The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  “Uh-oh.” Lara frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You lie.”

  “I lie. But I can’t talk about it right now.”

  “I’ll come over tonight,” Lara offered. “We’ll have dinner.”

  “No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Oops, the receptionist just called our name. I have to go. Congrats again on your big win.”

  “It was third place. Third out of six.”

  “Think positive: You’re in the top fiftieth percentile. Plus, you scored jewelry. Victory!”

  * * *

  “How was your day?” Justine asked when Lara sat down across the dinner table that night. Since Shelly was still on vacation and no one had been grocery shopping, they had scrounged up a nutritionally questionable meal of yogurt, fruit salad, and French bread for dinner. Lara had suggested going out to a restaurant, but Justine had refused. “And what is that look for?”

  Lara blinked. “What look?”

  “That ridiculous grin.” As usual, her mother went on the defensive and assumed that she was the source of amusement. “Are you looking at my hair? My face?”

  “Mom, no. I was just trying to remember when we last sat down to dinner together other than Thanksgiving or Christmas or some formal shindig at a four-star restaurant.”

  “I haven’t the vaguest idea. What’s your point?”

  “Nothing. It’s just nice to have a regular family meal, that’s all.”

  Justine peeled the foil lid off her fat-free Yoplait and placed the plastic carton on her bone china plate. “When have we ever been a regular family?”

  “We could be. We could start now.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I may be housebound and living in the suburbs, but if you’re expecting me to start cooking meat loaf and vacuuming in high heels and pearls, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

  Lara sat back and crossed her arms. “Why do you always have to be like that?”

  “Like what? Don’t be so sensitive. All I said was—”

  “Never mind.” Lara changed the subject. “Speaking of pearls, I got a new necklace today.” She pulled her shirt collar open to show the diamond-studded dog bone. “Cherie Chadwick gave it to me after the conformation show.”

  She waited for Justine to go off on a rant about boundaries, etiquette, and the importance of appearances, but Justine barely glanced at the necklace. “Hmm. A little kitschy, but you can pull it off.”

  “Don’t you think it’s inappropriate?” Lara prompted.

  “Why?”

  “Because I barely know the woman and she’s giving me expensive gifts and treating me like I’m her new puppy.”

  Justine shrugged. “You saw some of the gifts I brought home over the years. When I was still cutting hair, my regulars used to give me all sorts of things. Lots of them passed on books they’d enjoyed, and one woman even gave me her collection of vintage Hermès scarves. They trusted me with their hair, and hair is very personal.”

  “I guess,” Lara said. “You’ve got your hands all over their heads.”

  “It’s very intimate contact, when you think about it,” Justine went on. “Women used to cry in my chair. They’d confess things they’d never told anyone else. Some of them didn’t have anyone else in their life who would give them undivided attention. And I kept their secrets. I’ll take it all to the grave.”

  “Ooh, that sounds juicy.” Lara pushed aside her plate and leaned forward. “Give me some hints. You don’t have to name names—you can make them blind items, like in the gossip columns.”

  “To the grave,” Justine repeated. Then that faint smile reappeared. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll put a few blind items in my will.”

  “Okay, but the fact remains: I’m not cutting Cherie’s hair.”

  “You’re training and caring for her dog, which is arguably even more personal.”

  “Maybe. Eskie is like her baby.”

  “Keep the necklace. Don’t give it a second thought. Remember: It’s not about you. It’s about how you make your clients feel.” Justine refilled her iced tea. “Which reminds me: I assume you’re getting your legal affairs in order? Incorporation, tax forms, all of that?”

  Lara helped herself to a hunk of warm bread. “For what?”

  “Your dog training business.”

  “I’d hardly call it a business. It’s just a few little neighborhood side jobs.”

  “The IRS would beg to differ.” Justine raised one of her penciled-in brows. “Are you at least documenting all of your income?”

  “Sort of,” Lara hedged.

  Justine shook her head and raised her gaze heavenward. “Where have I gone wrong? Set aside a few hours tomorrow morning. We’re going to go through your bank statement line by line. Good business starts with good organization.”

  “No can do. I have a bunch of new client consultations tomorrow morning. I’m booked solid until six p.m.”

  “Then we’ll do it tomorrow night. I assume you have no plans?”

  “Wide-open,” Lara confessed. “My only dates these days are with dogs. I think I may be a spinster in the making.”

  Justine’s ruby-studded bangle flashed in the fading light as she finished her yogurt. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Lara noted the bracelet and decided that in her mother’s case, accessorizing was a step in the right direction. She could hear the dogs snuffling and whining down the hall, and then there was a yip from the vicinity of the front door—Ivory wanted company on her evening rounds. “The wolf pack awaits. We’re off for a moonlight jog. Care to join us?”

  Justine remained in her seat, gazing at the window, which, in the darkness, reflected the interior of the kitchen. “And disrupt my busy schedule of Scrabble and sleeping? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re going to have to get back out there sometime. You can’t put it off forever.”

  “Forever, no. For tonight, yes.”

  Chapter 19

  “Thank God you’re here.” Melissa O’Brien, a petite, rosy-cheeked blonde, raked her fingers through her short, spiky coif. “My house is in shambles and my stepkids hate my guts. Help me—I’m begging you.”

  Lara took a step back from the front door of the sprawling Santa Fe–style house. She’d taken the initial phone call for this appointment while driving through a valley with spotty cell phone reception, but she could have sworn she’d heard “adopted dog” and not “adolescents.” “Oh, I don’t train kids, ma’am. That’s not my jurisdiction.”

  “Wait! Please don’t leave me.” Melissa clutched Lara’s hand in hers. She was shockingly strong for such a wee little woman. “The kids aren’t the problem—not your problem, anyway.” She pulled Lara into the entryway, where Lara immediately tripped over a skateboard lying on the floor.

  “Robbie!” the sweet little blonde screeched, so loudly that Lara jumped. Melissa braced both hands on the newel post and continued yelling up the stairs. “I told you to pick up your crap. Get down here right now!”

  No response from upstairs.

  “Robbie!”

  Lara covered her ears.

  “Right! Now!”

  “Omigod, could you please stop screaming?” A lilting, languorous voice drifted over from the family room, where a trio of leather couches surrounded a huge TV. “I’m trying to watch Gossip Girl.”

  “Portia, I thought I asked you to go get dressed. You can’t wear your pajamas all day.”

  Portia turned up the TV, and Lara could hear the rapid-fire click of nimble adolescent fingers texting.

  Melissa maintained her sunny smile and kept hollering. “Portia!”

  Lara’s nerves couldn’t take any more. She placed a hand on Melissa’s shoulder and applied gentle pressure, the same technique she used when she needed to get Rufus or Maverick to focus. “Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

  Melissa’s voice dropped
several decibels to a despairing whisper. “It’s always a bad time.”

  Lara waited for her to explain.

  Melissa glanced pointedly at the sullen teenager lounging in the next room and led Lara back to the kitchen. She grabbed the full carafe from the coffeemaker, poured two mugs, and gulped down half of her Colombian roast before Lara had taken a single sip. “When my husband and I started dating, the kids and I got along great. They told me everything that was going on at school with their friends; we went to the movies. I felt like the fun older sister. But six months ago Keith and I got married and, just like that, they started sulking and ignoring me. Fine. Blended families need an adjustment period. I get it.” Melissa slugged down the rest of her coffee as if she were doing tequila shots at happy hour.

  “I know I’m not their mother. I’m not trying to be their mother, but I have gone out of my way to be nice to them and I deserve a little respect. They’re trying to break me and damn it, I’m broken!” Melissa looked so defeated that Lara knew she should comfort the poor woman.

  She needed to say something wise and reassuring. Something soothing and heartwarming.

  She had nothing. This was why she worked with dogs and not people.

  Just before the silence started to get awkward, Lara spied a black-and-white dog staring at her through the French doors. She hurried toward the glass panes with a surge of relief.

  “This must be the dog you called me about.”

  Melissa’s frown deepened. “Ah, yes. Cleo.”

  “She’s a cutie-pie. Border collie?”

  “I’m not sure—we adopted her from the shelter. But yes, the vet thinks she’s mostly Border collie, with maybe some beagle mixed in. The kids call her a ‘begollie.’”

  Lara laughed. “The latest designer breed.”

  “They said they wanted a dog.” A tear slipped out of Melissa’s right eye. “They begged for a dog. Keith and I talked to them about the responsibility—the feeding and the walking and the brushing and the vacuuming. They promised they’d help out.”

  Lara had heard this story countless times. “But the novelty wore off and now they’re not holding up their end of the bargain?”

  Melissa nodded. “They ignore me, they ignore the dog, and now it’s like I have a third stepkid who won’t listen to a word I say.”

  Lara got out her notepad and pen. “Which of Cleo’s behaviors, specifically, are causing problems?”

  Melissa threw up her hands. “It would be easier to list the behaviors that aren’t causing problems. If that dog isn’t eating or sleeping, she’s doing something bad. Barking, chewing, digging, puncturing the garden hose, pooping in the flower beds, stealing shoes off the doormat . . .”

  Lara nodded. “You said you picked her out at the shelter. What was it about her that appealed to you?”

  “Well, as you said, she’s pretty. And she’s very friendly. When we first saw her, she came right up to the wire mesh and stuck her nose through to say hello. The shelter workers said she was a high-energy dog, so I thought she’d be able to keep up with the kids.”

  “High energy,” Lara repeated. “That’s the key phrase right there. Border collies are kind of a polarizing breed—people tend to love them or be driven completely insane by them. They’re very spirited, and they’re also very smart. That can be a dicey combination if they’re stuck in a backyard in the suburbs. If you don’t keep them mentally and physically stimulated, they’ll find a way to do it themselves, as you’ve discovered.” She opened the door and stepped outside. “May I say hello?”

  Cleo greeted Lara politely, sitting with her head tilted and her blue eyes sparkling. She was small and light-framed, with short legs, a smattering of black freckles on her white muzzle, and a fluffy “beard” on her chest.

  “This is an act,” Melissa declared. “Don’t fall for it. Usually, she’s tearing around out here like a squirrel on speed.”

  “A faker?” Lara grinned, remembering Linus’s marathon naps. “I’ve got one of those at home.”

  “So, basically, I’m screwed.” Melissa folded her arms. “If we keep her, she’ll continue her campaign of terror on my rosebushes. If I hold the kids to their word and take her back to the pound because they aren’t doing their part, she’ll probably get put to sleep before someone else adopts her. No matter what I do or how nice I am, I’m the bad guy.”

  “Well, you called me, so that’s a step in the right direction.” Lara waited a beat for Melissa to calm down. “Let me ask you this: Do you like Cleo?”

  Melissa took her time before answering. “Not at the moment, no. But I think I could. I’m frustrated, but that’s more about the situation I’m in with the kids.”

  “So she’s caught in the emotional cross fire.”

  “Yes.”

  “I guarantee you she’s picking up on that and it’s contributing to her behavior,” Lara said. “But that’s okay. We can work as a team to change this.”

  Melissa looked skeptical. “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Everybody. You, your husband, Cleo, and the kids have to come together. You’re all a team, and I’m your coach.”

  “Is this going to end with the whole family linking arms and singing up in the Alps, like The Sound of Music?”

  Lara laughed. “We can only hope.”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to wear a nun’s habit and sew those kids costumes from the curtains if it’ll save the sprinkler system. What’s the plan?”

  Lara figured that taming teenagers and disciplining naughty dogs couldn’t really be that different. “First of all, you need to stop worrying about being the bad guy. You tried being nice and the kids didn’t respond, so you might as well get tough. Second, you have to stop yelling. Yelling’s not going to get you what you want.”

  Melissa sighed. “It’s not like they’re listening, anyway.”

  “They’re not listening because they don’t have to. If you scream at them, and they blow you off, what do you do?”

  “Scream louder,” Melissa admitted with a lopsided smile. “Then they tell my husband what an evil hag I am, and my husband and I have a fight.”

  “Right. When someone comes to me with a puppy and asks for obedience tips, I tell them not to waste commands. Say it once and mean it.”

  “But what if they don’t follow the command the first time?” Melissa asked.

  “Then there are consequences. Clear, consistent consequences. That skateboard in the hallway? You ask Robbie politely to put it away. Once. Then you throw it out.”

  Melissa’s forehead creased. “You mean hide it in the garage for a while and tell him I threw it out.”

  “No, I mean take it down to Goodwill and donate it.” Lara did her best Maria von Trapp impersonation. “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good-bye.”

  The other woman’s eyes widened. “But he’ll freak.”

  “Probably.” Lara shrugged. “But I’ll bet that next time you ask him to put something away, he’ll hop to.”

  Melissa considered this for a moment. Then her face fell. “He’ll complain to his mother, though, and she’ll just buy him another one and use the whole situation as ammunition against me.”

  “You can’t control what his mother does. But you need to set up clear, consistent rules for your home, and everybody—including you—must follow them. Dogs and teenagers might act like they want to call the shots, but they don’t. Being in charge is a big responsibility. They’re not ready for it, no matter what they say.”

  “I see what you’re saying. I do.” Melissa twisted her lips into a worried little moue. “But don’t you think Cleo needs more time to adjust? The poor thing starts slinking around whenever she sees a stick or a broom—what if she was abused as a puppy? I don’t want to bully her.”

  “You’re not bullying; you’re setting up ground rules. Don’t worry too much about the broom thing. There’s no way to know what happened to Cleo before you got her, and honestly, it doesn’t matter. Don’t feel sorry for her, and
don’t try to compensate for her previous life. You have to have high expectations from the very beginning, and the dog will rise to meet them.” Lara put away her notepad and prepared to get to work. “You got this dog to bring your new family together, right? So let’s find an activity that everyone will enjoy. Something mentally, physically, and emotionally challenging.”

  “Unless you can figure out how teach Cleo to play Wii or try on clothes at the mall, I’m not optimistic.”

  “Get ready for rule number three: No more negativity. They don’t call me the Dog Doyenne for nothing.” Lara eyed the huge, shimmering swimming pool in the backyard, grabbed her cell phone, and dialed. “Hi, Kayla. How’s it going with Roo? Another pound down? Good for you! Listen, do you guys feel like going for a swim?”

  * * *

  Nothing like a hot ex-model to shake up the family dynamic.

  Kayla showed up in oversize sunglasses and a microscopic bikini, and Melissa’s stepkids came around so fast, Lara nearly got whiplash.

  Robbie abandoned his video games as soon as he realized there was a sultry brunette in the house, and Portia drifted out after him, having changed into a fairly skimpy bikini herself. The young girl watched Kayla with a mix of envy and admiration, and started subtly imitating Kayla’s poses and speech patterns.

  Lara left the humans to introduce themselves and got to work on Cleo and Roo. The “begollie” and the “flabrador” circled each other, sniffing and wagging, then began chasing each other around the yard.

  “Okay,” Lara called to Kayla and Melissa. “Have these guys been swimming before?”

  Kayla nodded, but Melissa shook her head. “Cleo won’t go in. Won’t even go near the edge.”

  “Then, Kayla, I’d like you to please get in the shallow end with Roo. He’s looking quite svelte, by the way.”

  Kayla beamed. “The lifestyle changes are helping a lot.” She flicked back her hair, a bit embarrassed. “I call it a lifestyle change instead of a diet. It feels less harsh.”

  “I’m proud of you both.” Lara patted Roo’s side. “And you’re both indulging in a weekly ‘cheat,’ right?”