Cori rolled her eyes, as if it were the dumbest question she’d ever heard. “How could we work together so long without your knowing this? You’ve handled plenty of dogs much worse than Whiskey, even at work.”
She was right, of course. The difference now was that Kinney cared about Whiskey’s good opinion. She didn’t want him to obey for the sake of obeying. She wanted him to like and respect her. Maybe that was due to the regal way he carried himself, and the depths of understanding in his eyes. More than any dog she’d ever encountered, he seemed like he had the capacity for the magical bond people mentioned in reverential tones. Cori and Bridget always said that many dogs crossed your path, but few became the dogs of your heart. It would have sounded silly to share this out loud in front of the class, but she was starting to wonder if Whiskey could be that dog for her. She hadn’t believed she could love a dog ever again after Kali; maybe she was wrong.
Or maybe Whiskey was clouding her judgment by playing so hard to get. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past few days, and while he tolerated her, he clearly didn’t think she was all that. She was very much the one-down in this situation and she wanted to even the score.
Cori poked her with an index finger and made her jump. “Stop ruminating. There’s no ruminating in the Miracle Makeover Dog Training Program. We’re all about action here.”
The rest of the class tittered nervously, as did Madison, the class documentarian, from her vantage point on the sidelines. Cori picked on Kinney more than anyone else, but she wasn’t above sharing a few plain truths with others. Now she turned to James, who was standing on the opposite side of the room. Kinney presumed it was to keep their dogs apart, but maybe he was still angry at her despite his kind words. It wasn’t something she could do anything about right now but it bothered her just the same.
“Shoulders back, James,” she said. “Posture is half the battle with dogs. You need to carry yourself like a leader, not like a comrade.” She stared around the room. “If you still prefer being liked to respected, kick that notion to the curb right now. I can tell you from vast experience that it is far preferable to be respected—by either dogs or humans. Farm animals, too, if you must know.”
Brianne, the gawky teenager with lanky blonde hair, raised her hand. “Sorry, ma’am, but I still don’t quite understand how we do that. Nugget barely acknowledges me.”
Cori walked over to Nugget, who was draped across Brianne’s big sneakers. “Off,” she said. When the dog didn’t move, she nudged him gently with her foot and he leapt away as if she’d zapped him with a taser. Leaning toward him slightly, she got into the small dog’s space. Nugget responded by planting his butt and giving her his full attention. “That’s how you do it, Brianne. Feel your inner leader and project it calmly.” She walked off, saying, “And never let your dog sit on your feet. Or the couch, or the bed for that matter. Four on the floor.”
Standing in front of Jenny Kent, a polished and popular hair stylist, she looked down at Angus, the Scottish terrier. “Honestly, Jenny, you’ve got the biggest challenge in this room. Angus is 100 percent full of himself and most of that is wired into him. Terriers are bred to hunt and kill and are mostly indifferent to polite society. They’re stubborn little cusses, and I love them for that, but you’ve really got to find your backbone if you want him to respect you.”
Jenny’s eyes welled up with tears. “But how? You know I just got him back after being banished from Dorset Hills for eating the school rat.” She looked around at Brianne’s horrified gasp. “I mean, he shook it to death. He didn’t eat it.”
Cori gave Brianne a withering look. “I don’t permit gasping in this room over dog behavior. You know why?” Brianne shook her head meekly. “Because dogs are animals. Sometimes they do what they’re bred to do and that’s that. Our jobs as their leaders is to provide direction against their instincts, and to remove opportunity.”
“I need to figure out how to keep Angus.” Jenny was full-on crying now. “He barely listened to me before but now that he’s back, it’s like I’m no better than a handmaid carrying his poop.”
Cori laughed. “That sounds about right for a Scottie. But believe it or not, you can get out in front of this dog if you follow my advice. I can tell you’re highly motivated, Jenny. You just need to transform yourself into a leader in six weeks.”
Now Kinney laughed and Cori turned on her. “What’s so funny?”
“You think it’s easy to transform into a dog leader in six weeks—five weeks, now—but come on… you’re you. There’s no one else like you in Dorset Hills. You’ve got to dumb this down for us. Like, ‘Dog Leadership Made Easy for Newbies.’”
Closing her eyes for a second, Cori took a few breaths. Then she opened them and clapped her gloved hands again. “Okay. I’ll put a detailed list together. Normally I don’t coddle my students like this but there’s a hard deadline. I want all of you to be able to keep your dogs, so if I have to spoon-feed you, I will.” Turning, she looked straight into Madison’s camera lens. “Also, I really want to stick it to the City. To do that, I need all of you to succeed.”
James raised a tentative hand. “Are you saying the City will seize our dogs if we can’t master this?”
Cori shrugged. “As brilliant as I am, I can never guess what the City is going to do next. All I can say is that they promised they won’t meddle with obedient dogs who pass my quality assurance exam. On the Fourth of July, I’ll put you through your paces at the festival. Let’s just assume everyone will pass, because my Miracle Makeover Program cannot fail.” She shook her finger. “I will move into your homes if I need to and make sure you’re following the rules.”
Brianne seemed to shrink about a foot at the very thought and moved closer to Nugget.
“She’s joking, Brianne,” Kinney said.
“Not joking,” Cori said. “I have a sleeping bag in my truck and I’m not afraid to use it. Now, down to business. You’re going to pair up and do an exercise. Everyone here drives, so I want you to head to Clover Park, which most Dog Towners avoid because it’s still awaiting its City facelift.” She turned to a large cardboard box and opened it. “Here are your goodie bags. Your mission today is to figure out what really motivates your dog. Is it food? Is it toys? Is it praise? Is it free time to run? Every dog is different, but if you figure out how to turn its crank, you can get its attention. Then you can worry about impressing your dog.” She picked up the first two bags. “Kinney and James, you’re accountability buddies. I’ve listed some exercises, and I want you to film each other doing them.”
“But our dogs hate each other,” Kinney said. “You’re setting us up to fail.”
Cori shoved the goodie bag into her hands. “You keep missing the point, Kinney. If you fail, I fail. And I never fail. The fact that Whiskey and Rocky don’t get along is exactly why you’re paired up. It’s the perfect situation to bring about change.” She walked over and handed a bag to James. “And since you’re both oblivious, the reason your dogs don’t get along is because they’re picking up on your tension.”
“What tension?” James said. “You already said I’m too relaxed. You can’t have it both ways.”
Cori rolled her eyes. “Of course I can. It’s my program. I said I’d spoon-feed you on some things, but this one you can figure out yourself. You’re a big boy, James.”
Kinney came over, keeping Whiskey on the opposite side, and tugged James’ arm. “Let’s go. Don’t give her more ammo, James.”
“Tell me she’s that good,” he muttered, following Kinney out the side door. “Because it’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to slap a woman.”
“She is that good,” Kinney said. “I’ve put my life in her hands without hesitation during risky rescue situations. So, let’s just trust the process.”
He gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll meet you there. I may trust the process but I don’t trust the dogs in the same car.”
Madison Parker was already waiting beside her
quirky red cube-shaped car at Clover Park when Kinney arrived. She was wearing a hoodie and sweats, making her look even younger, but her alert gaze and stiff posture reminded Kinney of the warning signs of aggression Cori had listed earlier. She was apparently determined to do whatever it took to get some good footage for her documentary. Kinney suspected she had little interest in Brianne, Jenny or the two men in the class with bull terrier mixes.
James pulled into the lot in a cute little convertible with the top down. Rocky lounged in the back as if he didn’t like his fluff ruffled. The balmy breeze promised summer soon, and daylight now stretched till close to nine.
They walked deep into the park, hoping to shake Madison and failing, as expected. At least she kept far enough back that they could almost pretend she wasn’t there.
Kinney set to work with Whiskey. She’d expected his biggest motivation to be food; he had a healthy appetite and loved liver treats. When she pulled items out of the goodie bag and worked through Cori’s exercises with him, however, she got to explore what really inspired him. He seemed indifferent to praise, but his eyes lit up over the squeaky toy and the chew stick. When she finally pulled out the tennis ball and hurled it across the field, he literally sprang to life. Racing across the field, he came directly back and dropped it at her feet. Following Cori’s written orders, she put him through some drills and made fetch the reward. At the end, he sat with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. It was the first doggy grin she’d ever seen on his face.
“Wow,” she said, turning to James, who was filming her with his phone. “That just goes to show how little I know this dog.”
“My turn,” he said. “I don’t think Rocky gives a crap about any of those things, to be honest. Maybe he completely lacks motivation.”
True to his breed, Rocky was a still-waters-run-deep kind of dog. He was deceptively placid, barely changing expression. Most of the time, like now, he preferred to be in regal repose. But behind that benign demeanor was a serious guard dog. As Cori had kindly pointed out, Rocky just wasn’t sure exactly what he was guarding and therefore misfired sometimes.
The dog knew his commands well but he went through them reluctantly and in slow motion. James asked him to sit and he pondered for a second or two before obeying. Then James offered the squeaky toy and Rocky literally looked away. Squeakers were clearly beneath him. Praise made him turn the other cheek. And the tennis ball… well, it just rolled down the slight incline. After a couple of seconds, Rocky got up, ambled forward and lifted his leg on it.
Kinney laughed so hard she could hardly hold the phone steady.
“Stop laughing, this is tragic,” James said, although he was smiling himself. “You heard Cori. Motivating my dog is the first step toward connecting with him. If we can’t connect, he’ll never accept me as his personal deity.”
Still laughing, Kinney said, “Cori didn’t put it quite that way. Now, try the treats kit. There’s a bonus pack in case the liver didn’t work.”
James followed Rocky and told him to sit again. This time he offered tiny scraps of items from a day-of-the-week pill container. Rocky turned his head one way, and then the other, refusing to accept a single morsel. Every bit James tossed down, Rocky ignored and Whiskey hoovered up.
“At least Rocky’s not growling,” Kinney said. “Neither dog has an issue with food guarding. That’s something.”
“Yeah, but yours likes fetch and mine likes… nothing.”
“He’s just picky. Nothing wrong with discriminating taste. There are more treats when this batch is done.”
James plucked a small square of food from the last container and suddenly, Rocky’s big head swivelled. He looked up with bright eyes, and a long string of drool trailed out of his mouth.
“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Kinney said.
James gave her a look as he let Rocky take the treat. He flipped the container and read the writing on the bottom. “Tripe. Oh man, it stinks like you wouldn’t believe.”
After putting Rocky through a few more commands, he let him lick the tripe residue from the container, and then tried to wipe the smell off his hands on the grass.
Kinney picked up Cori’s list, and said, “What’s next?”
“Hide and seek? Well, this oughta be interesting,” he said. “What if one of the dogs takes off?”
“Cori told me to let Whiskey off leash in parks if there’s no one around,” Kinney said. “She assured me he won’t take off. Apparently dogs like to dance with the ones who brung them, even if they don’t respect them very much.”
James led her further into the park, where there was a little playground, now empty. It was early evening, and still quite bright, but the park was too lackluster to bother for most families, even on weekends. It wouldn’t be long till the City planted a few big bronzes to bring in the crowds. Recently, they’d started offering cheap dog paraphernalia to anyone who had photos with each and every bronze dog in the city. The treasure hunt had become a big draw.
“This is far enough,” Kinney said, peering around. “It looks like we lost Madison somewhere. Bonus!”
James reached over and tapped her shoulder. “You’re it.”
He took off into the trees and she followed, laughing. He was much faster than she was, and agile to boot. But she had something he didn’t: Whiskey. Bred for herding, the dog wove around James’ feet, pushing him gently away until he came to a stream. When James had nowhere else to go, Kinney raced up, punched him in the arm and yelled, “Tag.”
Again Whiskey worked in her favor. He ran back and forth between them, cutting James off and slowing him down. Meanwhile Rocky just ambled along, looking disgusted.
Kinney ran back to the playground and Whiskey did his thing, herding James further and further away. “How did you get him to do that?” he yelled. “Did Cori brief him in advance?”
“No idea. He’s just some kind of genius I guess.”
While the dog kept James at bay, she climbed up on the slide and sat there, grinning. Finally James pulled the last of the liver treats out of his pocket and threw them on the ground. Whiskey took the bait, literally. James ran over to the slide and scaled the steps. “You’re in trouble, lady.”
Just as he reached the top, she pushed off. It was a tall slide, the old-fashioned fun kind that was now deemed unsafe for kids or City Hall’s legal department. She felt the familiar whoosh as she sailed down, and smiled as her hair flew back. For just a second, all her worries about work, Whiskey and missing puppies blew away.
But then her boots hit the ground and while she was till catching her balance, James came down the chute on his stomach, arms outstretched. Before she could move, he tackled her knees. She stumbled and fell into the soft sand with James on top of her. They were both laughing and their eyes met. There was a long moment so intense it could have turned awkward, but Whiskey saved the day. He grabbed James’ belt from behind and pulled. Although James was a tall man, a stubborn 80-pound dog had no trouble dislodging him. He scrambled to his feet and Whiskey continued pulling back-back-back with James lurching after him. Kinney only stopped laughing long enough to find her phone and film it. But when James’ jeans came down, and he was standing in his striped boxers, she literally dropped the phone. “Off, Whiskey! Off!”
“Don’t tell him to pull my shorts off!” James yelled. “God knows what he’ll savage next.”
“Come, Whiskey,” she called, almost breathless. Her sides hurt and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Rocky sat near the slide, watching it all. Impassive. Judging. Such hijinks were far beneath him.
“This wasn’t a fair fight,” James said, pulling up his jeans. “You made out like Whiskey didn’t care at all about you. Meanwhile he’s a skilled guard dog—the James Bond of canines.”
“How was I to know what he’d do?” Kinney said, getting to her feet. “Everything he does is a surprise.”
James flung something else on the ground to decoy Whiskey. “Oh yeah? Well here
’s another surprise.”
He rushed at her but she took off, clomping in her boots toward the creek where it curved and flowed around and away from the parking lot.
Before she reached it, she heard a scream. “Help! Help!”
She raced to the bank of the creek. It was deeper here and running faster. In the middle was a woman in a long purple dress. She was floundering and trying to get her footing on slippery rocks. “My dog,” she screamed. “My dog.”
Flinging off her jacket, Kinney slid down the bank and stepped into the creek. “Where’s the dog?”
The woman pointed to a sandbank a few yards away, where a Chihuahua stood shivering, with water rushing past on either side.
“I’ve got him,” Kinney said, wading toward the dog. The current was faster than she expected and the rocks more treacherous. Cold water flooded her boots and drenched her jeans.
“Kinney, wait,” James called as he slid down the bank. “Let me do it.”
“I’m in now,” she said. “Stay dry. And watch Whiskey.”
A few more strides got her to the sandbank, where she grabbed the little dog by its sodden blue sweater. She waded back to the bank and handed him to James, who wrapped the dog in her jacket. Then she went back for the woman.
That turned out to be more challenging. She was cold, panicking and flailing wildly. “I can’t, I can’t.”
“Don’t make me carry you,” Kinney said. “You can walk and you will walk.”
The woman took a few faltering steps with Kinney trying to support her. She was about to topple when a black head appeared in the fading light. Whiskey grabbed the woman’s dress and started pulling.
“Ow, ow. A wolf!” she screamed.
“It’s my dog. Just let him guide you,” Kinney said, not knowing what else to do. She wasn’t going to fight the dog in the water and risk making things worse.
Bending, the woman grabbed Whiskey’s collar and clambered slowly after him to the bank, where James helped them out. Kinney picked her way carefully over the rocks and joined them.
Bold and Blue in Dog Town: (Dog Town 9) Page 9