five

Despite the fact I’d gone to bed a little late last night, on Sunday morning I was in the kitchen of my two shops right on time: five o’clock a.m.

I wasn’t alone. My new part-time assistants—especially Frida Grainger—really loved to bake. This morning, Frida had asked to work in the Icing part of the kitchen, which was fine with me. She would be the one to bake human cookies and cupcakes and scones and other people treats, while I got into lots of kinds of dog biscuits and cookies. As always, Biscuit would hang out in the Barkery in her large, open-topped enclosure, since no dogs were allowed in the kitchen. This was for sanitary reasons, as mandated by the local health department and our occupancy permit.

My longer-term assistant, Dinah, worked five days a week now, usually Tuesday through Saturday, although this week would be a bit different to accommodate some scheduling issues with our part-timers.

“So how was your hike yesterday?” Frida asked as she kneaded a large chunk of dough for cinnamon cookies.

“Fun,” I said without giving details. “And what kind of culinary masterpiece did you create?”

“I’m working on a new gourmet Irish stew,” she said with a huge grin on her pretty, round face.

She stood opposite me, across the center dividing shelves. On my side was the stainless steel utility counter for mixing and preparing dough for the Barkery, and huge ovens were behind me, against the wall. Frida’s side was the mirror image of mine. But I’d made it clear that no one was to combine ingredients from the two sides, since some human stuff, like chocolate, was poisonous to dogs. On the other hand, similar-tasting carob was used on both sides. I’d had a special ventilation system installed so that the aroma of meaty animal treats wouldn’t contaminate the people goodies containing sugar, chocolate, and more—and vice versa.

Frida had graduated from one of the Art Institute of California campuses a couple of years ago and had been working as a chef at some pretty high-class restaurants in San Bernardino County since then. It was fortunate for me that her fiancé had gotten a job in Knobcone Heights as the local manager of a supermarket. He apparently had aspirations of moving up in the company, but for now, at least, the couple was here, and Frida had needed a part-time job that used her skills at the same time I’d started looking for additional help. In her off hours, she created new people cuisine at home.

Although I would never tell her so, Frida looked as if she enjoyed her own creations a lot, as well as the goodies we cooked here. She was far from obese, but she definitely wasn’t svelte. And one of the things I liked about her was that I almost never saw anything but a smile on her face.

“That stew sounds great,” I said. “I hope you’ll allow me to be one of your guinea pigs when you’ve perfected it.”

“Of course. After all, Zorro has offered to be your guinea dog whenever you work on new dog treats.” Her dog Zorro was a beagle mix.

“Biscuit will be glad for the company.” I grinned and paused, then said, “Just so you know, I’ll have a brief shift at the vet clinic today. Vicky is scheduled to come in at noon, so she’ll be around to help you while I’m gone.”

Vicky Valdez was another of my new part-timers. One of the things she was particularly good at was scheduling, so she helped me figure out who was coming in when. She had selected today as one of her days, once I gave her my vet tech schedule for this week.

“Perfect,” Frida said, and smiled again.

“And by the way,” I added. “I promised people on the hike that they could come in and get dog and people treats today, including samples.”

“Got it.”

My shift at the Knobcone Heights Veterinary Clinic was short that day, but I came in partly because Arvie had asked me, and partly because I’d be glad to see Reed again. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that coming when asked was a way of ensuring that my part-time job there continued.

Which made me very happy. As much as I loved being my own boss at my bakeries, I also appreciated helping animals in other ways, too—including helping to heal them while they were injured or sick, and to keep them well via vaccines.

At the clinic, I got to carefully shave and clean an area around an injury a French bulldog had received on his side. He’d squeezed himself between a couple of garbage cans in an attempt to get some meat scraps the owner said had fallen, unbeknownst to him, out of a neighbor’s trash bag. Unfortunately, someone had also left a sharp-edged, unraveled wire hanger there to be disposed of. Fortunately, after Arvie further cleaned and stitched the wound and prescribed some antibiotics, he said the dog would be fine.

When my shift was over, I picked up Biscuit at the clinic’s doggy daycare, where I always brought her when I was on vet tech duty. Then I headed toward Mountaintop Rescue, as I did after shifts whenever I had time. I generally had leftover Barkery treats with me. I usually made some available at the veterinary hospital, too, but figured that the rescue dogs at the wonderful local shelter could use even more TLC, including special doggy goodies.

Our walk along Hill Street, a block away from the Knobcone Heights town square, was short but fun. The veterinary clinic and the animal shelter were only a couple of blocks apart.

We soon reached Mountaintop Rescue. From the outside, it was hard to tell the function of the attractive, gold-colored stucco building. It was a couple of floors tall and well-decorated, with windows surrounded in attractive tile. But that was just the façade. Behind the main, compact building were other structures that housed the resident animals.

Biscuit and I walked up the short path into the building, where I opened the door and stepped inside. A familiar receptionist, Mimi, sat behind a large, chest-height wooden desk that kept visitors out until they were welcomed inside—which we were.

“Is Billi here?” I asked, but I needn’t have. Billi walked into the waiting room from an inside door and stopped and smiled.

Wilhelmina Matlock wasn’t merely a City Council member or the owner of a posh day spa and this wonderful animal shelter. She was also one lovely woman. She was slim, and I’d never seen her appear anything but perfect in whatever she happened to be wearing
—which, today, was jeans and a T-shirt like me. Her shirt was bright red, with Mountaintop Rescue written on it along with a caricature of one happy, grinning dog. Mine was a blue Barkery and Biscuits shirt. Her hair was dark with golden highlights, and right now she wore it long and loose. Her deep brown eyes glanced happily down at Biscuit, then back up at me.

“Have any treats for us today, Madam Barkery?” she asked, her smile broad.

I held out the bag I’d carried under my arm. “What do you think?”

“I think we’re going to have a bunch of happy residents today.”

We smiled at each other. “I’ll bet they’re always happy here,” I said.

We left Biscuit in Mimi’s care as we headed toward the shelter area at the rear of the property: a group of long and attractive buildings and also some outdoor enclosures. The dog kennels were separated by metal fencing that was actually attractive, all adorned at the top with decorative circles.

Like the indoor kennels, the surfaces in the outdoor kennels were made of a smooth cement that could be cleaned easily. All of the enclosures had slightly raised platforms at the rear where beds and toys were placed. The cat areas were all indoor, but similarly designed. And each enclosure housed some delightful pets awaiting their forever homes. Each pen had a card attached outside that described what was known about the resident: where they’d come from, when they’d arrived at Mountaintop Rescue, and anything else pertinent, including health info.

“So, can I assume, like always, that I won’t recognize any of the dogs I’m giving treats to?” I asked Billi.

“Maybe a few,” she said. “You were last here only a few days ago.”

Fortunately for the residents, the turnover at Mountaintop Rescue tended to be phenomenally fast. Homes were found for most of the animals really quickly, which was a very good thing. Billi and her family had contacts all over, including many good and mostly private no-kill shelters in other cities in the mountains and also down the hills. Each of these shelters shuttled adoptable pets around to where they were most likely to be adopted fast—especially if a potential adopter came into one of the shelters with a preconceived idea of the size or breed background they wanted.

As we walked along the corridor inside one of the buildings where some of the smaller dogs were housed, we were greeted loudly by pups. They were housed mostly two-by-two in their kennels. The Chihuahua mixes and terriers were loud and yappy, as usual, as if they wanted to outdo each other to get humans’ attention.

Billi stopped walking and shouted toward me, “There’s a newcomer I especially want you to meet. We picked her up yesterday from the Lake Arrowhead shelter. We traded a springer spaniel mix for her since someone who visited that shelter asked whether they had any medium-sized spaniels available. They didn’t, we did. Sweetie’s right down here.” She gestured ahead with her left hand.

“Sweetie?”

“You’ll see.”

And I did, a few seconds later. There were two small dogs in the kennel Billi indicated. One was cute, too—an apparent Jack Russell mix. But the other … She looked a lot like Biscuit, gold in color with an apparent toy poodle background, and, perhaps, more terrier.

“Don’t suppose you’d have room for another one in your life? A pack member for Biscuit?” Billi had been trying to talk me into a second pup since we’d met. She knew how much I loved dogs, and it was always hard to say no. But as a vet tech and new business owner, I simply couldn’t give more than one the special attention they deserved.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t tempted, especially when Billi opened the kennel door, bent down sideways to keep the other dog inside, and took Sweetie out, placing her into my arms.

Sweetie snuggled with me and licked my face. Oh, yes, I was tempted. But the timing was all wrong. Still …

“I wish … ” I began, shouting to be heard over barks and yips while glaring at Billi. “You know I can’t. Not now. But what I will do is ask around, keep my eyes open for people searching for this kind of dog.”

“The right people,” Billi reminded me.

“Absolutely. And you know … maybe we should finally start those adoption events at my Barkery that we’ve been talking about now and then.”

“This would be a good time,” Billi agreed, her eyes moving from Sweetie to my face and back again. She smiled.

“Before winter starts,” I said with a nod.

I snuggled with Sweetie a while longer, then moved her so I could hold her tightly to me with one arm. With the other, I reached down toward my purse where the bag of Barkery treats now protruded from the top. “Here you go,” I told her after maneuvering her around her kennelmate to put her back behind the gate. I took a peanut butter biscuit out, broke it in two, and handed each of them a half through the mesh.

“You sure about leaving her here?” Billi asked as we started to walk away, the slightly declining barking behind us. I looked back to see little Sweetie watching me pleadingly.

Okay, I was reading that into her solemn look. She was getting to me. But I had to be realistic. And I had to think of Biscuit as well as my multiple careers. Sure, she might enjoy the company of a new pack member. But if she didn’t, even just at first, I wouldn’t have time to work with the two dogs the way that would be needed.

“Unfortunately, I’m sure,” I told Billi.

I continued to break treats in half and pass them out to the small dogs. And I was glad when we finally left that building. I thought about Sweetie a lot.

I’d definitely have to help find her a home.

The larger dogs were in the next building, and I distributed treats there, too, without breaking them. Billi took some and hurried ahead of me, passing out treats to dogs I hadn’t yet reached.

I stopped in front of one of the kennels. In it were two Labrador retrievers, one black and one gold. They appeared purebred, but I wasn’t sure. Even so, an idea permeated my mind.

We finished up in that building with only a few treats left. In the meantime, some of the kennel staff came in and out, sometimes taking dogs out of the kennels to let them meet up personally with people who’d come to see if they could find their canine soulmates here.

Eventually we walked back to the main building, where Biscuit leaped into my arms after Mimi released her from the area where she’d been confined in my absence. As I bent to hug her and accept a myriad of doggy kisses, I thought again of Sweetie.

But there was something else more pressing to think about, I told myself. No, I convinced myself.

“Thanks for the tour,” I told Billi.

“And thank you for all the treats, as usual,” she responded, giving me a quick hug. I smiled. I liked her a lot as a person, and especially for what she did here. The fact that she ran a spa? That was fine, too. And her being a City Council member? Well, I was sure it didn’t hurt to have friends in high places. And I had a couple of them, since Councilman Les Ethman was a buddy, too, thanks to his dog Sam—an English bulldog he sometimes brought to my vet clinic, and had also brought into the Barkery for treats.

Biscuit and I left soon afterwards to walk back to the shops. On the way, I made a quick phone call to Neal, who fortunately answered despite being on duty at the resort’s reception desk.

I told him what I had on my mind, and I could hear the excitement in his voice as he said, “Sure. Why not. It won’t hurt, at least,”

We made plans to get together in a couple of hours.

We met back at Mountaintop Rescue. It was late, but I’d called Billi and told her what I had in mind. She was fine with it. In fact, she sounded as excited as I felt.

I got there before Neal. Billi and I were chatting in the reception area, since she’d let the rest of the staff except the overnight crew leave. As I held Biscuit in my lap, we talked over ideas for promoting my baking businesses more and holding those adoption events there.

When the outside door opened, we looked up from where we’d been leaning against the reception desk. “Hi, Neal,” I said. “Hi, Janelle.” I quickly introduced her to Billi.

“Nice to meet you,” Janelle said, but her voice was soft and sounded confused. “But—I’m not sure why Neal brought me here.” She turned to look up at my brother’s face. They were holding hands and he was beaming with pride, as if their visit to the shelter had been his idea—and as if it were over already and had gone as well as I hoped it would.

“Carrie has something to show us,” was his nebulous response.

SomeONE to show, I thought, but didn’t contradict him. Sure, this could be a big mistake, considering Janelle’s attitude about her missing dog.

I hoped not.

I put Biscuit into the enclosed reception area. “That’s right,” I said. “This way.”

We walked through the small dog building, and it was as noisy as before. The pups had had some time to rest their vocal chords, I supposed. I smiled sadly as we passed Sweetie.

Then we entered the building where the larger dogs were housed. “Here we are.” But before we continued, I decided it was time to give Janelle an explanation. “I hope I’m not entirely wrong about this.”

But I was worried that I was. Her attractive face seemed pale, and I thought I saw as much pain as before in her large blue eyes.

Was this a big, bad blunder? Well, I had to follow through now, even if so. But I hoped that if she was a good match with my brother, she wouldn’t hold this against him if she just ended up feeling more hurt.

“Come on.” I gestured to her. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Rightly or wrongly, I was hoping that Janelle would fall for one of the Labs here and adopt him, to help her get over the loss of her own missing dog. As a dog lover myself, I knew that a new dog wouldn’t be a replacement, but having one around might lessen the agony of loss.

I took the lead, with Janelle following and Neal and Billi at the end of our line. I stopped a few kennels down, where the two Labs, black and gold, were inside.

Janelle quickly stood beside me. The black Lab immediately started hurling himself toward the mesh gate, jumping and falling and jumping again. He made a crying sound from deep in his throat.

Janelle knelt on the concrete floor outside the kennel run and thrust her fingers inside. The dog started licking at them crazily, still making the frantic noises.

Janelle watched and crooned, too. And then she looked up
toward where I still stood trying to figure this out—and thinking that, somehow, I already had.

“It’s Go,” Janelle whispered.