Read Online Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) by Laurien Berenson - Free Book Online Page B

Peg replied. “Despite that silly Dog Whisperer title, Nick is quite serious about what he does. I enjoyed watching him interact with my Poodles, and trust me, that’s not something I say often. Many people think they understand dogs but unfortunately a good number of them are simply flattering themselves.”
    I knew better than to inquire into which camp she thought I fell.
    â€œNick gets it,” said Aunt Peg. That was high praise in her book. “Maybe it’s empathy, or perhaps intuition, but he possesses that rare ability to sense what dogs are thinking and feeling—perhaps even before they know themselves.”
    â€œHe really made an impression,” I said.
    â€œYou sound surprised.”
    I shrugged lightly. “I liked Nick a lot when I met him. And he seems like a nice guy. But I guess I expected you to be a harder sell. Or maybe I’m not convinced that the ability to talk to dogs is as rare a skill as you believe it to be.”
    â€œPerhaps I didn’t make myself clear. It wasn’t the way that Nick talked to the dogs that impressed me. Any pet owner can do that. But Nick possesses a much more important skill. He knows how to listen .”
    â€œI see.” I stuffed a large bite of cake into my mouth. It tasted a little bit like crow. “So you’ll introduce him to your friends?”
    Aunt Peg nodded. “I thought I might throw a small party in a few weeks. Just a little something to put his name out there in the right kinds of places. Not that he appears to need my help.”
    â€œNo?” I said. “I thought that was the whole point.”
    â€œNot as far as Nick’s concerned. Apparently his Dog Whisperer business is rolling right along. It was your ex-husband who came up with the idea that Nick needed more clients. Bob’s doing Nick’s accounting now. Did he tell you that?”
    â€œNo,” I said, surprised. “I had no idea. I just thought they were friends.”
    Aunt Peg sighed. “Melanie, do try to keep up.”
    â€œI’m working on it.”
    That’s the story of my life unfortunately: I always seem to be two steps behind and running to catch up.
    Â 
    â€œHoney, I’m home!”
    Sam stuck his head out of the living room, a bemused expression on his face. “ What? ”
    â€œJust kidding,” I said with a grin.
    I love watching classic TV. There’s nothing like old episodes of Leave It to Beaver or The Andy Griffith Show to make me feel like all is right with the world. But since Sam doesn’t share my fondness for last century sitcoms, my Donna Reed moments often go right over his head.
    â€œDavey, front and center,” said Sam. “Your mom needs help.”
    He skirted deftly through the sea of Poodles that was milling around the hallway and took two bags of groceries out of my arms. Judging by the sounds emanating from the room behind him, Kev’s and my arrival home had interrupted a hard-fought video game battle.
    I heard a virtual explosion, followed by Davey’s outraged yelp. “Damn it!”
    â€œExcuse me?” I said.
    â€œSorry,” my older son mumbled, appearing in the doorway.
    Since Sam had the groceries, Davey was left with the choice of helping with either the dry cleaning or the library books. I was hoping he’d opt for the former, which needed to be carried upstairs and put away. Instead he bypassed the bundles I was carrying and grabbed his little brother’s hand.
    â€œCome on, Kev,” he invited. “Let’s go play!”
    â€œNot exactly what I had in mind,” I said. Sam and I both stared after the pair, who had disappeared back into the living room. “But it’ll do.”
    I threw the dry cleaning in the hall closet, then followed Sam back to the kitchen. Together we put away the groceries. When that was done, Sam retrieved a couple of tennis balls from the toy pile in the corner and opened the