“You know, a little optimism and confidence translate, to dogs and to people. Or maybe you just like anticipating failure.”
“I consider it realism.” When he ordered the pup to sit, Jaws plopped his butt down cooperatively. “He’s got that one, mostly, but now it gets tricky. Stay.” He held up a hand. “Stay,” he repeated and began to back up.
The dog thumped his tail but stayed seated.
“He’s doing well.”
“Showing off for teacher. At home, odds are he’d be chasing his tail by now, or trying to chew on my boots while I’m wearing them.” He called the dog, rewarded.
“Do it again. Increase the distance.”
Simon took Jaws on the second round, stretching the space between them on the “Stay.” Then, at Fiona’s instructions, a third time until dog and man were a good twenty-five feet apart.
“Don’t frown at the dog when he’s doing what he’s told.”
“I’m not frowning.”
“Let’s call it your default expression. You’re confusing him. Call him in.”
Jaws responded and took the last couple of feet on his belly before rolling over to expose it.
“You did good, you did fine. Show-off,” Simon muttered as he bent down to rub.
“He switched to submissive mode because he wasn’t sure what you were after. You asked him for something, he gave it, and you stand there scowling at him. He gets an A.” Fiona knelt down to stroke Jaws into delirium. “You get a C minus.”
“Hey.”
“My class is coming back. Hold him. Give him the stay command and keep him still for a few seconds. Then you can give him the release, let him go greet.”
“How?”
“Sit and stay—holding him as he’s going to want to run and see who’s coming.” As she spoke she checked her watch for the log. “Then give him the go—use simple phrasing, something natural to you. Say hi, go ahead, greet. Whatever. Then let him loose.”
She rose, walked away to meet the first of her returning students.
“You wanted me to look bad, didn’t you? You think I’m not on to you?” Simon held the puppy in place while rubbing his ears. “Not as dumb as you look, are you? Just wanted to impress the pretty girl. Okay... check it out,” he said, and let Jaws race over to sniff and dance around the returning students.
By the time he walked over, Fiona was listening to the handlers describe how their dogs had performed, noting down the area covered, the number of alerts.
Simon pulled the leash out of his pocket.
“Why don’t you let him hang out, play with the others awhile,” Fiona suggested. She glanced up from her log. “You want him to get used to being around people, other dogs, ones he hasn’t met before. A little socialization wouldn’t hurt you either. Have another brownie. Maybe you can end the day on a higher grade.”
“I’ll take the brownie, but—” He broke off as Sylvia limped out of the woods, leaning on a makeshift crutch, with a woman supporting her on one side and a man on the other while a pair of dogs pranced ahead.
“She’s all right.” Fiona laid a hand on his arm to stop him from crossing over to help. “Make-believe, remember? The exercise involved a lost woman with a minor injury. She plays it up.”
The class broke into applause. Sylvia took an exaggerated bow, then gestured grandly to the woman and dog beside her.
“That’s Tracie and her Lolo. They found Syl in just under seventy-five minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all. Mica’s the one helping her out, with his Ringo. His positioning at the successful find was close enough for him to intersect with Tracie and assist in bringing Syl, with her fake sprained ankle, back to base. Besides, he’s got a crush on her.”
“On Syl? Like brownies, who doesn’t?”
“Not on Syl.” Though she shook her head, Fiona found herself amused and a little proud at Simon’s comment. “On Tracie. They’re both from the Bellingham area, like the rest of the unit. Excuse me.”
She closed the distance to give Tracie a handshake, then a hug, to fuss over the dogs. To laugh with Sylvia, he noted.
She did have an appealing way, he supposed. If you liked the überoutgoing, the type who tended to touch or embrace in a kind of second nature, and looked good in jeans or work pants, sweatshirts or sweaters.
He couldn’t think of a woman who fell into that subset ever attracting him before, not sexually in any case. The fact that she did presented an interesting puzzle.
Maybe it was her eyes. They were so clear, so calm. He suspected they were just one of the reasons animals responded to her. You felt you could trust those eyes.
He watched as she slung her arm around Tracie’s shoulders—there was that just-have-to-touch, just-have- to-connect aspect of her—and led the woman over to... What would she call it? he wondered. Base? HQ? Anyway, it was a table under a pole tarp.
Debriefing, he assumed, noting down whatever data needed to be noted down. It struck him as a little over the top for an exercise. Then he remembered she’d found a little boy in the very big woods, in a cold rain.
Details mattered. Discipline and efficiency mattered.
In any case, the brownies were excellent, and the interlude gave him a chance to flirt with Sylvia.
“How are you coping after your ordeal?” he asked her.
Sylvia laughed, poked him in the chest. “I love when I get to play the lost woman. I get some exercise— wandering around, then either plopping in my spot or wandering some more. It depends on which victim behavior Fee wants to replicate. It’s handy you came by. I was going to call you when I got home today.”
“Yeah? To ask me on a date?”
“You’re so cute. I sold two of your pieces yesterday. The high-sided bench and the five-drawer chest. I’ll take more whenever you can get it to me.”
“I finished a couple of things this morning actually. A wine cabinet and a rocker.”
“Ah, the famous wine cabinet.”
He shrugged, glanced back at Fiona. “It’s not her style, that’s all.”
Sylvia smiled and nibbled on a strawberry. “She has a lot of styles. You should ask her out to dinner.”
“Why?”
“Simon, if I thought that was a serious question, I’d be worried about you.”
She hooked her arm through his as Fiona addressed her class.
“Everyone did a solid job today, as individuals, as teams and as a unit. Next class we’ll be working a different terrain with an unconscious victim. I want you to work your dogs thirty to sixty minutes, mixing in short ten-minute problems. Let’s keep using someone your dog is familiar with. After the next class, you can try someone he or she doesn’t know. Please don’t skimp on your first-aid training, and let’s try some of those exercises compass only. Keep your logs up-to-date. Any problems, any questions before next time, shoot me an e-mail or give me a call.
“And please, God, finish off those brownies so I don’t.”
Sylvia gave Simon a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to run. Check on my shop and my Oreo. You can bring the new pieces in whenever you want. And take my girl out to dinner.”
He lingered out of curiosity, and because his dog had finally played himself out and was passed out under the table.
“He’s had enough for today,” Fiona commented when they were alone. She began to gather dishes.
“Question.” He picked up empty glasses and followed her toward the house. “Those people take your class.”
“Obviously.”
“This was what, like two hours?”
“A little more. This is an advanced stage, and a mock Search and Rescue, so it was set up, search, debrief —add the pat on the back.”
“And between that they’ve got to work with the dogs an hour here, an hour there, study first aid—”
“Yes. One of them’s an EMT, and they’ll all need to be certified in CPR, and basic field treatments. They’ll also have to know how to read a topographical map, have a good working knowledge of climate, wind, foliage,
