Dog Sitters
July 12th, 2013Dog Sitters
By Rozsa Gaston
When Nicole and Tom Mays take a cruise to Bermuda, they arrange for their friends, Hint Daniels and Jack Whitby, who don’t know each other, to consecutively dog sit their schnoodle, Percy.
Hint is supposed to hand off Percy to Jack on day five of the ten days their friends are away. But at the handoff, things go wrong and the dog ends up running away. Neither is willing to tell their friends the bad news that Percy is missing so they spend the next five days together trying to find the schnoodle despite wildly different ideas on how to go about it. Their contrasting personalities clash and before long, they are as eager to kill each other as they are to find the dog. Unwilling to listen to each other, they both rely on Jack’s seven-year-old niece Marguerite, who advises them on how to find the dog.
Chaos ensues before Percy’s owners return. Nothing goes as planned, including Hint’s and Jack’s feelings for each other. By the time the schnoodle reappears, Hint and Jack are madly in love. Now it will just take the rest of their lives to learn how to live with each other.
ISLAND BREEZES
First Hint sits the dog for five days and then, manages to lose him. She did manage to find him, as well.
While in the process of handing little Percy over to the next sitter, he escapes once again.
Find him is not so easy this time. After Hint and Jack quit squabbling about the situation, they feam up to find the dog.
As they continue to look for Percy, they eventually get past the point of constant irritation with each other. That’s nice, but where’s that dog?
It’s getting right down to the wire and there’s still no Percy. How are they going to explain the missing dog when his owners return from their cruise in just a few hours?
***A special thank you to Opal Campbell and Astraea Press for providing a review copy.***
Read 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 didn’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.
“I’ve got to pack for my trip, but I’ll walk with you over to the train station, so he gets used to you with me around,” she agreed.
Jack was impressed by the fact that she hadn’t packed yet. Wasn’t waiting until the last minute to pack a guy thing to do?
“This one’s his rabies tag.” She fingered the dog tags on Percy’s collar as she clipped on his leash. “It has the name and phone number of his vet on it, so if anything happens, just call him.”
“Nothing will happen.” He squatted down to take a closer look at the tag. As he reached for it, his hand brushed against hers. It was small and warm, the fine bones like a bird’s. Quickly, she stood and reached for her keys and the bag of dog food and toys sitting on the counter.
She opened the door to the hallway, and Percy shot out like a cannonball. He barked excitedly.
“Whoa, boy. Slow down there.” Jack struggled to keep a firm grip on the leash.
“He loves his walk.” Hint smiled down at the schnoodle as she locked her door. A lock of hair curled behind her ear, pointing toward her profile. Her nose was straight and small, like the nose on the prairie girl doll he’d given his niece Marguerite for her last birthday.
Outside, the early evening was warm, the air scented with dogwood blossoms. A light breeze fluttered the leaves of the oak tree across the street from her building. Was the tree laughing at him for his missteps of the evening before? They strolled toward Pondfield Road and the shops on their way to the railroad station. Percy stopped every few yards to sniff trees, lampposts and sidewalk smells.
“What do you do when he… uh… takes care of business?” he asked.
“I bring a bag and clean it up. They’re pretty strict around here.” Her voice didn’t sound strict at all. It was filled with different tones that all seemed to be dancing with each other.
Jack looked around, noting flower window boxes and planters, well-trimmed lawns and carefully tended gardens. It wouldn’t do to kick doo-doo into the bushes in this town. An alarm would probably go off and a policeman appear out of nowhere with a summons.
“What if you forget to bring a bag?” he followed up.
“You won’t forget, because you’ve got the bag dispenser attached to his leash.”
“Is that what this is?” Jack examined the red object in the shape of a fire hydrant hanging from the leash handle. The edge of a small blue plastic bag hung out from one side.
“There’re bags rolled up on a roller inside the hydrant. I just put in a refill, so you’ve got enough bags in there to get you through the next five days.” Hint appeared to be scrutinizing him, perhaps unsure whether he would be careful to clean up after Percy or not. “Just be careful to pull out only one bag at a time. If you pull out more than one, you’ll have a hard time getting the extras back into the holder.”
“Why’s he going in circles?” Jack watched as the dog circled a spot on the lawn next to a doctor’s office.
“That’s the cue that he’s getting ready to… uh… perform his ablutions.”
“Nicely put.” He was impressed. She had good diction.
For the first time, she smiled at him. Her small mouth was shapely — it curved like the lips on a Greek comedy and tragedy mask, portending complexity. Was it just physiognomy, or did it signify something about her personality? He thought the latter, given the nuance of tones in her speaking voice, not to mention her taste in magazines.
Jack studied Percy as the dog circled. “Should I tighten my grip when he does that or loosen it?”
“Keep it loose,” Hint said. “Pretend you haven’t even noticed what he’s up to. If you try to rush him, he’ll get nervous. The only way he’ll get down to business is if you don’t hurry him.”
“Is that a metaphor for life?” Jack asked. Her explanation had seemed apt for a few other important life processes. He turned his face away so she couldn’t see the color he could feel creeping up his neck.
“You tell me. Is it?” She giggled.
Was she laughing at him? She had just put her finger on one of his biggest challenge areas: not rushing. It seemed women needed to take everything slowly, including the most important things. It looked as if canines needed to take things slowly, too.
Percy finally appeared to find the perfect spot over which he squatted and did a ridiculous-looking side to side dance step. Jack tried not to notice.
“What do you do that allows you to walk a dog three times a day? Do you work from home?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him until they looked like raisins. “I illustrate children’s, coloring, and sticker books.”
“Do you work for a publishing house?”
“Yes, but not just one. I’m freelance, so I work for a few different houses on a per-project basis,” she explained, brushing a strand of wavy hair behind her right ear.
“Wow. That sounds like fun. How do you get ideas for your characters?”
“That’s a good question.” She paused, lost in thought. “I spend a lot of time looking through art books, old fairytale books, magazines, art exhibits — I get ideas from nature, too.” She smiled wistfully. “Going on walks and looking at trees helps.”
“What kind of tree do you like best?” he asked, hoping it was an oak. His niece Marguerite had given names to the three largest trees in his backyard, the summer he’d moved in, three years earlier. The maple tree guarding the boundary of his yard was Sky; the chestnut tree in the middle, Monkey; and the tallest of them all was Prayer, an oak. When he’d asked her why she’d wanted to call it Prayer, she’d said it was because the tree looked like it was praying for the people in his house. Ever since then, he’d had a feeling oak trees were looking out for him.
At that moment, Percy finished his exertions, so Jack fumbled to unroll one of the plastic bags from its holder.
Hint reached to help him. As he held the container while she pulled off the bag, Percy spotted a squirrel and took off.
The leash yanked free from the bag dispenser in Jack’s hands. Both Hint and Jack called to Percy as he ran from them. The dog paid no mind and disappeared around the corner.
“Percy. Get back here. Come here now,” he shouted, chasing after the schnoodle.
“Don’t yell at him. You’ll scare him,” she ordered as she raced behind him. “Percy, come back. Come on, boy.”
This time, her musical voice struck Jack as sing-songish and lacking in authority. What dog would pay any attention to someone who called to it like that? She might as well be singing a lullaby.
Rounding the corner, he spotted Percy twenty yards ahead of him, wildly barking at a squirrel halfway up the oak tree he’d hidden behind the evening before. Jack ran toward the schnoodle. As he was right at the point of reaching down to grab the dog’s leash, the squirrel jumped into a neighboring tree branch, and Percy took off after him.
“Wait. That’s not how to catch him,” Hint scolded as she caught up. “You have to be gentle. Just wait for him to stop chasing the squirrel. Then he’ll come back.”
“What if he doesn’t? I’m not taking any chances. Percy — get back here now,” he boomed out in a deep baritone.
People on the sidewalk turned to see who was making all the noise.”Here, boy.” Hint squatted beside Jack, speaking to Percy in a soft, low voice. “Come on, boy. Come back to me. Come on, sweetie. Here, Percy.”
The dog showed no sign of responding. Instead, he ran across the street as the squirrel leapt from tree branch to telephone pole then ran across the wire to the next pole.
“Percy, get over here now,” Jack shouted, running across the street after the dog.
“Don’t chase him. You’ll only make it worse,” she yelled.
Jack realized the dog was unlikely to come to him, since they’d not had a chance to form a bond. But someone had to do something. He glanced back at Hint on the other side of the street. She was sitting on her heels, her eyes closed. Was she meditating or something? She was in another world, apparently. A fairyland, no doubt.
“Hey, what are you doing? We’ve got a dog to catch. Come on,” he yelled. Turning back to the direction Percy had gone, he couldn’t see the dog at all. Meanwhile, the shadows were getting long. Soon it would be dark.
“That’s not the way to catch him. Stop scaring him off,” she huffed, getting to her feet.
“Then what do you suggest? Sitting there and wishing he’ll return?” He couldn’t believe it. Why was this loon falling to pieces when they needed to catch the dog now?
“I’m not ‘making wishes,’ jerk.” She glared at him, her eyes blazing. “I’m attracting him back to me, when he finally realizes he isn’t going to catch his squirrel.”
“Right. While you’re sitting there, I’ll go chase him down.” He turned on his heel and stormed off, fuming at being called a jerk. Why couldn’t she help him instead of just sitting there… like a jerk?
“You aren’t going to catch him that way,” she called after him, her voice indignant. “He doesn’t know you. He won’t respond to you yelling at him.”
“Yeah? Then why aren’t you trying to catch him yourself? He’ll respond to you. Isn’t he your Snuggle Bunny? Get off your duff and find him,” he roared.
Hint’s face blanched. Immediately, he regretted his outburst. Why didn’t women play fair? She could call him a jerk, but he couldn’t yell at her? That was unfair.
Then why did he feel like a heel?
****
“How do you know that name? Who told you that?” she demanded, outraged.
How had Jack known one of her private nicknames for Percy? It was almost as if he had spied on them. Standing up, she put her hands on her hips. He’d blown her best strategy for catching the dog. Now all she could do was call to Percy and hope he’d respond. But her neighborhood was not his home, and once he’d turned a few corners, he might not know how to retrace his steps.
She ran down the street in the direction he’d gone, as much to find him as to get away from the boorish man behind her, who would only scare the schnoodle further.
Turning the corner of Meadow Lane and Kraft Avenue, she peered down the street toward the fire station. A few houses stood on the other side of the street, behind which a small creek meandered down to the dog run. The dense woods where he’d gotten away from her the day before were that way, as well as the railroad tracks. She shuddered to think what might happen if he attempted to cross them.
“Percy, come back to me. Come back.” Of course, her voice sounded stressed and anxious.
Nervously, she looked over her shoulder to make sure Jack was nowhere within earshot. She finally spotted his tall frame at the other end of the street. As she made him out in the burgeoning twilight, he called for the dog in a loud, angry voice — exactly the wrong tone to get the canine to come back.
“Percy, boy. Snuggle Boy, come back to me. Come back, boy,” she sang out, trying to counteract the bad karma Jack was sending out behind her.
She checked the cemetery behind the firehouse then jogged down to the dog run. There, a handful of dog owners stood quietly, enjoying the remains of the year’s final day of spring.
“Have you seen a small black and gray schnoodle? I’m trying to find my friend’s dog,” she explained to a man and woman watching a yellow Labrador play with a wheat-colored terrier.
“Haven’t seen him.”
“Sorry.”
Was he in the woods? Or down by the river? Either possibility bode ill. Over the next half hour, she searched both locations. It was dark by the time she made her way back to the dog run by way of the stream. Her heart was heavy, thinking of how poorly she’d looked after her friend’s dog. What should she do next?
Why had that jerk shown up in the first place, with no idea of how to handle a dog, never mind dog-sit one? He hadn’t even known what the doggy bag dispenser had been and had fumbled trying to get the bag out of it, losing his grip on Percy’s leash. What a cretin.
Then she thought back to the day before when she herself had lost her grip on the schnoodle’s leash. It could happen to anyone. The trick was to get the dog to want to come back to her. She’d succeeded earlier, but this time Jack had ruined her chances of luring Percy back with his harsh, loud voice and threatening height. The dog didn’t know him from Adam and wasn’t going to respond to a tall, strange male yelling at him.
“Hint, hey, is that you? Any sign of him?” Jack’s voice called down to her from the bridge above, connecting the dog run to the town’s soccer field. He no longer sounded harsh, just tired and slightly abashed.
“It’s me. No sign of him. I looked in the woods.” Where I lost him earlier today. “And asked folks at the dog run, but nobody’s seen him.”
“We’ve got to decide what to do. Who do you call for a lost dog? Is there a town dogcatcher or something?”
“We should probably call the police.”
“Do you know what their number is?”
“Not offhand, but the police station is down by town hall, a block away from my building.”
“Let’s drop by.” He took her arm to help her up the embankment.
She didn’t resist. Upon reaching the bridge, a pent-up sigh escaped her. Warm, stinging tears welled up behind her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to regain her composure.
But the events of the day had been too much for her. A small, low sob escaped her lips as she stared into the dark, gurgling stream below.
“I know how you feel,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” she shot back.
“Yes, I do.” He put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do next,” she whispered. Yes you do. Get on the plane, go to your conference, impress the artistic director with your portfolio, and get the contract. What she needed to do didn’t jibe with what needed to be done now. Tears of frustration and pity slid down her face at the thought of Percy outside alone all night long. She brushed them away.
“I don’t either,” he whispered back.
“That doesn’t help.”
“Yes it does.” His voice was firm.
“How so?” She shook his hand from her shoulder.
“We’re both in the same boat,” he offered.
“I don’t want to be in your boat,” she retorted.
“Two people can bail out a boat faster than one. We’ll figure this out.”
The hand was back on her shoulder, warm and firm. Despite herself, she felt comforted.
“I’m supposed to be packing to get on a plane, not bailing out a boat.” She thought bitterly of her scheduled meeting on Thursday with Derek Simpson of Story Tales Press. How could she go to Punta Cana with Percy missing? “What are Nicole and Tom going to say when they find out their dog’s missing?”
“They’re not going to find out. We’ll find him,” he reassured her.
“Sure we will,” she said without conviction, fresh tears welling up. She brushed them away, angrily wiping her face. “What if we don’t?”
“Ye of little faith,” he responded, surprising her. “Come on. Let’s go over to the police station and see if they can help.”
The hand on her shoulder moved to her upper arm as he propelled her in the direction of town. She wanted to shrug it off, but she couldn’t. The firmness of his grip was too comforting. Against her will, she relaxed into the warm, muscular fingers and allowed him to guide her in the dark.
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