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I've been to Molly's school before, once for parents' day and then another time with Molly and Tanya—the time we all got into big trouble—but I don't usually get to go with her. I'm sorry not to go today, since she's been really excited about the Christmas party. According to her, after the party she won't be going to school until next year. I’m a little puzzled that she’s so happy about this, since Molly usually loves school, and while I'm a little vague about the ways humans count time, I know a year is really long.
Anyway, last night after dinner, she and Tanya baked peanut butter cookies to take to the party—turns out one reason Tanya spent the night was to help. I love all cookies, but peanut butter is a favorite flavor, and the ones they baked were very tasty. I know, not just from their wonderful smell, but because Molly and Tanya each slipped me a whole one.
But I don't get to go to the party. The boss puts me in my crate, and they hurry out the door leaving me in silence. I'm sad to be left behind, but dogs don't dwell on things the way people seem to, so I settle down for a nice nap.
They all return some time later, smelling like popcorn and fudge and, of course, peanut butter cookies, and it's clear they had a good time. Well, to be honest, the boss still looks moody. He could benefit from being more like a dog, frankly. But Molly and Tanya come through the door laughing and talking rapidly in high-pitched tones.
The girls take me out to the yard so I can pee and get a nice long drink of water. Then I hang out with them in Molly's room until Tanya's phone makes a chirping sound.
“Mama's home,” Tanya says, her eyes on the phone. “She says she's ready to go.”
Both girls put on their coats and then tell the boss, who puts on his as well. Clearly they're all going somewhere again. I position myself near the door so they won't forget to take me.
But the boss gestures toward my crate. “Come on, Doodle.”
“Can't he go with us?” Molly asks. “He was in his crate for hours.”
The boss studies me a second. “I'm just dropping you off and coming right home. Won't be gone long. And he'll be in a crate in the van, too.”
“But he'll be with us.”
Exactly. She gets it. That's what I love about Molly.
“I guess,” the boss says.
We all pile into the van, Molly and Tanya in the very back, once again talking in excited tones. When we pull into the Franklins' driveway, Mrs. Franklin comes out to greet us, just as the girls are heading into the house.
“Thanks for having Tanya,” she says. “I really wanted to go to the party, but we're full-up and our other manager is off to DC for a week to see her son. No way I could ask for time off and no one wanted to trade shifts.”
“Things not so serene at the Serene Vista?” the boss asks, smiling.
Mrs. Franklin works at the Serene Vista, a hotel where Molly and the boss and I have had what I can only call “adventures.”
“Well, at least no one is getting shot,” she answers, turning to give me a meaningful look. Probably because of the time when, in her words, I “took a bullet for Molly,” something Mrs. Franklin’s always been proud of. “But, yeah, it's a busy time of year.” She leans in towards the boss, resting her weight against the side of the car.
“Speaking of Serene Vista, our boss is pretty unhappy about that Low Down blog. I told him how Madison twisted it all around, but I'm not sure he believes me. Madison has a big following. Lots of folks think she speaks the gospel truth. You might want to talk to him.”
The boss sighs. “Yeah, I'm working on that. We're all getting together at Miguel's on Saturday, and I hope we can put together a plan of action.”
“Well, just so you know. I'd hate it if you lost the account.”
“Not as much as I would,” the boss says fervently. Another sigh. “Anyway, thanks for taking the girls shopping. Molly's been excited for weeks.”
Mrs. Franklin grins broadly at this. “Tanya, too. And Miss Molly, she has plans. I've been sworn to secrecy!”
The boss laughs again. “Well, I guess I'd better get to work. I have a business to try to salvage.”
Mrs. Franklin waves as we pull away. We go back to the house and I find a spot on the carpet where I can bask in the afternoon sun slanting in through the living room window. The boss goes straight to his desk and makes a whole bunch of phone calls. Most of them are to other dog handlers and after the first few, not worth listening to, as he says pretty much the same thing each time, telling them all about Madison and Sturgill. But when I hear him say, “Hi, Cori? It's Josh,” his voice has so much tension in it that I get up and click into the bedroom to hear what's going on.
“—two things,” the boss is saying. “First, about Christmas. I've thought about it a lot. I guess—” the boss scrunches his eyes closed and stiffens his shoulders, as if what he's saying is painful “—I guess we can work something out. We'd already planned to go to hear Tanya sing on Christmas Eve—she's repeating her pageant solo with her church choir—and the Franklins have invited us for Christmas dinner at four on Christmas day. So, maybe I could drop her off after church, and then you could drop her here by one or two so we can open presents before we go to dinner?”
Cori is silent for so long that I wonder if she's still there—where ever “there” happens to be when someone is on a phone—I've never been clear on the concept. Finally, she says, “Thanks, Josh.” Her voice catches and she clears her throat. “I'm really . . . really grateful.” Another pause. “Yeah, that will work fine. I can pick her up at the church—I'd love to hear Tanya sing. Mrs. Franklin was good to me when I was at Serene Vista.”
“Okay, then.” The boss opens his eyes and lets out a big breath. “The other thing is about that blog—the Low Down thing. Molly told you about it?”
“Yeah. I watched it after Molly's call. Madison pretty much trashed your business. I told Molly you ought to get a lawyer. From what I hear, she’s known for her, um, aggressive style of blogging.”
“Really? That's what I was calling about. Wondering if there were others.” He leans back in his chair, more relaxed now. He tells her what Molly learned from Grady. “So she basically lied on the interview. And I wondered if anyone else has filed a complaint.”
“Pretty sleazy,” Cori says, “but I'm not sure there's anything criminal. Much more civil lawsuit kind of stuff.”
“Like I can afford that,” the boss says with a groan.
“Well, I'll check. See if anyone's filed any court actions and ask around. But I wouldn't count on finding anything.
“Thanks,” he says. Then his shoulders go rigid again. “Should I tell Molly about Christmas? Or should I wait in case your schedule changes? Better she doesn't know if you end up not being able to make it. I can't tell you how disappointed she is when—”
“I get it,” Cori says sharply. “Unless there's a double homicide that day and four people call in sick or there’s some kind of national disaster, I'll be there.”
The boss frowns at this, but he only says, “Okay. Bye,” and sets the phone on the desk. He sighs. “I guess it'll just be you and me on Christmas morning,” he says, looking as sad as a dog who's just had his bone snatched away.
Then, after some hesitation, he picks up his phone. At first I think he's calling Cori, because his body gets stiff again. But then he says, “Hi, Annie. Got a minute?”
“A few.” Annie's voice sounds more reserved than normal. “We're in the middle of cleaning— getting ready for Saturday.”
“Yeah. We're really looking forward to it.” He clears his throat. “Listen, I'm sorry about . . . the whole thing with Madison.”
“Thing?” Annie asks sharply. “Did you two—?”
“No!” The boss looks shocked. “Nothing more than conversation and, well. . .” he scrunches up his eyes again, “some flirting. On both sides, I admit. I was an idiot.”
“Pretty much,” Annie agrees.
For a long time, the only sound I can hear is both of them breathing. Then the boss says, “I miss you,” blurting out the words all in a rush.
“Me too,” Annie says. “I mean—you know what I mean. I've really . . . missed you.” Another moment of silence. “Back to normal?”
“Yeah.” The boss's sudden smile is the first genuine one I've seen in days. “I've got news,” he says. He and Annie talk for a long time, the boss catching her up on everything about Madison.
“What a jerk!” Annie says at one point.
“Madison or Sturgill?” the boss asks.
“Both! But I meant Madison, coming on to you like she was so delighted to profile a bed bug dog when she knew all along . . . Makes me angry just to think about it. We definitely need to bring this up at the practice,” she adds. “It could affect everyone’s business.”
After that, the boss tells her about Cori asking for Molly over Christmas.
“I don't know if I made the right decision or not,” he says. “If she stands Molly up . . .”
“I don't think you had a choice,” Annie says. “She's her mother. You couldn't really say no unless she was abusive or incompetent or something, and she's not.”
“I guess,” the boss agrees. “You raise a kid for ten years so you can spend Christmas morning by yourself.” Whoa. His tone is suddenly so bitter that my tail droops.
Annie doesn't answer right away. Finally, she says in a soft voice, “I know. It sucks. Doesn't seem fair. But think about this—you don't get to see her on Christmas morning, but you get to see her every day. All the time. And Cori misses out on that.”
“By choice.” The boss's voice is still angry.
“Yeah, but the end result is still the same. You get to live with Molly. Every day. You're the one who's always there for her. Molly may not realize it now, but that will be what she remembers when she grows up.”
A long silence. Then, “You're right. I got the good end of the deal.” The boss suddenly sounds happier. They talk a little longer and then the boss says, “I guess I'd better get back to calling everyone. But—” he pauses for a moment. “Thanks. I . . . um . . . I've really missed this.”
Annie says goodbye and the boss taps the phone, then stands up, stretching. He's goes to the kitchen and opens the door to the fridge, whistling softly under his breath. He hasn't been this cheerful in days. He pulls out a block of cheese, cuts himself a few slices, and then, to my utter astonishment, tosses me a small piece. Then he pulls out the leftover pizza and heats it up, and saves a bite of the crust that he adds to my kibble after he's finished eating. If this is what happens when he talks to Annie, all I can say is that he should do it more often.
When Molly gets home, a long time after the boss has cleared away the dinner dishes, she makes a big production of having the boss stay in his room with the door shut while she brings in the packages. “No peeking!” she shouts as she bustles through the door carrying a couple of large bags.
I push into her room behind her, before she shuts and locks the door. She takes one of the bags and buries it under some clothes in the chest she keeps in the closet. Then, she flings open her door and calls, “You can come in now. Come see what I got for everyone.”
While the boss watches, she empties the remaining bags onto her bed, picking up different items and saying, “this is for Tanya” and “this is for Annie, this is for GrandJum and Marmie . . .”
GrandJum and Marmie are Molly’s grandparents who have this wonderful place in the woods. We visited them over Thanksgiving. According to the boss, we were going to go back to see them for Christmas, but then a bunch of things happened—seriously, not my fault!—and we ended up staying so long that the boss said he couldn't take off work again so soon.
“Looks good,” the boss is saying, holding up a wool scarf.
Nothing she bought has a particularly interesting scent over that the normal store-stuff odors. No food, that's for sure.
When she's done, the boss asks, “What about your mother?”
“Just more photos. I made a book of our trip to the mountains. I can't figure out what to get—” She suddenly goes still. “Why?”
“Would you like to spend part of Christmas with her?”
“Yeah!” The word practically explodes out of her. Then, she glances at the boss and says in a calmer voice, “I mean, just for part. I wouldn't want to leave you alone.”
“I'll be fine.” Judging by tense set of his jaw, it's hard to believe, but Molly doesn't seem to notice.
“I'll have to get something for Aunt Benita,” she says, excited again. “I need to earn more money.”
“Maybe Annie or Miguel could hire you to help out at the NABBS practice. I’m sure they could use some help.”
Molly's face clouds. “Maybe.”
“Wouldn't hurt to ask,” he says.
“Okay,” she says, as if she doesn’t believe him.
For once the boss isn't clueless. “What? If you're worried about Annie and me, we're, um, back to, um, talking again. Like before Madison.”
“Not that,” Molly says, her eyes now fixed on the big map that's on the wall over her computer. “I mean—that’s great. It's just . . . all the stuff with the gates.”
“Gates?” the boss asks.
“I was going to tell you when I got back from Miguel’s, but you were on the phone with Madison. There was, um, a problem when I was at Miguel’s.” She explains how she and Annie found the dogs loose and how both the barn and field gates were open.
“Annie doesn’t believe that I shut them correctly. Which I know I did. And Doodle was sniffing around like someone was there, and then we—wait!” She goes to her computer and clicks some keys. “Here’s what I found.” On the screen is a photo of the cigarette package and cloth, but no scent, of course. She describes finding them. “Probably from the guy who opened the gates. I gave it all to Mom because it might be a hate crime because of the notes.”
“Notes?” the boss asks with a frown that deepens when Molly tells him about the paper on Miguel’s door, and how Miguel told them there’d been other notes. “Cori thinks the cigarette package might be evidence?” he asks at last.
“Well, not really,” Molly admits after a pause. “She says it could have been left there any time.” She twists a strand of hair. “But Doodle was sniffing it like it was a fresh scent, and you should have seen how he sniffed around those gates.”
“Could have been a squirrel,” the boss says. “You never know with Doodle.”
What? Squirrels don’t smell anything like cigarettes or strangers.
He thinks for a moment. “I can find some work for you around here. Got a lot that needs to be done. If you don't want to ask her.”
Molly doesn’t answer.
“Better get ready for bed now. Big day tomorrow. Will you take Doodle out?”
“Sure.” She says it so sadly that I touch my nose to her hand, which makes her smile. “Okay, okay, let's go.”
Soon we're in the back yard. I do my “business,” as the boss calls it, and inspect the perimeters, then come back to Molly, who's been waiting slump-shouldered by the back door.
“He doesn't believe me, either,” she says in a dejected voice.
Not quite following her, but then she says defiantly, “I know I latched those gates. I know it.”
She goes back to her room and sits at her computer, staring at the photos for a long time before finally crawling into bed.
The next day the boss is up early, bustling around the kitchen as he makes coffee and fixes breakfast. When Molly sits down at the table, rubbing her eyes, he sets a plate of eggs and sausage in front of her and pours her a glass of juice.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, looking at the plate with a doubtful expression that gives me hope for leftovers.
He sets a piece of paper on the table by her glass. “Here's a list of jobs you could do to earn money. It'll be nice to get the place cleaned up for Christmas.”
“Okay.” Molly studies the paper as she takes a tiny bite of egg. “Sweep the back porch?”
“They say there's a chance for snow in a few days, so it'd be nice to have the back yard all ready.”
“Maybe we'll get a white Christmas!” Molly says eagerly.
“Let's hope not. Traffic would be impossible. Speaking of which, I figure if we leave for Miguel's no later than 2:30 we should be able to get out of the city without any problem. We're supposed to bring chips and salsa and some drinks, so we'll grab those on the way out. Miguel's making chili.”
“Okay,” Molly says again, chewing a piece of sausage. “We have some cookies left, too. We could bring those.” She finishes her juice and stares at the eggs on her plate.
As soon as the boss goes back to his computer, Molly forks off a big chunk of sausage, eats it, and then scoops the remaining eggs and sausage into my dish, which I quickly polish off. She packs her small suitcase, then backs up her photos, something I've never understood but involves staring at the computer screen and clicking with the mouse—a piece of plastic that, believe me, smells nothing like a real mouse. After that, I hang out in the yard with her while she sweeps the porch, rolls up the hose and puts it against the house. It’s a great day to lie on the grass and soak up some sun.
We go back inside for lunch, which turns out to be tuna sandwiches, one of my favorites. But today, Molly eats all of hers. The boss packs up the left-over peanut butter cookies, along with my treats and some kibble, and pretty soon we're in the van on the way to Miguel's.
I smell the chili as soon as I hop out of the van. I put my nose to the air and take in all the other scents. Love being at Miguel's—so much more interesting to the nose than being in the city, where all the scents are overlaid with car fumes and smoke. A host of wonderful country odors rise from the fields and the trees behind them—leaf mold, dry grass, moss, all the different tree scents as well as faint traces left by squirrels, raccoons, and mice—and when you add the scents of all the dogs here, well, you can see why this place is a feast for the nose! Speaking of which, I see several beagles and a Lab playing a game of chase in the dog field. Maybe . . .
“Could I put Doodle in with dogs?” Molly asks, reading my mind.
The boss shrugs. “Sure. If Miguel doesn't mind.”
We find Miguel in the barn hosing out the concrete slab of one of the kennels. “Got a couple of new people coming up for the practice who want to board their dogs tomorrow night,” he says.
A sharp scent of disinfectant wafts up from a bucket by Miguel’s feet, reminding me of the times I've been in animal shelters. Fortunately, most the kennel gates leading to the outside are open, and that dilutes the smell. All the dogs are either in the field or in their courtyards. Some stand nose pressed to the wire fence watching the dogs in the field play, while others are sprawled on the ground basking in the sun.
“Can I put Doodle in the field?” Molly asks.
Miguel squints out into the bright sunlight outside. “This group's almost done,” he says. “Let's put him out with Gunther and the bigger dogs in a few minutes.”
So, before long, I'm racing around with Gunther, another German shepherd, a black Lab and Snippet. We have a glorious time wrestling, play fighting, and chasing each other from one end of the field to the other. I have to say that Snippet holds her own against the bigger dogs, and she's very fast. But, of course, I win the games because that's just the way I am. By the time Miguel calls us dogs to come in, I'm tired enough that I pretty much nap the rest of the afternoon and evening, even through dinner, where Miguel, Annie, and the boss talk endlessly about Madison's blog.
After I've had my kibble and my trip outdoors, I'm ready for bed, and grateful when Molly finally gets off her computer and turns out the light.