Mrs. Ferguson

May was making way for June and the first year of Randolf was at a close. After a nice game of Scrabble, Mary sent Veronica out to the store to buy ice cream for dessert. As Veronica walked down Fifth Avenue she encountered an exhausted-looking Mrs. Ferguson, who was still in her nightgown, albeit covered by a fur coat, as though that coat were a bathrobe. She was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and the leash of an extremely bedraggled-looking Fitzy in the other.

“Fitzy!” Veronica screamed, and fumbled with the ice cream. It was terrible. She had been so preoccupied she’d completely forgotten about Fitzy. She reminded herself of a babysitter she’d had when she was four who had come into her life like the most exciting fireworks and then just, poof, disappeared. She tried to make up for it by covering Fitzy with kisses.

Fitzy barely responded. Was she mad that Veronica had disappeared? Or was she suffering from some medical condition? Veronica did not remember Fitzy ever looking so under the weather.

“Veronica dear,” Mrs. Ferguson said, “Mr. Ferguson and I have so been wanting you to come for a visit but we didn’t want to impose. Your mother told me what happened to Cadbury and we’re so terribly sorry. What awful news. And now, with all hell breaking loose upstairs.”

As she spoke Fitzy pooped and Mrs. Ferguson made no move to clean it up. Veronica stared at the warm blob trying not to think how it was going to end up on the bottom of someone’s sneaker. She considered using the bag the ice cream was in. But that might be rude, to clean it up in front of Mrs. Ferguson. Although Mrs. Ferguson probably wouldn’t even notice. She was the sort of person who only saw the things that interested her. Dog poop definitely didn’t interest her.

“What’s going on upstairs?” Veronica finally asked.

“Oh my word! I thought the whole building knew. We’ve had puppies.”