Chapter 37.

“I’m going to leave early,” Rune informed Josh that afternoon. “You don’t mind handling the pickups, do you?”

Josh frowned at her across the chain-link fence. “Well, yeah, I do.” He’d been wondering all afternoon how Tucker was doing, alone in his car up the street. The thunderstorm had cleared, but the dog might still need reassuring. “I already did all the noon work,” he pointed out to Rune.

“It wasn’t that much,” she said. “Anyway, pickups is the least you can do now, to help us out with the raid. After handing a cat over to Jordan! You need to build up some good karma.”

“I already banked good karma for today, by rescuing Tucker,” said Josh.

“And you owe me for letting you leave him at Fur-Ever,” said Rune. With increasing fervor she went on, “Do you understand how huge this is? The police actually decided to do something about Jordan’s hoarding house! Well—they’re more concerned about her supplying weed to underage kids, isn’t that typical? Never mind dozens of innocent neglected animals. Anyway, Neil and I have to be there when the police show up, to grab all those cats.”

Josh supposed he did owe her, so when Rune slung her hemp tote bag over her shoulder and left, he finished the work: wiping down each muddy dog; bringing the day care dogs to the office to be picked up; resettling the boarding dogs in their kennels; stowing the water buckets, throwing stick, and the other exercise yard equipment; and making one last round of the pens to scoop overlooked turds. In case telepathic communication with dogs was possible, as Rune claimed, he sent a thought message up the road: I’ll be there soon, Tuck.

Finally done, Josh grabbed one of the kennel’s leashes and a dog biscuit and loped up Main Road. As his feet crunched the gravel on the Fur-Ever driveway, he heard Tucker begin to bark: Woof-woof. Woof-woof.

A smile spread over Josh’s face. Tucker knew Josh’s footsteps, and Josh knew Tucker’s bark. Or rather, his barks; that was a greeting bark.

Rounding the curve and the stand of pine trees, Josh caught sight of his car. “Hey, Tucker!” Then Josh stopped short, gaping.

The dog with his head out the back window had to be Tucker, but he was gray, rather than brown. The car windows were gray, too, as if a very small volcano had erupted inside.

“Sheesh! What did you get into?” Stepping up to the window, Josh slipped the leash over the dog’s head while Tucker licked his chin and nuzzled his neck. He’d gotten into ashes—those were ashes on Tucker’s head and shoulders, and now scattering over Josh.

When Josh opened the car door, Tucker seized something from the backseat before bounding out. Making a play-bow, he shook the object—a tattered piece of cardboard—at Josh.

It was a remnant of what used to be . . . the carton of Molly’s ashes.

Josh stood staring at Tucker. The dog grinned at him, giving the cardboard another shake. Josh felt— What did he feel? Fury? Deep outrage, at this act of desecration?

Instead, he had to repress a laugh. “Tucker. Drop it.”

Tucker, his eyes on Josh, let the damp fragment fall to the gravel.

“Good drop!” Josh slipped him the dog biscuit. Then he stepped back, patting his own shoulders. “Tucker. Up.” He braced himself as Tucker leaped on him. “Who’s a lucky dog? Who’s a lucky dog?”

Tucker slurped at Josh’s face, his ears, his neck.

“You’re a lucky dog. And so am I.”

It took several minutes for Josh to wipe down the inside of his car windows with a beach towel. The result was not really clean, but clean enough to see to drive. He’d have to visit the car wash on Route 6 and use their heavy-duty vacuum on the whole interior.

But first, Josh needed all that usual dog stuff: chow, bowls, leash, etc. So first the pet store (also on Route 6), then the car wash. “You’re costing me a lot of money already,” he told Tucker in the rear view mirror. His stomach growled. No lunch except for a few stale peanuts from the staff room at the kennel.

Driving up Main Road into the village, Josh made calculations about how long he could afford to live on his savings. The rate at even a cheap motel like the Dreamland would add up.

Josh’s focus shifted to a police car approaching from the opposite direction, and he felt suddenly ill. What was he thinking? Gardner was chair of the Mattakiset Board of Selectmen. If he reported the theft of his dog to the Mattakiset Police Department, they’d jump on it. Josh braced himself for a high-speed chase in his aging car. It’d last about one block . . .

The officer at the wheel of the police car looked straight at Josh’s Civic, its criminal driver, and its stolen dog. He yawned.

Whew. However, Josh couldn’t take the chance of staying in town. For that reason, and for reasons of income stream, he should suck it up and accept the coaching job at Kingstown Academy. And lead their field trip—aargh . . .

Coming up on the Cumberland Farms gas station and store, Josh noticed Danielle in the parking lot. She was pacing beside her blue Kia, phone to her ear. He wondered if she was trying to get hold of Ryan.

Then several things clicked together in Josh’s mind: Ryan. Jordan’s cat-hoarding house. Marijuana. Police/animal rescue raid. With a jerk of the steering wheel, he pulled into the parking lot.

Danielle lowered her phone. “Josh, thank God! Can you help me here?”

“Oh, shit,” said Josh under his breath as noticed the flat right rear tire of Danielle’s car.

He’d never been good at changing tires.

“Ryan could change the tire,” she went on apologetically, “and he should, but he’s not picking up or calling back.” She offered a hand for Tucker to lick through the back window, then frowned slightly. “This dog looks just like the Harrisons’.”

“Listen,” said Josh. “I stopped to give you a heads-up about a raid on Jordan’s this afternoon. I thought Ryan might get caught up in—”

“A raid? You mean the cat rescuers?” Danielle looked puzzled. “Well, it’s about time. But even if Ryan’s there--and there’s a good chance he is, since he isn’t picking up— Oh, you mean they might catch him smoking dope?”

“It’s worse than that,” said Josh. “Rune says the police are really coming down on Jordan. For dealing to underage kids. So for Ryan to be involved—”

“Oh, shit.” Danielle stared at him. Then she ran around to the passenger side of his car, yanked the door open, and slid in. “Never mind the tire. I need a ride. Right now.”

 

 

 

 

Again I must remind you that

A Dog’s a Dog—A CAT’S A CAT.

T.S. Eliot, “The Ad-dressing of Cats”