Dog Eat Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  “Is Beth on this week?” I asked.

  “I guess so.”

  The April meeting of the Belle Haven Kennel Club was scheduled for Tuesday night. I hadn’t decided if I was going to attend, but the extra bonus of being able to talk to Beth tipped the scales in that direction.

  “Take some advice from your little brother,” said Frank. “Stay away from these people. They’re a bunch of kooks.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  Bob arrived at noon, no surprise there. Meal times seemed to activate his homing instincts. I fixed sandwiches for the three of us, and let Davey have two double-fudge brownies for dessert. Why should I be the parent who is always the mean one?

  Besides, by the time the sugar hit his blood stream, I’d be long gone.

  Usually Aunt Peg likes me to bring Faith along when I visit. But today the puppy was staying home. With a brand new litter coming, Peg wasn’t taking any chances with germs.

  I didn’t bother to ring the doorbell. As I climbed the steps, I could hear the Poodles barking up a storm and figured that was probably notice enough of my arrival. A few moments later, Aunt Peg opened the door and quickly drew me inside.

  “Come on,” she said, sprinting back up the stairs with amazing speed for someone her age. “Hurry up. I think we’re about to have another one.”

  “Another puppy?” My eyes widened. “She’s having them now?”

  “Since eight o’clock this morning. I was up all night watching and wouldn’t you know, Chloe waited until it got light to get started. Six so far, three boys and three girls. Hurry up. ”

  Striding down the second floor hallway, Aunt Peg opened the door to a guest room just wide enough for me to slip inside. Shooing away the curious Standard Poodles milling about outside, she came in too, then shut the door behind her.

  The black Standard Poodle bitch was lying in a large, low-sided wooden box. She rose a bit as we came in, dislodging the small black babies nursing at her side.

  “There’s a good girl,” Aunt Peg crooned. “You’re doing a fine job. You remember Melanie.”

  Peg took my hand and extended it so the bitch could sniff. Chloe did indeed remember me and she settled back down among her new brood with a groan.

  “What’s the matter with her?” I asked. “Why does she sound like that?”

  “She’s having contractions. It won’t be long.”

  I was wearing a jacket and I took it off and threw it on the bed. A minute later, my sweater followed. Chloe was lying on her side, still moaning softly.

  “Maybe she’s hot. It’s awfully hot in here. Why don’t you turn the heat down?”

  “It has to be hot,” said Aunt Peg. “Puppies are born without the ability to regulate their own body temperatures. The worst thing you can do to a newborn puppy is allow it to get chilled. They can live without food for a certain period of time, but they can’t live without warmth. Ohh, here we go ...”

  Moving quickly, Aunt Peg reached into the whelping box and began to gather up the puppies. There was another, much smaller box sitting off to one side. It was made of cardboard and had a heating pad in the bottom. Hurriedly, Peg transferred the puppies into the small box and out of the way as Chloe began to have the hard, pushing contractions that would soon produce another puppy.

  “Good girl,” Peg whispered, stroking the bitch’s side. “You’re doing great.”

  Three good pushes and the job was done. The puppy arrived head-first and curled in a fetal position. Aunt Peg broke the sac and cleaned off the puppy’s nose and mouth. As soon as she was sure that the baby was breathing, she took her hands away and let the bitch take over.

  Chloe dried the puppy and severed the umbilical cord. Moving blindly, the puppy crawled around the floor of the box, seeking food and warmth. Aunt Peg lifted Chloe’s hindquarter, replaced the soiled pads beneath her with fresh ones, then guided the newborn to a teat. It latched on and began to suck contentedly.

  “What about the others?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we put them back?”

  “Not yet. Puppies very often arrive in pairs. You get a long time off in between, then two come almost together. Let’s wait a few minutes and see.”

  As usual when it came to dogs, Aunt Peg was right. In what seemed like no time at all, Chloe’s contractions started again. This time I knew what to expect. As Peg encouraged the dam along, I picked up the new puppy and placed her on the heating pad with her litter mates. They’d all piled together into a small heap and were sleeping soundly.

  Ten minutes later, another girl puppy had arrived. Aunt Peg changed the bedding once more, then Chloe lay back down in the whelping box and we moved her litter back in with her. The puppies awoke, cheeping like little birds. They scrambled around, then began to nurse.

  “That may be it,” said Aunt Peg. “Eight is a good size litter for a Standard. But there could also be one or two more.”

  “How do we know?”

  “We don’t. So we wait and see. If any more are coming now, it will be a while. How about some tea?”

  I followed her down to the kitchen. The herd of house Poodles was waiting outside the bedroom door and milled around us as we walked. I recognized Beau, the dog I’d spent the previous summer searching for, and gave him an extra pat. His tail came up, wagging happily, and he trotted along at my side.

  If Aunt Peg noticed the defection of her favorite, she didn’t mention it. She put the pot on for tea and plunked a jar of instant coffee down on the counter for me. No wonder Belle Haven hadn’t asked her to run hospitality for their show.

  “There are sticky buns in the bread bin,” she said. “How many shall I heat up?”

  “I just had lunch.”

  “I haven’t eaten since last night. I’d better warm the dozen.”

  She did. And got out the butter, too. When I’m with Aunt Peg, I need all the willpower I can muster. She eats like a longshoreman. And she keeps enough sweets around to stock a bakery.

  She got out a tray and we carried our supplies back upstairs so that we could eat and keep an eye on things at the same time.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Frank this morning,” I told her, when we were settled once more beside the whelping box. “According to another bartender at Francisco’s, Bertie and Sharon LaPlante had a fight in the bar after the February meeting.”

  “Bertie and Sharon? That’s an unlikely pair.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Let’s go back for a minute,” said Peg. “I know you’ve been doing some asking around. How many club members have admitted to getting notes from Monica?”

  “Nearly every one I spoke to. First of all, Lydia. You know about her.”

  Aunt Peg nodded. “She sent us on to Cy, who was adamant that he had nothing to hide.”

  “Nothing except the braces on his top winning dog’s teeth,” I said around a bite of sticky bun.

  All right, so I’d caved in. Aunt Peg was on her third.

  “And then Barbara sent you on to Joanne.”

  “I saw her last Sunday. She got two notes.”

  “Two? What had she done?”

  “Reported Paul and Darla Heins to the ASPCA for animal neglect.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “She did.”

  Aunt Peg’s frown was ferocious. “What an appalling thing to do to those dear old people. If Joanne knew there was a problem, she should have spoken to the Board. Good Lord, Paul and Darla have been members of Belle Haven for thirty years. We’d have all pitched in and solved the problem. Joanne must have known that.”

  “Maybe she did. But she took her complaint to the authorities, and she feels pretty self-righteous about it, too.”

  “Joanne’s been angling for a Board position,” Aunt Peg muttered. “But although we wouldn’t dream of telling her, nobody feels she has the knowledge or experience. Maybe this was her way of paying us back.”

  I slathered my second sticky bun with butter. It tasted even better
that way. “Joanne told Monica what she’d done, and the Heinses got a note in their January newsletter.”

  Aunt Peg lifted a hand and ticked the names off on her fingers. “Lydia, Joanne, Paul and Darla. Possibly Cy. There certainly seems to have been no shortage of motives.”

  “You may as well sit back and get comfortable,” I told her. “There are more.”

  Twenty-five

  In the whelping box beside us, Chloe stirred. Aunt Peg offered her a drink of cool water and a few strips of boiled chicken. When she was satisfied the Standard Poodle was comfortable, Aunt Peg turned back to me.

  “Who else?”

  “Mark and Penny Romano. Penny told me about the note they got yesterday at the show. Apparently, Monica called her a lush.”

  “I’d fault her for bad manners.” Aunt Peg chuckled. “But Monica wasn’t revealing anything the rest of us hadn’t already guessed.”

  “And then there’s Bertie.”

  “Did she receive a note, too?”

  “She says she didn’t. But every time I try to talk to her about Monica, she sidesteps my questions.”

  “Do you think she’s hiding something?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “Maybe not. Bertie’s smart, she’s ambitious, and she’s trying to make a name for herself in a tough profession. Under the circumstances, I can see how she might be wary.”

  “I wonder what she would have to argue about with Sharon.”

  “Maybe Louis.”

  Aunt Peg looked up, surprised. “Louis?”

  “Bertie was hanging all over him after the March meeting. Maybe there’s something going on.”

  “Bertie and Louis?” Aunt Peg was skeptical. “I’m not sure I see that. Louis has always struck me as a very proper man.”

  “Maybe he felt it was time to break out of his shell. And if Bertie were involved with Louis, that might explain why she’s been so defensive with me. Do you think Monica knew?”

  “She’s known about everything else. Incredible as it seems, when you run through the list of club members who were present that night, it looks as though every single one of them had a reason for wanting to keep Monica quiet.”

  My thoughts, exactly.

  “Maybe we should try looking at this from another angle,” said Aunt Peg. “Most of us were in the parking lot when the Beagles got loose. You and I were together. I’ll bet other people were, too. Now if we could just figure out who was missing ...”

  I was already shaking my head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The club members I’ve spoken to were scattered all over the place. And with all the confusion, if anybody was lying about where they were, we’d never know.”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Aunt Peg said grumpily. Usually she likes puzzles. Maybe it was lack of sleep. “And don’t forget about the other mystery. What ever happened to those missing dinner checks?”

  “They still haven’t turned up?”

  “No. I talked to Lydia yesterday.”

  “Do you think they’re connected to the murder?”

  “I don’t see how. But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? This whole thing is baffling.”

  Peg and I don’t always come to the same conclusions. For once we were in perfect agreement, so I decided to let the subject rest.

  I reached into the whelping box and ran my fingers down the back of a sleeping puppy. Only hours old, its hair was already long enough to hold the beginning of a curl. Chloe lifted her head and sniffed my hand. She didn’t push me away exactly, but she did decide she had a sudden need to tend to the puppy in question. I watched as she licked him from one end to the other with her long, pink tongue.

  “They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”

  “Absolutely amazing.” Peg’s voice, like mine, was hushed. “I’ve been doing this for longer than I care to think about, and each time a new litter is born it feels like a miracle.”

  We sat in silence and watched some more. The puppies’ eyes and ears were still closed, but their noses were working fine. They sought each other out and nestled together for warmth, with Chloe curled around the whole brood protectively.

  Just observing made me feel oddly content. It brought back memories of Davey’s birth. Back then, so new to motherhood, I’d spent hours simply staring at him while he slept, trying to figure out how such a miraculous baby had come to be mine.

  And yet in eight short weeks, Aunt Peg would be placing most of these puppies in their new homes. After all the time and effort she’d put into these babies, she would have to trust someone else to continue to do their best for them. I thought of Davey and wondered how she could bear to let them go.

  “They’re so small and defenseless,” I said. “Don’t you worry about them when they leave?”

  Aunt Peg chuckled softly. “By the time these puppies go to their new homes, they’ll be running the entire house and eating everything in sight. Caring for them will be a full time job.”

  “But still ...”

  She must have guessed the direction of my thoughts, because Peg stopped to consider her answer carefully. “When it’s the right time to let go, you’ll know. A mother has to learn to trust her instincts.”

  I sighed softly, thinking about what Bob had said. The decisions I made now would effect Davey for the rest of his life. I knew what I wanted, but that didn’t necessarily make it right. Bob was Davey’s father. Was I justified in denying him equal time in his son’s life, or was I only being selfish?

  “Even a mother who isn’t perfect?”

  That earned me a hard look. “I’ve known a lot of mothers in my day,” Peg said sternly. “Canine and human. Some were mediocre by my standards, some were really quite excellent. But not a single one was perfect. Whatever gave you the idea that you needed to be?”

  “Davey.”

  “He’s complained about the job you’ve done?”

  “No, of course not. How could he? He’s never known anything else. He’s totally dependent on me. That’s why I have to make sure I get everything right.”

  “Nobody gets everything right. It’s impossible. All you can do is try. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing a wonderful job.”

  “Really?”

  Aunt Peg nodded. “Do you think I would have allowed you to have a puppy of mine if you weren’t? How many families with young children do you think I sell to? Not very many. Children aren’t easy, you know.”

  The voice of authority, if not experience. Still, I was glad to have her vote of confidence.

  Ten minutes later, Aunt Peg walked me out to my car. Chloe was resting comfortably, with no sign of any more puppies to come. The house Poodles followed us down. Clearly they were miffed at being excluded from what was happening in the bedroom. Aunt Peg opened the front door and let them race out.

  The pack circled the yard, diving on a trio of soggy tennis balls under the limbs of the big Japanese maple tree. Three Poodles emerged victorious. The others gave chase.

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” I said, watching them run. “At nearly every house we visited, we were inundated by dogs. At the Rubicovs’, there wasn’t a single one. What happens to their dogs when they’re finished showing them?”

  “That’s no great mystery. Most of their dogs are probably leased.”

  I turned and stared. “Like rented?”

  “More or less. Say a breeder has a very good dog, but lacks the resources to give it the career it deserves. Someone like Cy has the money, but no need to use the dog in a breeding program. Through the lease arrangement, he gets the glory of the big wins, and in the end, the dog returns home to be a part of the breeder’s kennel.”

  “Oh.” I’d been hoping for something juicy, but that sounded pretty straightforward.

  “The person you have me wondering about is Louis,” said Aunt Peg. “I can’t picture him and Bertie together, and yet ...”

  “Bertie and Sharon were arguing about something.”

  “Precisely. I’
m stuck here with Chloe, but you could go talk to him. Maybe tomorrow in his office. It’s in downtown Greenwich, and you can catch him there without Sharon. Maybe he’ll have something interesting to say.”

  “Do you suppose I should make an appointment?”

  “Drop in,” said Peg. “Catch him by surprise. And call me when you’re finished. I want to hear everything.”

  Was there ever a time when she hadn’t?

  When I got home, Bob and Davey were both asleep in front of the TV. On a beautiful spring day, no less. A stock car race was droning around a track and I switched off the set. Faith’s barking upon my arrival hadn’t awakened them; but for some reason, that did.

  “Hey,” said Bob, struggling back to consciousness. “Is the race over?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “The white car won.”

  I’d stopped at the supermarket on the way home and my arms were filled with groceries. Bob didn’t leap up and offer to help, but he did eye the bags speculatively.

  “Am I invited to dinner?” he asked.

  “If you want to be. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and carrots. It’ll be ready in about an hour.”

  “Great.”

  Faith hopped up and snuggled next to them on the couch. Everybody was warm and safe. In a little while, they’d be well fed. It wasn’t up to Ozzie and Harriet’s standards, but it made me feel good.

  The law offices of Stickney, LaPlante, and Goldblum were located in a beautifully restored frame house on Mason Avenue in downtown Greenwich. I hadn’t been sure about dropping by unexpectedly and, judging by the look on the receptionist’s face, she didn’t think much of the idea either. Her gaze slid from me to Davey and back again, before she inquired about the nature of my business.

  I gave her my name and told her the visit was in reference to Belle Haven Kennel Club business. She pursed her lips and disappeared into the inner sanctum. Davey and I had a seat. The appointments in the waiting room were sumptuous: leather furniture, wooden tables, and a profusion of healthy potted plants.