The Search

She only had his word on who he was, and besides that, nobody knew he was there. What if he was a psycho? A rapist? Okay, three dogs, he mused, eyeing them again. But so far they’d been friendly, and about as casual as their mistress.

And currently, they were snoring away.

He wondered how she managed to live with three dogs when he could barely find a way to tolerate one. Looking down, he saw the pup had stopped chewing on his bootlaces because he’d fallen asleep sprawled over the boot, with the laces still caught in his teeth.

With the same care and caution a man might use when easing away from a wild boar, Simon slowly slid his foot back, holding his breath until the pup oozed like furred water onto the kitchen floor.

Passed out cold.

One day, he thought as he crossed to the coffeemaker, he’d find a way to pay his mother back. One fine day.

He studied the machine, checked the bean and water supply. When he switched it on the burr of the grinder had the pup waking with a barrage of ferocious barks. Across the room, the dogs cocked their ears. One of them yawned.

The movement had Jaws leaping with joy, then charging the pack like a cannonball.

While they rolled, batted and sniffed, Simon wondered if he could borrow one of them. Rent one, he considered. Like a babysitter.

Since the cupboards had glass fronts, he didn’t have any trouble finding a pair of bright cobalt blue mugs. He had to open a couple of drawers before he found the flatware, but that gave him the opportunity to marvel. Every drawer was tidy and organized.

How did she do that? He’d been in his house for only a matter of months and his kitchen drawers looked like a flea market. Nobody should be that organized. It wasn’t natural.

Interesting-looking woman, though, he decided as he poked around a little. The hair that wasn’t really red, wasn’t really blond, the eyes of absolutely clear and perfect blue. Her nose tilted up a little on the end and sported a dusting of freckles, and a slight overbite made her bottom lip seem particularly full.

Long neck, he thought as he poured the coffee, lanky build with no rack to speak of.

Not beautiful. Not pretty or cute. But... interesting, and the few times she’d smiled? Almost arresting. Almost.

He dumped a spoon of sugar from a squat white bowl in one mug, picked up the other.

He took his first sip looking out her over-the-sink window, then turned when he heard her boot steps. She moved briskly, with an efficiency that hinted at athleticism. Wiry, he thought, as much as lanky.

He saw her shift her gaze down, followed it and saw Jaws circle and squat.

Simon opened his mouth, but before he could yell Hey!, his usual response, Fiona tossed the folder she carried on the counter and clapped her hands twice, sharply.

The sound startled Jaws out of his squat.

She moved fast, scooping up the pup with one hand, grabbing the leash with the other. “Good dog, Jaws, good dog. Let’s go out. Time to go out. Pantry, second shelf, canister with mini-treats, grab a handful,” she ordered Simon, and clipped the leash on the collar as she headed out the back door.

The three dogs whooshed after her in a flurry of fur and paws.

He found her gnome-sized pantry as scarily organized as the drawers, dug out a handful of little dog cookies the size of his knuckle from a big glass jar. Hooking the mug handles in one hand, he walked outside.

She still carried the dog, with her long legs eating up the short distance to the edge of trees that guarded the back of her property. By the time she put Jaws down Simon caught up.

“Stop.” She stopped the pup from attacking the leash, rubbed his head. “Look at the big guys, Jaws! What are the big guys doing?” She turned him, walked a few steps.

Obviously, the pup was more interested in the dogs, currently sniffing, lifting legs, sniffing, than the leash. He bounded after them.

“I’m giving him some slack. Thanks.” Fiona took the coffee, drank deep, sighed. “Praise Jesus. Okay, you’re going to want to pick a regular spot for your Pooptown. You don’t want land mines all over your property. So you consistently take him where you want him to go. Then he’ll just start going there. You’re the one who has to be vigilant and consistent. He’s just a baby, so that means you’re going to have to take him out several times a day. As soon as he wakes up in the morning and before you go to bed at night, every time he eats.”

In his mind’s eye, Simon saw his life becoming a revolving door swinging at the whims of the dog’s elimination needs.

“And when he does what he’s supposed to do,” Fiona continued, “be thrilled. Positive reinforcement—lavish. He wants to please you. Wants to be praised and rewarded. See there, the big guys are going, so he’s not going to be outdone.”

Simon shook his head. “When I take him out, he spends an hour sniffing, rolling and screwing around, then cuts loose five seconds after I take him back in.”

“Show him. You’re a guy. Whip it out and pee.”

“Now?”

She laughed—and yeah, he thought, almost arresting. “No, but in the privacy of your own. Here.” She handed him the leash. “Get down to his level, call him. Happy, happy! Use his name, then when he comes, make over him, give him one of the treats.”

He felt stupid, making happy noises because his dog shit in the woods, but thinking of the countless piles he’d cleaned off his floors, he followed instructions.

“Well done. Let’s try a basic command before the others get here. Jaws.” She took hold of him to turn his attention, stroked him until he’d calmed down. She took one of the treats Simon held, palmed it in her left hand, then lifted her right over the pup’s head, extended her index finger. “Jaws, sit. Sit!” As she spoke, she moved her finger over his head so he looked up, trying to follow it. And his butt hit the ground.

“Good dog! Good!” She fed him, petted him, praised him. “Repeat, repeat. He’ll automatically look up, and when he does the back of him goes down. As soon as he sits, praise, reward. Once he gets that, you try it with just the voice command. If he doesn’t get it, go back and repeat. When he does, praise, reward.”

She stepped back.

Since the pup wanted to follow her, Simon had a little struggle.

“Make him focus on you. You’re the boss. He thinks you’re a patsy.”

Annoyed, Simon shot her one cold stare. But he had to admit, when the pup’s rump hit the ground, he felt a little spurt of pride and pleasure.

He could see Fiona, standing hip-shot, arms folded. Judging him, Simon thought, as he went through the routine again, and again. When her dogs wandered over to join her, sitting like three sphinxes, he felt ridiculous.

“Try it without the motion. Point, use the voice command. Keep eye contact. Point, use the command.”

Like that was going to work, Simon thought, but he pointed. “Sit.” And gaped when Jaws plopped his ass on the ground. “He sat. You sat. Nice job. Nice work.” As Jaws inhaled the little cookie, Simon grinned over at Fiona. “Did you see that?”

“I did. He’s a good, smart dog.” Hers went on alert. “Time to get started. Your classmates are coming.”

“How do you know?”

“They know.” She laid one hand on the closest dog’s head. “Here, let Newman smell you.”

“What?”

She simply gestured, then took Simon’s hand, held it down to Newman. “Newman, this is Simon. This is Simon. Walk with Simon. Walk. I need to set a couple things up. Newman’s going to walk with you while you practice leading Jaws on the leash. Stop off and get the head collar, then come on around. Newman’ll give you a hand with him.”

When she and the other dogs dashed away, Jaws leaped to chase. Newman simply gave him a gentle body block.

“Want to come home with me, big guy? I could use you. Walk, right? Walk!”

In fits and starts, with the big Lab running interference, Simon managed to lead, pull and drag the puppy