“Well . . . I really don’t think I could manage this menagerie without help. If you’re sure you don’t mind, Malcolm.”
“I don’t mind.”
I stood in the doorway watching as he walked down the garden path, following in Blixen and Stuart’s eager footsteps. When they got to the gate, he turned to look at me and smiled.
My stomach flew to Florida.
* * *
“Be still, Nelson. This will only take a minute.”
I knelt on the floor, trying to get Nelson to hold still long enough so Monica could measure the distance between his neck and his rump. We’d decided to make our own dog jacket patterns, using Blixen, Nelson, and Maisie as mannequins for the large-, medium-, and small-sized jackets.
Getting Blixen and Maisie’s measurements had been a piece of cake, but Nelson was feeling frisky and kept trying to lick my nose.
“Stop it, you big goofball!” Nelson lunged at my nose again and I started laughing, setting off Peaches and Cream, who began baying gleefully.
“Grace,” Monica called out over the din. “Can you take over for Nan? The model’s not being very cooperative.”
Grace, who had more experience designing garments than I did, not to mention the use of both arms, was sketching out the pattern for a Blixen-sized jacket on a piece of butcher paper.
“Just one second.” Grace erased a line and redrew it, then put aside her pencil and got down on the floor. “Uh-uh,” she said when Nelson tried to lick her nose too. “No kissing on the first date.”
She put a hand firmly on each of Nelson’s shoulders. Perhaps sensing she meant business, he stopped wiggling long enough for Monica to get the measurements she needed. Peaches and Cream settled down, too, and we were finally able to get to work.
While Grace quickly drew out the medium-sized pattern, I ironed the fabric to press out any creases, then pinned on the pattern pieces she’d already cut out. It wasn’t easy with just one arm, but I managed. Monica was in charge of cutting. By the time she was finished, Grace was ready to start sewing, working so quickly that Monica and I had a hard time keeping up. But before long we fell into a rhythm and were able to work and talk at the same time.
“How are things working out with Malcolm?” Monica asked.
“It’s good. But . . . odd. I’m out of the habit of conversing with humans,” I said, and reached down to pat Blixen on the head.
“He seems nice,” Grace said, reaching for a piece of cheese while she waited for Monica to finish cutting the next jacket.
“Oh, he is. And I am grateful for the help. I couldn’t possibly manage on my own, especially with seven dogs in the house. That’s a chore even with two good hands. And Malcolm is certainly less intrusive than Chrissy would have been.”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement.” Grace brushed cracker crumbs off the sewing machine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come and stay with you?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re up to your earlobes as it is.”
“It’s not as bad with Gavin out of town. I had to come into work on Sunday morning, but Gavin’s flight took off at two so I spent the rest of the day with Jamie. Tonight I actually left the office at six thirty. Not early enough to go to Landsdowne before I came here, but still . . . It feels good to hop off the hamster wheel for a few days.”
“And when your boss comes back, you’ll have to hop right back on.”
Grace shrugged, but she didn’t argue with me. If I had said I needed help, Grace would have found a way. So would Monica. Isn’t it a shame that I had to turn sixty before I realized that the words best friend could be applied to creatures with two feet as well as four? Monica and Grace were as loyal as any retriever on earth. They would do anything for me and the feeling was mutual.
“Besides, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Malcolm is a huge help. And we’ve known each other a long time, so it’s not like we have to fill each other in on our life’s story. That’s a relief. On the other hand, we have a lot in common, too, so there’s plenty to talk about—if we feel like it.
“Malcolm’s not one who has to talk just to fill the silence. I’m the same. Probably comes from spending so much time with the dogs,” I said as I laid a pattern onto a piece of red fabric with blue polka dots.
Monica, who had just finished cutting out a jacket of blue chambray, handed the pieces to Grace and said, “So, if Malcolm were a dog, what breed would he be?”
“What breed?” I laughed, intrigued by the question. “Let me see . . . Definitely a golden. He’s calm, not easily ruffled, and goes with the flow. He’s also pleasant, cheerful, and a good listener. He’s Blixen!” I said. “No wonder I like him.”
“That means he’s a perfect match,” Monica said, “Your spirit animal. Now, what about this isn’t working for you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It just feels funny, accepting help from someone else. But I guess I’m helping Malcolm too. I think Malcolm needs to feel useful.”
“Sounds like it’s a good arrangement for everybody,” Grace said.
“Yes,” I said, picturing Malcolm at the garden gate. “Yes, I think it is.”
“Well, I’m glad we got that settled,” Monica said as she took the polka-dot pattern from my hand and started cutting. “Moving on. Are you still looking for fund-raising ideas for the rescue?”
“Definitely,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
“What about a Fairy Dogmother’s ball? A dinner dance for pets and people?”
“That’s an adorable idea. I love it! Would you do it at the restaurant?”
“I don’t think the Health Department would allow it,” Monica said. “I was thinking we could have it here, in your garden. You’ve got so much space. We
