4
Shy and quiet was an understatement, I thought, ten minutes later, as I walked back around to the front of the compound where my car was parked. Bailey had barely said more than a dozen words the entire time we’d been together. Of course, Candy’s constant stream of happy chatter had left few opportunities for either of us to get a word in.
Thanks to Candy’s volubility, I now knew that Pine Ridge offered a host of extra services such as pick-up and drop-off for busy clients, scheduled disc-dog playtime, and classes in clicker training. Not only that, but plans for a custom line of canine couture were in the works. It was all a little much to take in.
While Candy had been talking, Bailey had been grooming a chocolate Labrador Retriever. I’m using the term loosely, because in actuality the part of the process we were watching involved her lifting the dog’s heavy lips and brushing his large white teeth.
True to his breed, the Lab was placid and good-natured. He also had all his teeth and a correct bite, I noted absently. Apparently, he loved the taste of the toothpaste Bailey was using because he kept swabbing his long pink tongue around the long-handled brush and trying to pull it out of her fingers.
The attempts made Bailey giggle, and the giggling made the Lab’s heavy tail thump up and down on the rubber-coated tabletop. The two of them looked as though they were sharing a joke they’d enjoyed together before.
“You have a nice hand on a dog,” I said to Bailey when Candy stepped across the room to check on an Afghan Hound that was sitting in a crate under a blow-dryer.
“Thank you. I love my job.”
Bailey’s round face creased in a happy smile. She was older than Madison, perhaps in her early twenties, and had the pale complexion and bland features of a German milkmaid. She hummed softly under her breath as she worked.
“Candy said you show your dogs,” she said, her tone tinged with awe. “I’d love to be able to do that someday.”
“It’s a great hobby. My husband and I have Standard Poodles. Lots of people who show them also groom professionally. I’d be happy to—”
“Right, then,” Candy said, swooping back in to join us. “I’m so glad you two had a chance to get to know one another. But now I’m afraid we really have to let Bailey get back to work. She’s busy, busy, busy all the time, and that’s just the way we like it, isn’t it, Bailey?”
The groomer nodded.
“Don’t forget you have Mrs. Parker’s Cockers to do this afternoon,” Candy continued, checking the list on her clipboard. “Six P.M. pick-up, right?”
We were out of the grooming room and on our way before Bailey had time to reply.
“So—have you seen everything you wanted to see?” Candy asked as she escorted me out of the Dog House. “Do you have any more questions I can answer before you go?”
“No, I think I’m good.” I took a last look around. “This really is a nice setup you have here.”
“We think so. Steve and I work very hard to make sure everything runs smoothly. And of course, our prices are very reasonable for the array of services we offer. You won’t find another facility like Pine Ridge in all of Fairfield County. I’m sure your friend, Alice, will be very pleased with what we can do for her and Berkley.”
My initial skepticism had disappeared, and I had to agree. The facility really was nice. I’d be passing along a favorable recommendation to Alice, along with the advice that she try not to get suckered into buying Berkley any designer clothes.
I followed the path around the front building and had just reached the parking lot when a gold Lexus came flying up the driveway. The driver overshot a parking space and braked abruptly when the car rolled onto the grass. The car was still rocking when a scrappy-looking older man shoved the door open and climbed out.
He glared in my direction. At least that was how I read his body language. Dark, mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes.
“Do you work here?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then who does?”
Rudeness irritates me. Especially unnecessary rudeness. I thought about ignoring him, but decided I’d probably get rid of him faster by just answering the question.
I waved a hand toward the office door. “There’s a receptionist right inside. I’m sure she can help you.”
I suspected fireworks would be forthcoming, but I didn’t wait around to find out. Sometimes it was nice just to mind my own business for a change.
Back on the road, I pulled out my cell phone and called home. Predictably, Sam had everything under control. He and Davey were outside, shooting hoops. Kevin was nearby, napping in his baby seat in the shade.
When I’d met Sam five years earlier, he was a freelance software designer. In the intervening time, he’d unexpectedly regained the rights to a video game that he’d designed while in business school. The game had since gone on to sell millions of copies to ardent teenage fans.
Sam still worked, but now he chose his own projects and adjusted his schedule to suit himself. When I’d arranged to take time off after Kevin was born, Sam had decided to do the same. Having waited until his late thirties to become a father, he was eager to enjoy every aspect of the experience. And having been forced to raise Davey as a single mother, I knew enough to appreciate his input and his involvement for the blessing that it was.
Since I wasn’t needed at home, I got on the Merritt Parkway and headed down to Greenwich instead. Margaret Turnbull, my Aunt Peg, has a house on five acres in the “back country” north of the parkway. At one time, she and my Uncle Max had kept a whole kennel full of Standard Poodles on the property, and their Cedar Crest line had been known nationwide for the beauty, health, and tremendous temperament of its dogs.
When Max died, however, Aunt Peg scaled back the scope of her breeding and showing operation. She still had half a dozen Poodles, but the kennel building behind the house now sat empty. The dogs shared her home like the members of the family they were, and Aunt Peg delighted in their companionship.
It was because of my aunt that I’d initially gotten involved with Poodles, as she was the breeder of Davey’s and my first dog, Faith. Aunt Peg had given us the Poodle puppy partly as a present, partly as a reward for some help I’d contributed, and partly as a bond to cement our future relationship.
Then—because no good deed on Aunt Peg’s part comes without strings attached—she had announced that Faith was going to be shown to her championship. To aid in that quest, my aunt had taken me in hand and shepherded me through the exhibiting process using a teaching technique that had felt like equal parts inspiration and dire threats.
Aunt Peg doesn’t suffer fools or foolishness, and woe to any relative of hers who can’t keep up. She had taught me more about dogs in five years than most people have the opportunity to learn in a lifetime, and I would always be grateful for her guidance and her support.
“I was just thinking about you,” Aunt Peg said ten minutes later, as I got out of my car.
I hadn’t bothered to call ahead, but as I parked beside the garage, Aunt Peg already had her front door open. Her Poodles serve as a canine alarm system, and visitors are announced long before they’re able to reach the porch and ring the doorbell.
Big, black Poodles eddying around legs, Aunt Peg came down the steps from the wide porch and approached the Volvo. “Where is everyone?” she asked, peering in the back of the station wagon.
“Everyone who?” I asked innocently.
Of course I knew what she meant, but sometimes I just can’t resist baiting her. And besides, what was I, chopped liver?
“My nephews, your husband. Kevin, Davey, Sam?” Aunt Peg frowned and had another look, as if that might turn up someone she’d previously missed. “Faith? Eve? My goodness, I don’t even see a dog in there. The very least you could have done is bring Tar for a visit.”
Yet again, I’d failed to live up to my aunt’s expectations. Unfortunately, that was nothing new.
“I brought myself for a visit,” I said.
“Well, I guess you’ll have to do.”
“I could leave.”
“Oh pish,” said Peg. “Now you’re just being pathetic. Of course I’m happy to see you. I was just hoping I might have the opportunity to see my new nephew as well. Babies are like puppies, they seem to change from minute to minute. And you know me, I hate to miss a thing.”
That was certainly true. But what Aunt Peg neglected to mention was that she’d been at our house at least once a week since Kevin was born and had had dinner with us just two nights previously. So by my estimation, she wasn’t missing much.
Aunt Peg’s Poodles offered me a brief and genial greeting, then chased each other away for a romp around the front yard. Racing in large, looping circles, they checked the area for new smells, looked for previously abandoned toys, and had a run at a hapless squirrel.
Of the six Standard Poodles in residence, only one was currently being shown, a young male named Custer. He had competed in puppy classes, wearing the puppy trim, before he was a year old. Now, fourteen months of age and nominally an adult, he was taking some time off from the show ring to grow the copious neck and topknot hair that would be required to balance his new continental clip.
Automatically, Aunt Peg kept an eye on her Poodles as they played, making sure that none of the older dogs dared to pull on Custer’s oh-so-precious neck hair. Which, of course, they didn’t. They were Poodles, after all. They knew the drill.
“I’ve just made a pitcher of iced tea,” said Aunt Peg. “Let’s go inside and have something cold to drink. I’m sure you must have lots to tell me.”
I considered for a moment, then said, “Not really.”
Nevertheless, I followed her up the steps and into the house. Second in line, I held the door until all the Poodles had followed us inside.
“That’s all right then, because I have lots to tell you.”
No surprise there.
Aunt Peg led the way to the kitchen. I got out glasses while she opened the refrigerator to get the tea. And the butter.
I lifted a brow.
“Blueberry scones. The bakery had a batch freshly made.”
Visiting Aunt Peg was never good for my waistline. Six feet tall and with the vigor of the Energizer Bunny himself, she never had to worry about her weight. The only time I’d been able to match her, sweet for sweet, had been in the latter weeks of my pregnancy.
And of course, I was paying for that now.
Which didn’t stop me from taking a scone. I did sigh as I selected one, however. It made me feel a little better.
“So tell me about your day,” she said. “Where have you been?”
Aunt Peg was temporizing, which wasn’t a good sign. Usually she can’t wait to tell me what’s on her mind. Rather than calling her on it, I decided to play along.
“This might be interesting to you,” I said. “I’ve just come from visiting Pine Ridge Canine Care Center.”
Aunt Peg looked up. “Is somebody sick?”
“No, it’s not that kind of place. Pine Ridge is a doggie day care center.”
“Oh.” The single, clipped syllable conveyed her disdain. “For people who want to own dogs but can’t be bothered to put in the time to take care of them themselves.”
“Or for mothers who are going back to work and trying to do the right thing by their pets.”
“Not you, I hope.”
Aunt Peg vetted potential puppy owners with incredible care and attention to detail. The day a Cedar Crest bred Poodle ended up in day care, she would raise holy hell.
“No, I was checking the place out for my friend Alice. Now that her kids are older and in school, she’s decided to get a job.”
“Berkley,” said Aunt Peg.
She was probably picturing the Golden Retriever in her mind. I doubted if she could tell you how many children Alice had, or what their names were. She was also probably somewhat hazy as to what Alice looked like.
But Berkley Aunt Peg knew immediately. It was just the way her brain worked.
“And—what did you think?”
“It’s a nice place. Nicer than I expected, actually. I was prepared to be pretty wary of the whole idea.”
“I should hope you would be.”
Aunt Peg reached for her second scone and buttered it. The older Poodles were stretched out around us on the floor, most of them asleep. Only Custer was sitting up and keeping a hopeful eye on Aunt Peg.
I could have told him he was wasting his time; my aunt wouldn’t dream of feeding dogs from her plate. No doubt he’d learn that for himself soon enough. In the meantime, Davey’s frequent visits and his habit of slipping forbidden handouts under the table kept the young dog just spoiled enough.
“I trust you asked all the right questions.”
I gulped. By her standards, possibly not. Conversation with Aunt Peg always had a way of making me feel like I was on the hot seat.
“I took a tour,” I said brightly, “and checked out the accommodations. I saw outdoor paddocks and indoor playrooms, and I met the groomer. The dogs have televisions in their rooms and couches to lie on while they watch.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
“They looked very comfortable.”
“Dogs don’t need television to make them happy. They need people, and games, and someone who cares about them.”
“Pine Ridge seemed to be doing a good job with those things too.”
Aunt Peg narrowed her gaze. “Did you ask which vet they have on call in case of emergencies?”
Missed that one. And it was a good thought.
“Um . . . no.”
“How about which food they feed and why they chose that particular brand? Hopefully the deciding factor wasn’t that someone offered them a bulk discount.”
Oops. Strike two.
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “New mothers are allowed to be distracted. I’m sure you’ll do better on your second visit.”
“Second visit?”
“You did intend to go back, didn’t you? Otherwise how will you know whether or not you simply caught them on a good day? Believe me, Berkley will thank you for it.”
Not Alice, Berkley. Did you catch that?
“Now then,” said Aunt Peg. “Let’s get to my news. I’ve had a positively brilliant idea. And you hardly have to do anything at all.”
“Me?” I put down my scone. “How did I get involved?”
As if I even needed to ask. Aunt Peg had a plan, which meant that everyone in the vicinity should strap themselves in because, like it or not, we were all along for the ride.