The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  “Your boyfriend didn’t tell you?”

  Lara was feeling more confused by the second. “No, Evan didn’t mention anything about the Channel Three morning show.” She looked over at the camera. “Is that thing on?”

  Claudia shook her head. “Don’t worry; we’re not recording you. We just wanted to get a few exterior shots of the park for the show. And yes, I spoke with Evan this morning when I called your house. He said you come here every Friday morning, so we thought we’d kill two birds with one stone. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to appear on the show next week.” The interviewer’s detached smile transformed into a genuine grin as she confided, “I got your contact information from Peter Hoffstead.”

  “Murphy’s owner?”

  “Yes.” A faint blush seeped into Claudia’s cheeks. “I met him on the jogging path over the weekend, and he described how you hooked him up with Murphy. He said you’re famous all around the city as ‘the dog matchmaker.’”

  Lara let the dogs through the gate and unclipped the leashes. “Well, I don’t have an official title, but I do the best I can.”

  “It’s a terrific human interest story. You could bring one of your dogs, explain what you do and how you match people up with their canine soul mates.”

  “I’ve never been on TV.”

  “You’ll do great,” Claudia assured her. “All you have to do is show up, preferably with a well-behaved dog, and be yourself.”

  Lara envisioned herself walking onto a television set, with bright lights and cameras and lots of people staring at her—not to mention thousands of home viewers—and her throat closed up.

  “Think of it as a chance to get some free publicity for the rescue group you work with. We could list the Web site on-screen while we interview.”

  “I don’t work with an official incorporated rescue,” Lara confessed. “We’re kind of a grassroots operation. It’s just me, my friend Kerry, and way too many dogs.”

  “Perfect! Together, we’ll find them all great homes.” Claudia whipped out her smartphone and tapped the screen. “Shall we say Wednesday?”

  “Um . . .”

  “My producer will be in touch with all the details.”

  “Great. Thanks for the opportunity.”

  “Do we have the footage we need?” Claudia called to the camera guy. Then she turned back to Lara and said, “I’ve got to go home and throw on some spandex and sneakers. I’m going hiking with Peter.”

  Lara finally started to relax. “Murphy reeled you in, huh?”

  Claudia nodded, laughing. “I couldn’t say no.”

  “Watch yourself. Those terriers are trouble.”

  “What? No! He’s just a lovable little bundle of scruff.”

  Lara couldn’t suppress a triumphant smile as she watched Raggs and Rufus chase each other around. She might never be CEO material, and she was far from the ideal girlfriend, but as a dog matchmaker, she was a virtuoso.

  * * *

  “I got the blood work results,” Jason reported when Lara walked into the vet clinic after her last appointment of the day.

  Lara braced herself for the worst. Linus’s extreme lethargy didn’t bode well for his health. “And?”

  “And everything came back normal. Kidney function looks good, liver function’s fine, pancreas checks out. Red and white cell counts are within normal range.” Jason scanned the sheet of paper, nodding. “No sign of pathology at all.”

  Lara frowned. Linus had been sleeping almost without interruption for two days straight. “So no valley fever, then.”

  “No valley fever.”

  “What about his thyroid?”

  Jason glanced up. “Thyroxine and triidothyronine are both fine. Why?”

  Lara dropped her bag on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. “Well, he just seems exhausted all the time.”

  “Maybe he’s traumatized.”

  “Maybe.” But Lara sensed shenanigans. “Or maybe he’s just a big faker.”

  * * *

  Lara crept down the hallway as silently as possible, tiptoeing on bare feet and holding her breath. Since Linus had seemed so mopey that morning, she’d left him in the kitchen with the crate door open so he could explore the room and help himself to a drink from the water bowl if he so desired.

  She peeked around the corner to find the big red dog lying next to the patio door, gazing out at the backyard with his head lifted and his eyes open.

  As soon as he saw her, his head dropped and his eyes snapped shut.

  Then she noticed the faucet. A steady trickle of water dripped from the kitchen sink, almost as if someone had nudged the handle. And there were fresh nose prints on the window behind the sink. And wet paw prints on the countertop.

  “Aha!” she cried, pointing at the sink. “You are so busted.”

  Linus remained immobile, but started to snore in a very dramatic and unconvincing fashion.

  “Give it up. You’re not fooling anyone. You’re totally hale and hearty, and I have the blood work to prove it. On your feet, private. We’re going for a walk.”

  She gated the other dogs in the kitchen, put Linus on a leash, and led him out the front door. At first, he dragged along behind her with his head hung low and his tail curled under, but by the time they’d circled the block, he started to show signs of life. His gait picked up, he turned to look at the kids playing in driveways, and he began sniffing signposts and mailboxes.

  Once he’d cheered up enough to snatch a stick lying by the curb and wave it around in his jaws, Lara decided to hold a mini training session, just to gauge his potential and intellect.

  Ten minutes later, Linus could sit on command and was well on his way to staying. Evan had been right—Linus was kind of dumb, which could actually be an asset, from a trainer’s point of view. He didn’t try to defy her or anticipate her next move. He just stared at her, his brow furrowed and his black eyes bright with concentration as he devoted all his brainpower to figuring out what she wanted. Lara felt the kind of high she imagined a shopaholic might get upon discovering the very last designer dress in her size tucked away at the back of the clearance rack.

  This dog was a treasure. This dog was a bargain. This dog was going to be the type of companion that would forever set the benchmark for some lucky family. All their future pets would be compared to Linus—and would probably come up lacking.

  “Good boy.” She patted his head and broke into a slow jog. “Ready to go home? You can take another five-hour nap if you want.”

  Halfway home, her cell phone rang and her father’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Hey, La-la.” She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “How’s my girl?”

  Lara hesitated for a moment, gathering her defenses. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her father; the problem was that she always did want to talk to him, no matter how long it had been since their last conversation, or how much had happened. She never, ever learned. “Fine,” she answered. “Thanks for the vacuum.”

  “It’s the least I could do. The sales guy said it’s the top of the line, the best for picking up pet hair.” He sounded sheepish. “And I had a year or two to make up for, right?”

  “I’m a grown woman, Dad. I don’t expect anyone to make a big deal about my birthday.”

  “Hang on. You’re telling me you don’t want me to buy you a pony?”

  They both laughed, remembering the summer that Justine had signed Lara up for equestrian camp, despite Lara’s protests. Justine had insisted that girls “of a certain background” needed to be comfortable with the English style of riding, while twelve-year-old Lara had maintained that horses were boring and the girls at horse camp would haze her mercilessly. Gil had stepped in at the last minute, allowing Lara to spend the weekend before camp at his house. On Sunday evening, he convinced Justine that Lara had come down with a stomach bug and needed to rest and recover. Father and daughter spent the entire week playing video games and splashing in
the pool. That had been one of the happiest times of Lara’s childhood—unstructured, uninterrupted time with a parent who didn’t constantly demand that she look and behave like someone better than her true self.

  She assured her father, “I love the vacuum, and I was really surprised.”

  “I’ve got another surprise for you.” He sounded triumphant. “Want to have dinner?”

  “Sure,” she agreed. “When?”

  “Half an hour?”

  She slowed her pace, and Linus adjusted his gait to match hers. “Wait. You want to have dinner tonight?”

  “There’s a seafood place on Camelback called the Bluewater Grill. Let’s meet there.”

  “Dad, I’d love to, but that’s in the middle of downtown, and I already left work. I told my friend Kerry I’d watch Teen Mom with her tonight. She’s nine months pregnant and she has a morbid fascination with that show.”

  “Oh.” Her father paused. “I’m sorry, hon. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you at the last minute.” He sounded disappointed, but with himself.

  “No, it’s okay. Let me call Kerry and reschedule. She recorded it, so we can watch it whenever.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It’s no problem. But it’s going to take me more than half an hour to change and get all the way downtown. Be there in forty-five minutes?”

  “Take your time. We can wait.”

  Lara blinked. “Who’s we?”

  When her father chuckled, she could picture the mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “That’s the other surprise.”

  * * *

  “Lara, this is Trina. Trina, this is my beautiful daughter.”

  “I’m so glad to finally meet you.” A sweet-faced, dimpled brunette wriggled out of the booth and threw her arms around Lara. “Your father talks about you constantly.”

  Trina hugged like she meant it. She was relatively young—maybe seven or eight years older than Lara—but she was probably sensible and secure. Gil liked beautiful women, but he didn’t go for bimbos. His girlfriends tended to be the nurturing type. They doted on him, took care of him in a way that Justine never could.

  When everyone settled down and Lara slid onto the leather bench across the table, she noticed the engagement ring on Trina’s left hand. Her eyes widened, and Trina and her father exchanged flustered, fluttery glances.

  “We wanted to tell you in person,” her father said.

  “It just happened,” Trina gushed. “Last weekend.”

  “I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Lara blurted out. As soon as she said it, she knew she shouldn’t have.

  Trina turned to Gil, confused and slightly wounded. Gil reached across the table and covered Lara’s hand with his.

  “Sorry. It’s my fault,” Lara told Trina. “I’ve been so swamped at work lately, I haven’t returned any of his calls.”

  When the server arrived to take their drink orders, Gil said to Lara, “You look worn-out, honey. You know what you need? A root beer float.”

  One corner of Lara’s mouth tugged up in a half smile. “I could definitely go for that.” She asked Trina, “Has he made you one yet?”

  “No.” Trina gave Gil a little nudge.

  “Well, he’s holding out on you,” Lara said. “He’s worth marrying for the root beer floats alone.”

  Gil nodded in acknowledgment. “I hate to brag, but she’s right.”

  “You?” Trina kept saying. “Mr. Herbal Tea and Mineral Water?”

  “Just because I don’t drink ’em doesn’t mean I can’t make ’em. Prepare to have your mind blown.” Gil called the waiter over and gave him detailed instructions—complete with diagrams scribbled on a cocktail napkin—for proper assembly and ice cream–to-soda ratio. Finally, the server invited Gil to come back behind the bar and oversee the operation himself, which Gil was happy to do.

  While Gil manned the soda fountain, Trina stretched out her right hand, admired the little diamond sparkling away on her ring finger, and sighed with contentment. “You look just like him, you know.”

  Lara didn’t argue. Although she’d inherited Gil’s blue eyes and thick hair, her features were less pronounced, and she’d never had his charisma. She knew that Trina wasn’t really seeing her right now—she was just seeing reflections of the man she adored.

  Trina leaned in and confided, “I know it seems rushed. The engagement and all.”

  Lara shifted in her seat, not sure what to say. “Hey, as long as you’re happy.”

  “We are. And we have plans, lots of plans, and you know, what’s the point of waiting?”

  “Right.” Lara studied the skylights. “Good for you.”

  They heard the bar staff laugh at one of Gil’s jokes, and Trina smiled. “He must’ve been a great dad.”

  “He was . . .” Lara searched for the right word. “Fun. I didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, but he was fun, and he always let me be a kid. I needed someone like that in my life.” Gil had been the dad who let her go to the movies instead of slaving away on her history paper, who signed the release form so she could have her belly button pierced when she was fifteen.

  Of course, Justine had been the one who’d had to meet with the history teacher to deal with the repercussions of the late term paper. Grim-faced and silent, Justine had driven Lara to the emergency room on a Sunday evening when the belly button piercing she’d neglected to clean had started to blister and ooze.

  When Gil returned with the root beer floats, he made a big show of swirling the metal serving cup and sniffing it, as though preparing to sample the finest vintage on the wine list.

  They all unwrapped their straws and sipped. The moment the cool, bubbly drink hit her tongue, Lara was transported back to her childhood.

  “Oh my God.” Trina swooned. “You have been holding out on me.”

  “See? I told you,” Lara said. “Worth hanging on to him for the root beer alone.”

  Gil suddenly seemed self-conscious, almost shy. He fiddled with his watchband while his fiancée and his daughter beamed at him.

  “Only the best for my girls,” he said. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but we’re family. We’re a team. We always stick together.”

  And just for a moment, her spirits as fizzy as the root beer in her glass, Lara let herself believe him.

  Chapter 7

  Lara took Linus with her to the TV studio on the morning of her interview with Claudia Brightling. Given Rufus’s tendency to bolt, Maverick’s contrary streak, and Zsa Zsa’s propensity to whine in unfamiliar environments, the placid red mutt seemed like her best bet. She wouldn’t have to worry about him barking, escaping, or nosing the interviewer in the crotch while on the air.

  As soon as they entered the green room, the production assistants started fawning over Linus as though he were a four-pawed rock star, offering him treats and belly rubs. Then Claudia ducked in to say hi, and as she reintroduced herself, Lara had, as Kerry would’ve called it, one of her “Miss Cleo” hunches.

  She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and asked casually, “Do you have a dog right now?”

  “No.” Claudia’s bright smile flickered for a moment. “I lost my beagle to cancer a few months ago.”

  “I completely understand. My Chihuahua was with me for thirteen years. It’s like losing a family member.” The psychic tingling intensified. “Have you ever had a spaniel? Because my friend Kerry just rescued a gorgeous black cocker named Lola—she might be purebred—and I’d love for you to meet her.”

  Claudia shook her head. “Stop.”

  Lara backed up, stumbling over Linus’s leash. “Too soon for another dog? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” Claudia’s hazel eyes gleamed. “I actually love spaniels. But I want you to save this for when the cameras are rolling.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can walk me through the matchmaking process on-air and suggest a new dog for me at the end of the segment.”
Claudia turned to her producer, who was standing by with a sheaf of papers and a headset. “Great material, right?”

  And so, thirty minutes later, Lara found herself perched on a green love seat with Linus curled up at her feet and Claudia seated across from her. Despite the bright lights and the hustle of production, Linus fell asleep as soon as they sat down.

  “Our guest this morning is Lara Madigan, cofounder of local dog rescue group Lucky Dog,” Claudia said into the camera. “Lara is more than just a rescuer—she’s a canine matchmaker who will handpick the perfect dog for your family.” She consulted her note cards and turned to Lara. “What are some of the things you look for when considering which dog should go with a new client?”

  Lara took a deep breath and tried to speak slowly and clearly. “Oh, lots of things. I consider a family’s schedule, discipline style, and activity level. I would never recommend a low-energy dog like Linus here to a marathoner, or an emotionally sensitive breed like a Doberman to a household where there’s a lot of chaos and yelling.”

  Right on cue, Linus started snoring.

  “So you have a set list of criteria,” Claudia said.

  “Yes, but in the end I usually go with my gut.” Lara tilted her head and tried to explain. “Pairing a dog with an owner is sort of like pairing a wine and an appetizer—sometimes the most unexpected combinations turn out to be the best. When I first started the rescue group with my friend Kerry—hi, Kerry!—I tried to quantify everything with surveys and checklists and interviews. But eventually I realized that people aren’t always good at predicting what they want in a dog. Honestly, it just comes down to chemistry.”

  Claudia leaned down to give Linus a little pat. “So are you equally skilled at human matchmaking? Did you help all your girlfriends meet their husbands?”

  Lara laughed. “No, my skills are strictly limited to finding canine soul mates.”

  “You’re a trainer as well as a rescue worker—correct?”

  Linus’s warm, solid body draped across her feet felt very comforting, and Lara started to calm down and enjoy her moment in the spotlight. “I’m not a certified behaviorist, but I do have several years of dog training experience. Most behavior problems aren’t difficult to address. But you have to know what results you want, and you and the dog have to work together. Discipline is always a team effort.”