Dog Sitters

by Rozsa Gaston

  Dog Sitters

  by Rozsa Gaston

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  DOG SITTERS

  Copyright © 2013 ROZSA GASTON

  ISBN 978-1-62135-149-8

  Cover Art Designed by For the Muse Designs

  For the best dog in the world.

  You know who you are.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks to Sharon Belcastro, Terri Valentine, Beverley Clason Piturro, Bill, Ava, and Grey.

  Most of all, thank you, Percy. You are a good boy.

  Chapter One

  "Percy — come back!" Hint frantically rushed after the black-and-gray schnoodle, stumbling through twigs, branches, and brush. But Percy paid her no mind, intent on pursuing the small animal he'd spotted in the undergrowth. He'd rushed to investigate, pulling unexpectedly on his leash. Before she could tighten her grip, it had slipped from her hand.

  "Percy, get back here now," she commanded. She might as well have been shouting at the wind. He continued to dash madly after his prey.

  She sped up, but the small dog moved quickly. After a minute, he was gone from sight. She shouted and called after him, hysteria raising her voice higher and higher. If she lost the dog, what would Nicole and Tom think? How could she explain it to them? But worse, how could she live with herself?

  She'd been excited but also sad at having to say goodbye to her canine friend, almost unable to bear the thought of handing Percy off to Tom's friend the next evening. But her flight to Punta Cana was at 2:15 p.m. the afternoon after that. Now she'd give anything just to catch him so she could turn him over to her replacement.

  Clearly though, screaming and shouting weren't having the desired effect. She sat down on a log.

  Calm down then decide what to do next. She could call the police. But did police respond to lost dog emergencies? She could go back to the dog run and ask the other dog owners for help locating him. That would be the sensible thing to do. But her intuition told her to try one more time to find him all on her own. She sat still, taking even, long, deep breaths.

  Don't let your emotions get in the way, Hint. She heard her father's voice as clearly as if he were sitting next to her. When she'd had a problem as a child, he always told her to break it down and parse it into manageable pieces.

  She thought through why Percy had run off. He'd been attracted to the motion of some small animal ahead of them. He'd taken off after it. 'A small animal,' 'ahead of them,' 'attracted to'—she couldn't do much about any of those pieces, could she?

  She went back over it again. 'Attracted to…' Percy had run off because he was attracted to something. If that were the case, then he could be attracted back to her. He loved her ministrations, as well as her voice when she called him 'Snuggle Boy' and other endearments. But he hadn't responded to her yells. Could that be because the tone of voice she'd used hadn't attracted him? Perhaps it had scared him off further.

  She would try something different. She would be the object of Percy's next attraction. By now, he'd either found the small animal or, more likely, lost it and was looking around for something else to catch his attention.

  "Percy is my Snuggle Boy," she began to sing softly to herself. "He's the cutest Snuggle Boy I know. Boy, I've known some Snuggle Boys in my day, but none cuter than Percy." She sang the song again, swaying back and forth on the dead tree limb she sat on.

  The woods grew quiet. She listened briefly then sang the ditty again. Something rustled in the brush. Motionless, she held her breath. Whatever it is, pay it no mind.

  Singing calmed her, so she started up again, closing her eyes. Halfway through her song, a joyful bark interrupted her.

  "Percy! You came back. You're my smart boy." She opened her eyes and remained seated, smiling at him.

  The dog ran to her and put his front paws on her knees. They snuggled as she groped for his leash. She found it and hooked it firmly around her wrist. She wasn't taking any more chances — at least, not for the remaining hours she was guardian of the adorable eighteen-pound schnauzer-poodle mix now trying to lick her face.

  Walking home briskly with Percy at her side, she marveled at how effective her final strategy had been. Wasn't there a saying, "You attract more flies with honey than vinegar"? She'd been the honey. Somehow she'd known the dog would be there when she opened her eyes. She hadn't lunged for him. She'd felt empowered by simply sitting there and letting him come to her.

  An aphorism she had once heard but never fully understood popped into her head. Billy Wilder, the movie director, had purportedly counseled Marilyn Monroe for a scene they were filming, telling her, "Don't just do something — stand there." Now she understood what he had meant. Luring Percy back had given her an epiphany. She hadn't gone after him. She'd made him want to come to her. It was a lesson she planned to apply in other areas of her life.

  ****

  That same afternoon Jack Whitby left work fifteen minutes early. He would get off the train in Bronxville shortly before six then take his time walking over to Hint Daniel's place to pick up Muttsly. Percy. Whatever.

  He hoped his best friend's dog wouldn't try to sleep on his bed. Had Tom left one of his smelly running shirts for Percy to sleep on? Probably not. He would have, if he'd passed the dog off directly to Jack. But Tom's wife's friend had offered to dog-sit the first five days, which was fine with Jack, since he knew next to nothing about how to look after an animal himself. Unfortunately, Nicole's friend was leaving town the following day, so Tom had asked Jack to take Percy the final five days of their cruise. He'd explained that the year before when they'd vacationed, they'd left the dog in a kennel, and the schnoodle had acted depressed and standoffish on their return. Jack had hesitated, but when Tom told him small dogs were welcome on Metro-North commuter trains, so he could just pick him up on his way home from work, he'd caved in. He'd call in the favor next time Tom had a few U.S. Open tickets left over from his firm's client freebies slush fund.

  The trip to Bronxville was over in less than half an hour. He exited the train in the company of dozens of prosperous-looking commuters, most of who were being met by spouses, children, or drivers.

  He eyeballed the crowd. Not a bad place to live, but for a single person? Just what kind of social life did Nicole's girlfriend have? Was she dating some sort of big shot? It looked as if they were all married, in this place.

  He strolled down Pondfield Road, Bronxville's main street. The number of high-end consumer goods in shop windows told him the town was populated by plenty of affluent females. They were either making good money themselves or sending their spouses off to bring home the bacon so they could fry it. Only they weren't frying bacon, around here. They were buying expensive antiques, froo-ha lamps, and designer products. The linen baby clothes in one store window would all need ironing after being washed once. Who in the world would do that unless they had household help?

  When his niece Marguerite had been a newborn, he'd babysat her a few times. She'd thrown up, pooped, drooled, and wet all over him at least once every thirty minutes. He couldn't figure out why people wanted to have babies. They were disgusting.

  Yet Marguerite had been so adorable after he'd burped her and she'd spit up all over his shirt. He did
n't really care about messes anyway, and her smile after the burp had been like the sun coming out. It was one of those conundrums he was happy he didn't have to figure out quite yet.

  Spying the hand-painted sign for Meadow Lane, he turned down the street and passed a few comfortably large, clapboard-framed houses, after which stood a charming, three-story apartment building with an Italianate tile roof. Number fifteen was marked over the building's entryway — the address Hint Daniels had given him.

  Inside the marble-floored foyer, he pressed the buzzer marked H. Daniels.

  After a long pause, he buzzed again. No answer.

  Annoyed, he glanced at his watch. Hadn't they said after six on the twentieth? He pushed the button again, this time longer. The sound echoed through the empty foyer. Looking around, he spied some catalogs and magazines on the polished black granite counter, where the mailman had left mail too large to fit in the building residents' mailboxes. Glancing at the items on top, he saw that H. Daniels subscribed to Other Worlds magazine. The cover featured an illustration of what looked like sci-fi and mythological creatures. Weird. Something one might expect a person with a name like 'Hint' to subscribe to.

  He pressed her buzzer again, laying on it for several seconds. An elderly woman popped her head out of a door on the first floor. She gave him a dyspeptic look then slammed her door shut.

  Jack ripped off a blank section of the train schedule he had taken out of his pocket and scribbled a short note with his cell phone number at the bottom: Hint — I was here. Where were you? I thought we had agreed I'd pick up Percy this evening. – Jack Whitby

  The missive wasn't particularly polite, but he wasn't pleased to be inconvenienced like this. He walked rapidly back to the train station, not at all certain when the next train came through that would get him back to Pleasantville. As he waited on the platform, he wondered if Hint Daniels was some sort of ditsy artist. How could she blow off something as important as a pre-arranged pickup of their friends' dog? Hadn't he specifically said the twentieth? Tom had told him she was going to the Caribbean on the twenty-first. How would she get the dog to him in time to make her flight the following day, now that she'd screwed up the dog pickup? What a moron.

  According to the posted schedule, the train was due to arrive at 6:45 p.m. He looked at his watch. Two minutes to go. Something about the watch face unsettled him. He checked it again: 6:44 now. Why was an alarm signal going off in his head? He studied his watch. Something didn't seem right.

  Then he noticed the date marker.

  The nineteenth? He blinked, swallowing hard. He'd thought it was the twentieth. It had been his own mistake. Moron. Double moron. Heat from embarrassment leapt up his neck then covered his face.

  Sprinting down the steps of the platform, he raced back to Hint Daniel's apartment. If she arrived home and read the note before he retrieved it, she'd think he was an idiot. Surely she'd tell Nicole about his mistake. And if she spoke with either Tom or Nicole before they got back, Tom would never let him live down the mistake. He had to get to her place before she did.

  Three minutes later, he reached the foyer of her building, panting like a madman. The inner door was just closing behind a large woman with a double baby stroller. Thankfully, the note was still there. He grabbed it, shredding it into bits as he hurriedly exited. He'd try to make the 7:15 p.m. train to Pleasantville. Jogging back to the station, he rounded the corner of Meadow Lane. There, five yards in front of him on the sidewalk, a woman leaned over a small gray and black dog. Was it Percy? He'd met the dog the summer before, but all he could remember was that he had been small and darkish. On the phone, Tom had described Percy as black, gray, and just under eighteen pounds. The dog in front of him fit all three points.

  Jack jumped into the bushes, scrambling for cover behind a large oak tree. Trying to catch his breath, he prayed the woman now walking in his direction wouldn't see him.

  "What do you see? Is there a squirrel over there?" Her voice was light, melodic. It sounded as if she were humming when she spoke. "Come on, Snuggle Bunny. Let's go home. You're not going to catch that squirrel, no matter what you think. Let's go, Snuggle Boy."

  He held his breath, in equal measure trying not to be seen and straining to hear what endearments the woman would next lavish on the dog. A strange and irrational longing for a female to speak to him like that stole over him. Embarrassed for more than one reason, he silently asked the oak tree he hid behind not to blow his cover.

  ****

  Hint tried to hurry Percy past the large tree across the street from the park next to her building. He was barking wildly as if there were a squirrel aiming an acorn at his head. Hopefully, one day Percy would put aside his puppy dreams and figure out he was never going to catch a squirrel.

  When she had been a child, she had frequently dreamt that she could fly. At some point, she conceded it would never happen. Letting out a long "hmmm," she pondered the tragic gap between imagination and reality that occurred for humans. Was it the same for dogs?

  "Dream on, boy. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you can't catch a squirrel. One day you will, Baby Boy. You'll catch one." She reached down and stroked the schnoodle's silky ears.

  A sound like a low groan seemed to emerge from the oak tree she had just passed. She glanced back at it. Was someone there?

  She stared intently. The air was suddenly as still as a painting. Had the tree just weighed in on her thoughts? For all she knew, trees had frustrations just as humans and canines did. Perhaps they wanted to walk. She laughed softly at the thought. Her inspirations for work came from such ideas — the more fantastical, the better. In fact, the last big contract she landed had been based on a character she had come up with when she'd watched an inchworm hoist itself onto a maple leaf in early spring.

  Percy licked her hand, interrupting her thoughts.

  She picked him up and buried her nose in his soft fur. The dog squirmed in delight, burrowing deeper into her neck. She took pleasure in his happiness. Would the stranger she was passing him off to tomorrow take such good care of him?

  As if in answer, the breeze picked up and ruffled the leaves on the trees. Change hovered in the air.

  She shivered and hurried up the front path to her apartment building, still hugging Percy.

  ****

  The following evening, Jack rang Hint Daniel's buzzer at 6:15 p.m. He'd dodged a bullet the day before. Sweat rose on his brow just thinking about the woman staring at the tree he'd been hiding behind. Fortunately she'd been all wrapped up in the dog and hadn't come closer to investigate.

  The door buzzed, and he entered the inside hallway, wiping his forehead with the tail of his navy polo shirt.

  "Up here on the second floor," a woman called down in melodious tones. If a voice could dance, this one did.

  He nimbly took the stairs two at a time to the second floor landing, where he was greeted by a barking Percy and the woman he'd seen the evening before.

  Up close she was even more attractive than the slim, medium-tall figure he'd hidden from twenty-four hours earlier. Her hair was long and auburn, about six inches below shoulder length. He knew the color because his sister Bibi used an auburn tint on her hair and had explained to him what it meant: medium brown with hints of red when the light was right.

  At that moment, the light was very right. He marveled at the fiery red hues framing her face as she swung around, motioning him to come in.

  "Percy — calm down. This is your friend. Relax. It's all right."

  "Hey, boy. It's just me, Uncle Jack." He vaguely remembered meeting the dog the summer before, when Tom had invited him over for a barbecue. He hadn't paid much attention at the time. He'd been too distracted by the argument he'd had in the car on the way there with his ex-girlfriend, who had wanted to attend a social function at her club instead. He'd won the battle but lost the war.

  Percy barked furiously then growled as he stepped over the threshold of the apartment.

  "Percy, stop
that. This is your new babysitter," the woman scolded the dog as she picked him up and snuggled him against her chest. It appeared to have led a charmed life the past five days since Tom and Nicole had left.

  Jack scanned the living room of her apartment, silently approving the mustard-toned couch and faded Oriental carpet patterned in burgundy, navy, and gold tones. She had good taste.

  "Hi, I'm Hint Daniels." She smiled but didn't extend her hand, busy holding onto the squirming dog.

  "Hi. Jack Whitby. How's it going with Percy?"

  "He's been mostly a good boy."

  He watched as the side of her mouth twitched. What did she mean by 'mostly?' "What's his schedule like? Do you walk him a lot?"

  "I take him out about three times a day. We go out around eight o'clock, then midday, then one last walk in the evening."

  Jack flashed back to the day before. He'd been lucky not to have been spotted by her. There was no way he could have explained what he was doing outside her building a day before they were scheduled to meet.

  "How long do you walk him?" he asked, drinking in her features. She was undeniably pretty, with a delicate nose and a small mouth curved like a Cupid's bow.

  "It depends, but usually a good half hour. Sometimes we go to the dog run."

  "Do you let him off the leash over there?"

  "I have, but you might not want to do that unless you're sure he'll come back to you."

  "Do you want to take him for a walk now?" He wanted to spend a few more minutes in the company of this fine-boned, auburn-haired woman who subscribed to Other Worlds magazine. And that dancing voice. It was the polar opposite of the matter-of-fact, New York City–accented voices that surrounded him at work all day long. Her tailored burgundy suit jacket told him she was a professional. She looked as if she had just come from a client meeting. Either that or she just enjoyed dressing well.