She provided a quick rundown of Peter’s life circumstances. “This guy is committed, and he’ll listen to my recommendations about nutrition and training. Most single men won’t consider a little terrier; they insist on a ‘manly’ dog like a Rottie or a shepherd. But this guy melted as soon as he saw the pictures. I told him I’d talk to you and set up a meet and greet.”

  “But I love Murphy. He’s special.” Kerry basked in Murphy’s look of infinite adoration. The same look he gave anyone who had food, toys, or a desirable spot on the sofa.

  “They’re all special,” Lara reminded her. “And anyway, he has a greater purpose in life—to score chicks for the dumped and downtrodden.”

  “Well, if you think this is the guy, I’ll take you at your word. You do have a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

  “Except for Mullet.” Lara sighed. “Evan says that Mullet is nobody’s soul mate, and as much as I hate to admit it, he may be right.”

  Half-blind, grouchy, and prone to digestive woes, Mullet was a shaggy white Shih Tzu mix that had been dumped at a county shelter with no explanation. Her coat had been so matted and snarled that Kerry’s dog groomer had to completely shave her front legs and stomach, leaving a floppy cape of fur around her haunches that they affectionately started referring to as a mullet. Although her coat eventually grew out—sort of—no amount of grooming and training could change her grumpy, contrary disposition.

  “Mullet’s future owner is out there somewhere,” Kerry predicted. “Probably waving his cane and yelling at kids to stay off his lawn.”

  Lara opened her mouth to reply, but Murphy’s whining suddenly intensified as the car headed up a hill.

  “Oh no,” Kerry breathed as they heard a series of booming barks. She pointed at the construction-paper sign taped to the light post on the corner:

  BELLA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY THIS WAY!

  Lara’s stomach plummeted. Murphy started scratching at the car window.

  The barking grew louder and louder.

  And then Lara lunged for the door handle as she heard the sounds of children shrieking and balloons popping.

  * * *

  “Sorry I’m late.” Lara used a crumpled tissue to wipe the sheen of sweat off her forehead as she met her friend Jason at the door of the vet clinic. “Titus crashed a preschool party.”

  Jason’s jaw dropped. “The mastiff?”

  Lara nodded as he led her back to the exam rooms. “He slipped past Kerry this morning and galumphed right into a Disney princess bounce house. Toddlers everywhere. Mass hysteria.”

  “Is everyone okay?” Jason handed her a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “Well, there were a few tense moments when he spooked the pony, but then Kerry put the saddle on Titus and let the kids ride him instead. After that, he was the life of the party. In fact, one of the moms gave me her card. I think he may have found a new family.” She took a sip of coffee. “Thank you.”

  Jason lowered his voice as he opened the door. “No sudden moves. This poor guy is practically catatonic.”

  Lara took one look at the scrawny, scabby red mutt cringing in the corner and started oohing and aahing. When she offered her upturned palm for an introductory sniff, the dog shrank back and lowered its head.

  “My neighbor found him abandoned in the yard,” Jason reported. “I guess the renters there moved out and left him behind. He’s pretty young—I’d say nine months to twelve months. Not neutered, of course. I think he’s spent most of his life on a six-foot chain staked to the ground.”

  “Yikes.” Lara peered closer to inspect the series of open, oozing puncture wounds dotting the dog’s flank. “I can’t tell if these are from an injury or a skin condition.”

  Jason leaned in next to her. “That’s why I was thinking valley fever. We’re running blood work, but the results won’t come back for a few days.”

  Lara doled out a reassuring pat, stepped back, and announced, “Homeboy�
�s a hot mess. Good thing I love a challenge.”

  The dog turned toward her and thumped his tail.

  “Look who’s in love already. Your pheromones must smell like bacon.”

  Lara laughed. “Stop—I’m blushing. He needs a name. Care to do the honors?”

  They both cocked their heads and studied the dog, who refused to look back. Finally, Jason said, “Linus?”

  “Sounds good. Linus it is.”

  Jason mirrored her furrowed brow. “You look worried.”

  Lara exhaled slowly, rocking back on her heels. “I’m not worried.”

  “Do you think you can take him? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I couldn’t dump him at the shelter. He’d never get adopted, looking the way he does.”

  “Really, it’s no problem,” she said firmly. “Are you kidding me? Remember the Dalmatian with the impacted tooth and the gangrene in his leg? Compared to that, this is nothing.” She babbled for a bit, citing examples of starving, scarred, and deeply traumatized dogs they’d rescued together.

  Jason waited patiently for his turn to speak. “Valley fever is a pretty big deal. If you’re worried about your health—”

  Lara petted the dog and confessed the truth. “Oh, I’m not worried about my health. I’m worried about my boyfriend.”

  “Why? Is he immunosuppressed?”

  “No, but I think he might be at the end of his leash, so to speak.” She gave Jason the rundown on Evan, Maverick, the cake, the drywall, and the phantom engagement ring. “He claims he’s going to become a dog person, but I don’t know.”

  Jason’s eyebrows shot up.

  “What?” Lara demanded.

  “We get lots of husbands in here who got a puppy ‘for the kids’ or ‘for my wife,’ and most of them still see the dog as an expensive nuisance. Take it from me. Dogs, you can change. Men, not so much.”

  Chapter 4

  “Happy birthday!” Evan met her at the door with a fresh bouquet of roses. He kissed her, then pulled away, frowning. “Why do you smell like cotton candy and dog poop?”

  “Don’t ask.” Lara had a feeling the tale of Titus and the birthday party wouldn’t put him in the right frame of mind to welcome a new rescue dog. “I just want to take a long shower and go to bed. But first . . .” She took his hand and led him out to the garage. “Are you ready to meet the new recruit?”

  “Oh no.” Evan shook his head ruefully when he saw the scabby, shedding dog curled up in the back of the station wagon. “Not another one.”

  Lara gave his fingers a squeeze. “This is Linus. He’s a good boy.”

  Evan tugged his hand away and crossed his arms over his maroon Arizona Cardinals T-shirt. “So now we’re up to how many dogs? Some people would say you’re getting into hoarding territory.”

  “None of those people have ever worked in dog rescue.” Lara popped open the car’s back door and tried to coax the skittish red mutt out. “It’s temporary. I’ll find him a home in no time.” She fished a treat out of her pocket and used it to entice Linus to jump onto the garage floor.

  Evan’s expression softened. “Aw. He looks so dumb.”

  “Evan!”

  “What? That’s a good thing! The dumb ones don’t make any trouble. The dumber, the better—that’s my motto.”

  Lara shot him a filthy look. “Cut the poor baby some slack. A vet tech found him abandoned in a yard with no food, water, or shelter. He’s had less than twelve hours to adjust to civilization.”

  Linus shrank back against a tire and whimpered pathetically. While Evan went back into the house and herded the other dogs into the yard, Lara offered Linus a metal bowl brimming with kibble and canned food. He scarfed the food down so quickly that he started to choke.

  “Come on.” Lara dragged a spare crate down the hall. “We’ll let him rest in the office for a bit before we introduce him to the others.” She stopped at the linen closet to grab a stack of old towels, which she used to pad the bottom of the crate. It took only a few minutes of sweet-talking and bribery to persuade Linus to duck inside the crate.

  Finished, she sat back on her heels and turned her full attention to Evan. “Okay. How was your day?”

  “Not as good as yours is going to be.” He helped her to her feet, led her out of the office, and pointed toward two new cardboard boxes next to the front door. “The UPS guy just dropped off some birthday loot for you.”

  Lara ran the blade of Evan’s pocketknife along the seams of the smaller carton, revealing a perfectly packed, beautifully wrapped box topped with a bow and a card signed in unfamiliar handwriting:

  Happy Birthday, Lara.

  Love, Mom

  “Looks expensive,” Evan observed as Lara untied the wide satin bow and peeled off the floral-printed paper.

  “I’m sure it is.” She was equally sure that her mother had never laid eyes on the contents of this box; nor had she filled out the tag or tied the bow. Justine was a very busy woman who liked things to look a certain way—beautiful, flawless, and enviable. She had no doubt called up a sales associate in an upscale boutique, outlined her gift requirements, and tasked the employee with selecting and delivering the actual item.

  Lara lifted the lid to reveal a buttery-soft calfskin handbag with brass hardware and a designer logo prominently displayed on one side.

  It was lovely. It was classic. It was eerily similar to the bag her mother had sent her last year—the one Bugsy, a high-strung Weimaraner mix, had snatched off the hall table and gnawed to shreds in a bout of separation anxiety.

  Justine gave people what she thought they should have, rather than what they wanted. And that went double for her daughter. For Christmases and birthdays, Justine sent hand-painted silk scarves, bejeweled stiletto sandals, and Italian cashmere. Lara stowed all of these luxuries in their original boxes on the very top shelf of her closet, for fear they’d be chewed up or desecrated by dog hair.

  In return, Lara gifted her mother with generic, practical standbys like candles and cookbooks. Justine would accept these graciously, but they both knew that these items, too, would be relegated to a darkened closet shelf.

  “You don’t like it?” Evan prompted as Lara blinked down at the bag nestled in tissue paper.

  “It’s gorgeous.” She ran her palm along the smooth, cool leather. “But I wouldn’t dare use it. This thing probably cost eighteen hundred dollars.”

  “For a purse?” He looked incredulous.

  “My mom’s bag collection could pay for a small house,” Lara said. “The high-end stuff’s pricey. And do you know what happened to the Prada she gave me last year?”

  “Someone mauled it?” he guessed.

  “Bugsy,” Lara confirmed. “Two days after I got it. He ate half of it, then spent the rest of the night throwing up.”

  Evan glanced at the dogs milling around in the backyard, then shook his head. “For eighteen hundred dollars, you should be carrying that thing all day, every day. Heck, you should use it for a pillow at night. Maximize your cost-per-wear ratio.”

  Lara closed the box and set it aside. “I’ll just take it out and wear it when we see her on Mother’s Day.” She turned her attention to the other package, a huge, heavy carton.

  “Oh my God. Honey, look!” She gasped as the box flaps unfolded to reveal a purple plastic behemoth with cyclone technology and a HEPA filter. “The vacuum of my dreams.”

  The holy grail of pet hair removal. Not as expensive as the handbag, to be sure, but exactly what she wanted.

  Then she came to the card:

  Happy Birthday, La-la! You’ll always be my little girl.

  She dropped the paper as if scorched, and Evan picked it up, scanned the text, and returned her look of alarm.

  “Oh no.” She stood up and backed away from the vacuum. “What does he want this time?”

  “Maybe he just wants to say happy birthday?” Evan suggested, but his voice lacked conviction.

  “Yeah, right. ‘You’ll always be my little girl’?” Lara s
coffed. “A Dyson? He definitely wants something. Something big.”

  Evan didn’t refute this. He himself had grown up in an absurdly functional family: His mother packed his lunch every day, his father coached his Little League team, and everyone said grace at the dinner table before passing the potatoes and chatting about their days. When he and Lara first started dating, he’d urged her to take the initiative and call her father if she hadn’t heard from him in a while. Then Lara’s father, Gil, had started campaigning in August for Lara and Evan to come to his cabin in the mountains for Thanksgiving. He’d painted such a lavish, Norman Rockwell picture of communal family cooking and eating that Lara had finally agreed, rearranged her work schedule, and found a pet sitter for the dogs. Then, while she was packing her suitcase the night before, Gil called and apologized, explaining that he had decided to spend the holiday with his new girlfriend’s family instead.

  Evan had immediately driven to the grocery store, where he nearly resorted to hand-to-hand combat to secure the last frozen turkey, spent the next twelve hours cooking, and never again suggested that she call her father.

  She left the vacuum in the box, staring down at the label. Evan came up behind her, put his arms around her, and rested his chin on the top of her head. He didn’t say anything at first, just held her.

  Lara leaned back against him and said, “It’s exactly what I wanted—I just don’t want it from him.”

  “I know.” Evan kissed her temple. “But it’s your birthday and I’m feeling generous. Tell me what else you want, and you might get lucky.”

  Lara nibbled her lower lip. “Well, the vet says that Linus may need surgery if he has valley fever.”

  There was a long pause before Evan said, “Dog surgery. That’s what you want for your birthday.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know, most women would prefer jewelry and a candlelight dinner.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  Evan sighed and pulled away. “I’m starting to realize that.”

  Chapter 5