Jennifer was a big hit . . .

 . . . during his visit. It began with Alana who couldn’t get enough of Jennifer and found the mere idea of him to be “irresistible.”

“Really, Hudson, he’s iconic, don’t you think? I mean . . . he’s so noble in stature and so perfectly sculpted he’s almost hedge-like. And the hot pink in contrast to those qualities. It’s like a sociological statement about our culture, like we focus on the flashy external stuff and ignore the real beauty behind it. But also, the flashy is beautiful in its own way. I think we should draw him.”

And we did. More than once.

Jennifer was a natural model. It was as if he knew what was expected of him and understood that people’s talents were being mobilized in order to memorialize him and everything he stood for, whatever that was.

Alana also decided that Jennifer should star in my graphic novel. A character that changed from white to pink, like Clark Kent to Superman. I still hadn’t shared the storyline of my new novel with her, but it was doubtful there’d be a place in the Arctic Circle for a pink poodle. And I wasn’t exactly thrilled about other people’s ideas creeping into my work.

Alana wanted to come over every day to see Jennifer, whose color I could tell was already fading a little each day. There were pink smudges on the sheets when I came home from school to find Jennifer sprawled across my bed.

One day, Alana asked Penelope and Gus to stop by after school to see Jennifer for themselves.

“Oh my God, the cutest thing ever. You know what I mean?” Penelope turned to Gus who nodded enthusiastically.

“I mean . . .Wow, so awesome. Right? Ha ha ha. Can you believe it?” she said, squealing loudly.

Jennifer, sensing the moment was his, quickly adopted a show dog stance with front and hind legs slightly angled but solidly planted. Head held nobly high and proud.

“So sweet,” Gus took up where Penelope left off, his irony escaping her. “Hud, the two of you look so adorable together.”

“For real, right?” Penelope gushed. “Pose for a picture.”

I didn’t.

When they were gone, Alana was upset they’d missed the whole point of Jennifer. The subtle statement he made just by being himself and being that color. She also noticed the lightening of his color, but felt it was better that way. Nothing of beauty can stay the same forever, she said. Or it wouldn’t be truly beautiful because beauty was fleeting by nature.

Me? I thought Alana grew more beautiful every day.

>>>

My last day with Jennifer didn’t pass without excitement, although more for him than me. I was home, trying to get a little work done before collecting the dogs for a walk. Jennifer, who always looked forward to hanging out with the group, knew the time was drawing near, so he stood guard by his leash, whining occasionally in case I forgot about The Boys (and Lady). My home phone rang. The land line.

“Hudson?” Mrs. Dickinson always sounded a little nervous when she called, like she expected to be punished for using the service she was paying for.

“Hi, Mrs. Dickinson. What can I do for you?” I tried to kill the sigh in my voice.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve told me I’m supposed to use the special phone you gave me, and I’m not supposed to call this number, but the darn thing isn’t working again.” I heard a loud beep in the background.

“I can take a look when I pick up Lady.” A simple battery charge was sure to be the problem.

“That would be fine, and I’d appreciate it. But I’m calling for another reason, something urgent.”

I sat up straight in my bed and Jennifer, sensing the shift in my posture, sprung to his feet and wagged his tail expectantly.

“What’s the problem?” The beeping in the background continued.

“My smoke alarm is going off, and I think it’s the battery. I was wondering if you could come over and take a look. Lady’s just beside herself,” she clucked.

It seemed like outside forces conspired to get the dogs walked earlier than planned, so I decided to collect Buster and take him with us. I’d change the smoke alarm battery, leave with Lady, and swing by to pick up Duke. Jennifer was already standing at the sliding glass door that opened onto our backyard where Buster came through the loose board of the fence. That Jennifer was one smart dog.

>>>

“Oh dear, I don’t have the right kind.” Mrs. Dickinson was riffling through a shoebox full of batteries while I perched at the top of her ladder. “It’s the square one, right?”

“The one that looks like this.” I passed down the 9-volt, and she inspected it carefully.

“No, I don’t have one of those. I’ll buy one the next time I go to the market. Would you be able to put it in for me when you come for Lady?”

“No problem.” I got off the ladder and folded it up. “At least we got the beeping to stop.” I took the ladder back to the pantry.

“Poor Lady.” Mrs. Dickinson bent to scratch Lady’s head. “Her hearing is so sensitive, you know.”

Jennifer, who was very well behaved indoors, stood next to Lady whom he loved. Buster was tied to the leg of a kitchen chair. He couldn’t be trusted inside.

“Mrs. Dickinson, is ninety really old? I mean . . .” I didn’t actually know what I meant by that question. My own grandparents were around seventy, and that seemed really old to me. I suppose I wanted to see how Mrs. Dickinson would react to that number. Would she swoon with shock and amazement?

“It depends.” She looked frankly at me as though trying to size up what was behind my question. “I know a ninety-five-year-old lady, a lovely lady. There’s nothing she can’t do. She keeps up with all of us at the Senior Center. Then again, I know people at seventy who are already resigned to the rocking chair, if you know what I mean.” I thought I did.

“It all depends on the individual. Their mental well-being. Their physical health. Their desire to persevere. It’s not easy getting old, you know?”

“I guess it wouldn’t be.”

“Why do you ask, Hudson? Is it Len Pirkle?”

“No.” I was afraid I’d revealed too much. Mrs. Dickinson was clueless in some ways but pretty sharp in others. “Just curious, I guess.”

But she wasn’t about to let it go at that. “How is Len these days? Is he still a client of yours? I haven’t seen him at the Senior Center in a long while.”

“Yes, he’s still a client. He’s doing just fine.”

“Well, you tell him we’d like to see more of him. Men are in high demand at my age. Especially the ones who can still see to drive at night. But you don’t have to tell him that last part,” she winked.

That was a quality I hadn’t considered.

“Mrs. Dickinson. If you don’t mind my asking, what do you do at the Senior Center?”

“Why, all kinds of things. We have luncheons just for socializing. We have classes. Computer classes, art classes. Discussion groups on current events. We even have our own library. Stop by sometime and take a look. It’s wonderful.”

“What if a person is really old? I mean, I don’t know how old in years but . . . not active the way you are. Would there be something for that person to do at the Senior Center if they could get there?”

“Of course, dear.” She put her hands on her hips and gave me that questioning look again. “You’re sure we’re not talking about Len Pirkle? Because the last time I saw him, he seemed to be in perfectly good health.”

“No, not him. I know a lady, another client of mine. She’s really nice, but she has trouble getting around, and I don’t think she has anything to do during the day. She’s always by herself.”

“Well, then we must do something about that.” She set down her box of batteries and rummaged through the kitchen drawer for pen and paper. She wrote a few things down and handed the note to me. “You give this to your friend and ask her to call me. I can arrange for the shuttle to pick her up and take her home. Our city taxes pay for these services. They’re there to be used.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “Her name is Liza Dupont. She’s really nice, I think you’d like her.”

“I’m sure I would. If I don’t hear from her in a few days, I’ll call on her. You talk it over, and if she’s agreeable, just give me her address and I’ll pop by.”

>>>

Missy and her mother arrived late that night to take Jennifer home. Both owner and dog were overjoyed to see each other, but I have to admit I felt a little dejected. And maybe a little jealous too. Jennifer had become a real pal with an uncanny ability to know what I was going to do even before I knew it myself. It had been nice having him around. Mom, the notorious pet-hater that she was, admitted even she was going to miss him. And Jennifer, a pale salmon-colored shadow of his former self, left behind only the pink stains on my sheets to remind me he was ever there.