Dead and Doggone by Dead & Do

Author:Dead & Do [Dead & Do]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

So there we were, me with my truck, my clothes tailored by dogs, and my hair done by the

Cambridge Dog Training Club, Shane stepping out of the Irish-setter Mercedes wearing one of

those heavy tan English trench coats, his blond hair shining under the back door light.

"Holly. What are you doing out so late?"

"Dog training," I said. I thought of asking him in, but the lights in my kitchen are bright, and not

quite all of the stains washed out of the poncho after one of my bitches, Sassy, had her puppies on

it. "And you?"

"Working late."

"Publish or perish, huh?" In Cambridge, it's tactful to assume that people are working for tenure,

not money.

"Sort of. You busy tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," I said. "I am. Another time?"

"Sure," he said. "We've got lots of time."

My machine had two messages. The first was from Steve Delaney, D.V.M. He said we had to talk.

"Sure," I said to Rowdy. "We can talk. We can have the same old conversation again. He has to do

it. It's his job, right?"

I ran my hands up and down Rowdy's throat, then I sank my fingers gently into the mass of thick

fur around his neck. A malamute's outer coat, the guard coat, is coarse, but if you dig your fingers

in, you get to the woolly undercoat. A malamute is a sheep in wolfs clothing.

"Right?" I said. "The cats and dogs aren't his only patients, are they? He's supposed to think of

the owners, too. I mean, he works for everyone, huh? And he can't keep them all himself, can he?

Be reasonable, Holly. That's just not possible, is it?"

The other message was from my father. Millie was finally in labor. When I called back, he even

answered the phone. Naturally, there's an extension in the barn.

"Not yet," he said, "but she's doing great. She's a trooper. You'd be proud of her."

"I already am," I said.

"We're on 'Darling Clementine,' " he said. Bitches need very little help in whelping. Most of the

time, the best thing to do is not interfere. Buck knows that, but he needs to feel that he's easing

their discomfort, assuring them of his presence, and welcoming the pups into the world. The news

that your father is singing "Clementine" to a whelping wolf hybrid bitch might make you think he's

taken leave of his senses, but when my father becomes a musical lupine Lamaze coach, he's getting

back to normal.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I still haven't got any news about Clyde. I'm doing my best." I hated to jeopardize his new-found mental health by mentioning Clyde, but I had to do it. "It's only been four

days. I’m still looking, and I've got people helping me."

"People," he said with disgust.

"What else do you want me to do? I'm doing everything I can, and there's a guy who's helping me.

I've got signs everywhere. The ads are in all the papers. I've been checking all the shelters. Everyone

knows he's gone. I'll hear about it the second he turns up. And I know Austin Quigley doesn't have

him, because I went there. And besides, if he were that close, I'd have heard him howling.

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