Dog Sitters

by Rozsa Gaston

  Jack marveled. Who knew what kind of psychological state the dog was in? Most likely he was fearful of strangers, and perhaps viewing he and Hint as such. Quiet as a mouse, he picked up Percy's filthy cat toy and squeaked it.

  Percy's ears went up, and he looked at it. Cautiously, Jack bent down and dropped the stuffed animal on the ground. The schnoodle immediately went over to sniff it.

  For one long moment, neither Hint nor Jack moved. Their persistence had paid off, with a dose of magic tossed in — or had it been faith? The dog was back. Inside, Jack was on fire. He hoped Hint was, too.

  ****

  She couldn't fathom it. She had repeatedly told Jack it would happen, but now that it had — she almost couldn't believe their good fortune. Relief flooded every cell of her body, mingled with anticipation. Now she could allow her focus to shift — but the direction it would move in was uncharted territory. Trembling, she stole a glance at Jack. He looked amazed, staring at the dirt-encrusted dog in front of them.

  "I can't believe it," she finally said.

  "You should believe it. You kept saying he was nearby. Your confidence pulled him back to us," he told her.

  "I wasn't confident at all. I was just saying that."

  "Sometimes just saying something gives it credence," he said. "You breathed hope into reality with your words."

  "Thanks, but this is a miracle." The confident pose she'd learned from Jack just the day before as he'd convinced Derek Simpson of her high professional value had worked to lure Percy back. That wasn't all she had learned from meeting Jack less than one week earlier. He'd shown her how to open her heart. Now, with the dog back, she could finally act upon it.

  "It is," he agreed.

  "Percy, can I hold you?" She eyeballed the schnoodle nuzzling his dirty cat. As she moved quietly toward the dog, he paid her no mind. His original leash was missing, a short, jagged remnant of it still hanging to his collar. She wondered how and by what it had been torn off.

  Jack, beside her, put a plate of his sister's potato salad on the ground.

  The schnoodle immediately stood up, took two steps to the plate and devoured its contents in less than three seconds.

  "Hungry," he said.

  "And dirty," she added.

  "Should we hose him down?" Jack asked.

  "We should give him a nice, warm bath."

  "Your place or mine?"

  She stood, looking at Jack. "I'd say mine, but if we go there first, will you have enough time to get him back to your place by five?" Her practical words belied her joy. There was a lot to celebrate. Percy's return was just the start of it.

  "Will we have enough time, you mean. And no, not really. Let's take him to my place. Believe it or not, I have not only shampoo, but conditioner in my bathroom, all-in-one."

  "Okay, Jack." She was glad she'd visited his home earlier that day. Maybe now he'd tell her the name of the oak tree in his backyard.

  She dipped her finger in the potato salad and slowly crept toward the dog. She wouldn't initiate touch, but would wait for Percy to respond. Sure enough, the schnoodle sniffed her hand then licked it. A minute later, she was stroking his tangled, dusty coat. Soon Percy raised his head to lick her face. She gathered him into her lap, petting and snuggling him.

  "You two look very happy together," Jack remarked, as he gathered up the remains of their barbecue.

  "I just can't believe it."

  "You should believe it. You were born under a lucky star," he told her.

  "We always like to think so," she said, "but it's rare that something this lucky happens." Yet his comment felt right. For the first time in her life, luck and skill had converged in the space of a few days. Perhaps faith had been the glue that had brought them together.

  "Not for you, Dog Whisperer," he reassured her. "You landed a big, fat professional contract yesterday, and found Percy today. Your stars lined up this weekend."

  "Yours, too," she said, thinking of how she would personally help line them up, now that Percy was found. Inside, she danced on air.

  "They're still aligning," he said, reaching down to pick up a paper plate. Was he hiding his face deliberately?

  A blush worked its way up from the pit of her stomach to her neck. Quickly, she turned away, fishing in her bag for the dog treat she'd brought, in the hopes they would find him.

  "Shall we go?" he asked, a minute later.

  While she'd snuggled with Percy, he'd cleaned the grill, packed everything in the ice cooler, and even folded her tablecloth. She was Mary to Jack's Martha. The dog looked happy, his tail wagging and his liquid brown eyes on hers.

  "Sure. I'm ready. She stood up, holding the leash tightly. As she walked toward the car, the dog followed easily. He seemed ready to go wherever her hugs and cuddles led him.

  In twenty minutes, they were back at Jack's place in Pleasantville. Hint's adrenaline raced as she got out of the car. For the past six days, all of her emotions had been tempered by worry at Percy's disappearance. But now the weight dragging her down was finally gone, and reality itself had lightened her mood. Bounding onto Jack's front porch, she danced a few steps from sheer joy. Percy jumped at her heels, sensing her exuberance. A minute later, strong, warm arms stole around her from behind.

  "Finally," Jack murmured into her hair.

  "Finally." She turned around, straight into his arms. Tension melted off her into an invisible puddle of relief at her feet.

  Percy barked at their ankles, and the leash tightened. He had spotted a squirrel scrambling up the side of the giant maple in the front yard.

  "Not now, boy. It's time for your bath." She scooped him into her arms and followed Jack inside.

  He led the way upstairs.

  At the head of the landing stood a large bathroom. A skylight overhead let in light and framed a leafy panorama of trees. She was impressed. She knelt at the side of the bathtub, motioning to Jack to close the door. He did so, leaning against it on the inside.

  Finally, finally, finally. She ran water from both faucets until the temperature was pleasantly warm, but not hot. Then she realized she hadn't showered after her run. An idea dawned on her — naughty but nice at the same time.

  "Jack, would you go downstairs and get me something cold to drink?" she asked, looking up through half-lidded eyes.

  "My lady, your wish is my command. Perhaps you would like another cold Pilsner, to quench your thirst?"

  "No. Some ice-cold water would be fine." She turned back to Percy, unsnapping the collar from around his neck. His coat was filthy, covered with crusted dirt, which now settled onto the bathroom floor. Quickly, she lifted him into the bathtub.

  Once the door closed behind Jack, she reached over and locked it. She would rinse off Percy first, to remove the initial layer of dirt, then soak him in the bath.

  Within five seconds, her sweaty running clothes lay in a heap on the floor. She stepped into the bathtub then pulled the shower nozzle out of its holder on the wall. Carefully picking up Percy, she sat on the side of the tub then turned on the shower spray.

  The dog didn't seem to mind at all. She sensed his joy in having a warm human being with whom to snuggle. Evidently, it trumped whatever discomfort he felt in getting wet. She sprayed the length of his body with warm water then reached for the shampoo bottle. She opened the top and squirted a quarter-sized glob onto the schnoodle.

  Two knocks sounded at the door. "Hey. Can I come in?" Jack called from the other side.

  "No. I'm busy."

  "I've got your drink here."

  "Thanks. Just leave it outside the door," she ordered.

  "Okay. I'll be downstairs. There are fresh towels in the cupboard next to the sink. Help yourself," he offered.

  "I will. Bye." She didn't mean to sound dismissive, but she had a job to do.

  After lathering and rinsing Percy twice, she was finished. He seemed thrilled with the double massage he'd been given. She took her own shower, the schnoodle staying behind her in the tub, avoidi
ng the spray of water.

  Finally, she stepped out, grabbed the large white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, and wrapped herself in it. Then she found a fluffy towel to dry off Percy. Now it was time for the fun part. She always got a kick out of seeing dogs shake themselves dry after a bath or swim.

  Percy didn't fail her expectations. Drops of water flew in every direction as he shook himself vigorously. She giggled.

  Another knock came at the door.

  "Everything okay in there?" Jack's voice called, this time lower.

  "Yes. We're fine."

  "You didn't take your drink. It's here waiting for you," he pressed.

  Okay, Pirate Boy, I get the message. Then, inspiration struck. The dust, dirt and tension of the past six days had all been washed away in the shower. With one graceful motion, she swung the bathroom door open and smiled into the face of the man waiting on the other side.

  "What's here waiting for me?" she asked sweetly.

  "Umm. Your drink, my lady." He handed it to her. His eyes were warm as they looked into hers with perfect understanding. Then they danced over her form, wrapped in his white bathrobe that did nothing to hide her curves. "And, if I might add…"

  "Yes?" She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

  "Your future."

  About the author

  Rozsa Gaston is an author who writes serious books on playful matters. She studied European intellectual history at Yale, and then received her master's degree in international affairs from Columbia. In between, Rozsa worked as a singer/pianist all over the world. She currently lives in Connecticut with her family, including their schnoodle, Percy.

  Gaston's other books include Paris Adieu and Running from Love. Visit her at www.rozsagaston.com to learn more.

  Also from Astraea Press

  Chapter One

  Closer. Just a little closer. Can't you smell the tuna in there? Roxy hunkered down behind the old wooden park bench. The ground smelled of rich, dark dirt after last night's rain. Her legs cramped from sitting in a strange position. What was taking so long? Usually hungry cats couldn't resist tuna. This was her fourth venture into this park for the feral cat colony. She had to trap them one by one because, as curious as cats were, they wouldn't normally follow another one into a live-trap cage. Even for tuna. Once every millennium she'd get lucky with a double. Most days, though, it was one per customer.

  Snap! The trap door slammed shut.

  "Yes!" Roxy whispered as she pumped her fist. She stood up from her hideout, stretching stiff leg, arm, and back muscles. Something popped in her knee. Ah. Much better. Even though the trapped cat couldn't escape, she tiptoed. Her tennis shoes slipped on damp leaves. Uh-oh! She windmilled her arms, sliding forward then back. She regained her balance. Whew. Thank goodness she hadn't fallen. She waited, willing her breathing to slow.

  The cat stared at her, unblinking. Shoot. She'd tried so hard to be quiet. Not exactly her strong suit when she tended to trip over anything and nothing. And these wild cats had enough to worry about without her scaring them to death. She bent over the cage for a closer look.

  "Well, hello there. Aren't you a beauty?" The orange tiger, which appeared to be about eight months old, backed up against the wire of the cage, its brown eyes as large as quarters.

  "I know," Roxy crooned. "I'm sorry to have to do it this way. But it's not safe out here for you guys. And you wouldn't have just come to me on your own, now would you?"

  The cat hissed, baring its teeth, its feral growl low in its throat. Roxy picked up the cage by the thick wire handle on top. She wore leather gloves. Sometimes these wild cats could be ferocious. Tiger kitty hissed again, puffing up his fur, bristling it to appear larger.

  Roxy felt tiny claws meet up with the outside of her glove, but the leather was so thick, even the miniature tiger's claws couldn't penetrate it. She smirked. Hadn't she been doing this for a long time? Miss Roxy knew the drill.

  ****

  "Now just what have you guys been up to since I left? Hmm?" No one answered. Seventy-two eyes stared at her from half as many faces. Furry faces. And the eyes staring at her were of the feline variety. "Have you all got each other's tongues?"

  "You're here early, Roxy."

  She glanced up to see her assistant and good friend, Teresa Lynn, standing in the door to her office. "Hey. Yep, I caught another feral cat from the park. Tiger kitty's now sulking in the back room in the trap. He finished the smelly tuna, though." She chuckled. "And I decided to get an early start on those adoption forms today. The shelter can never have too many willing pet-parents, right?"

  Teresa Lynn nodded. "Exactly."

  Roxy washed her hands in the bathroom, drying them on a thick towel. Pushing open the door to her office, she grimaced. So much paperwork on her desk—when was she supposed to get it all done? Taking care of the cats always came first. They might not be thrilled if she sat at her desk to order supplies and check adoption forms before filling their food dishes. She backed up and shut the door. Later. It wasn't going anywhere.

  She stopped in Teresa Lynn's doorway, watching her blonde assistant check through their huge stack of mail. They always hoped there'd be donations.

  "Found one!" She waved the envelope at her boss.

  "Great," said Roxy. "See if there're any more. We're coming up short on the mortgage this month. Not that it hasn't happened before, but the bank isn't loving us right now. But what's new?" Thank goodness there was enough to pay her full-time salary and Teresa Lynn's at thirty hours a week. But between that and the overhead, things were always tight.

  "I'll keep looking." Teresa Lynn continued to flip though the stack. "Sorry. Just the one."

  "Rats," Roxy muttered as she made her way down the narrow corridor between the cages of stray cats. "Who's hungry? Anybody? Raise your left paw if you want some breakfast."

  Every fur-bearing creature in the place began to pace and howl. Tails flipped and whiskers twitched. This was her favorite time of day. Everyone seemed glad to see her. Nothing like being popular.

  Roxy filled flimsy plastic bowls with cheap cat food, the only kind they could afford. One by one, cats purred and pranced, eager for his or her turn to gobble their rations. Along with breakfast, each cat received a quick chin-scratch. Later on, they'd be let out of their pens in stages to frolic and mingle. Then Roxy and Teresa Lynn could give them more individualized petting and attention. Roxy especially loved kitty happy hour. She sighed. Yep, when the purrs reached the three-hundred-decibel level.

  Roxy lifted one of the cats out of his cage. His fur tickled her arms. So soft. "There, now. Doesn't it feel better?" The orange tabby named Oliver resembled the Cheshire Cat. Roxy brushed his long, tangled fur. "You just need a haircut don't you, my little man? Or maybe a nice French braid." She pictured him with blue ribbons woven into the braid. Not like I'd actually do it, but wouldn't it be cute?

  Teresa Lynn walked up, stopping beside her. She giggled as she watched them. "You talk to them as if they were human, Roxy."

  "Well, they think they're people, so I guess I see them that way, too." She shrugged.

  They both jumped and stared at the front door as someone rattled the doorknob. Were those pesky neighborhood kids knocking on her door and running away again? Roxy petted Oliver one last time and put him back in his cage. She walked to the door to peer through the glass. "What do you want? We don't open for another two hours." Go wreak havoc somewhere else.

  The boy standing outside the door was frowning. His navy, hooded sweatshirt was too large for his skinny frame, and his dark hair needed a cut, badly. Roxy waited for him to leave, but he stayed planted right where he stood. What in the world?

  She made a second attempt to dissuade her frumpy visitor. "Um, sorry, but we're closed. If you want to see the cats, can you come back at ten?"

  The boy stared through the glass at her with large blue eyes. As she peered closer, she realized he was crying. "I can't stand it," she muttered. "Why
is this kid standing out there turning on the waterworks?" She unlocked the door and opened it for her unwelcome guest.

  He glanced around behind him as if he expected someone to be watching him. He stared up at Roxy, but not by much. They were close to the same height. He still didn't move. Were his feet glued to the sidewalk?

  "Well," she said, "you got me to open the door. Do you want to come on in?" Roxy opened the door wider. It creaked on its rusty hinges. What's with this kid, anyway? She didn't have all day—things to do, cats to brush.

  He shuffled inside but still didn't say anything. Every few seconds, he wiped the tears from his face with the too-long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Roxy waited for him to speak. The boy didn't accommodate. What was she supposed to do now? Tap dance?

  "Derek! What's taking so long?"

  Roxy jumped at the sound of the deep, loud voice coming from just outside the door. A gorgeous man popped his head around the door to the shop entrance. Her eyes widened as she gazed up into the face attached to the voice. Deep brown eyes the color of dark chocolate peered into hers. And the shoulders on the guy were like boulders. Her mouth went dry. Somehow the saliva disappeared, but where it went, she had no clue. Palms sweated. Come to think of it, her entire person now felt twenty degrees hotter. She momentarily forgot how to breathe.

  Dark-chocolate-eyed man located the object of his search. "Derek? Oh, there you are. What's taking so long? Can you start today or not?"

  Derek, the sullen kid, stared at his dirty, floppy red tennis shoes. He shrugged his shoulders but remained mute. Roxy remembered to inhale and she found her voice.

  "And you are…?" Wiping her damp hands on the sides of her jeans, she stared pointedly at chocolate man without blinking. She felt blindsided and needed to regain her equilibrium.