on the dog Rick brought in this morning. But, oh my. It sounds like you’ve had an interesting day.”
I crinkled up my face in a grimace that barely reflected my mortification, and I was glad she couldn’t see. I had no choice then but to tell her the whole sordid story, beginning with how I’d unwittingly walked in on a wedding reception to which I had not been invited, and ending with how I’d tried to punch Buck out on my front walk. “I don’t know if they’re telling anybody about the baby yet,” I added, somewhat reluctantly. “So you probably shouldn’t spread it around.” Although why I was protecting them I didn’t know.
Sonny said thoughtfully, “I haven’t known either you or Buck all that long, but this seems so bizarre to me. I could have sworn he was still carrying a torch for you.”
I didn’t like to say so, but there had been more than one incident over the past few months that made me think the same thing. Perhaps what I was really upset about was that I had allowed myself to be so misled.
“Of course,” Sonny went on, “you divorced him for a reason, remember? I do like Buck, but he was not a good husband to you and, even though this must be painful—endings always are—maybe you could look at it as a good thing.”
“I do,” I assured her quickly, albeit in a voice that was still tense with the bitter taste of emotions I’d sooner forget. “I’m relieved, really. I’m glad he’s moved on. It’s just the way he did it was so …”
“Cowardly,” she supplied for me, and I sighed.
“Exactly.”
She sighed too. “Men,” she said. “They live by their own rules, don’t they?”
I took the phone out onto the back porch and sat down on the steps so that I could watch the dogs. Cisco ran the length of the exercise yard closest to the rescue pen, occasionally emitting a bark that would cause Cameo to look up from munching grass. Pepper chased him, nipping at his tail feathers, and he ignored her. He had eyes for no dog but Cameo. Mischief and Magic were always happiest in each others’ company, and took turns playing tag-team relay with a dog-proof soccer ball with a handle on it.
“Anyway,” I added, “I didn’t mean to go off like that. Thanks for calling about the dog. It turns out she was perfectly healthy, with a microchip, and we’ve got phone numbers. So maybe it won’t be too long before we find her folks.”
“Didn’t you say there was blood on her coat?”
“Doc couldn’t figure out where it came from any more than I could. Sometimes if a dog has been on the run for a while it’ll be hungry enough to eat a squirrel or a rabbit, or she might have come across something already dead.” But even as I said it I was uneasy. Those explanations had never sounded right to me, and they were no more convincing now.
“Raine …” Sonny’s voice sounded thoughtful, maybe even worried. “Something happened to that dog. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, but she was awfully stressed out this morning.”
“Well,” I admitted, “any lost dog is going to be stressed. Especially a pampered house pet lost in the woods. She had one of those designer collars with rhinestones on it, definitely not a dog used to roughing it.”
“No, it was more than that,” Sonny insisted. “She was traumatized. She had been through something, was worried about something. She felt guilty.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “Your superpower.”
Although an otherwise rational person, Sonny occasionally got “impressions” from animals that even less rational people might call communication. I myself am extremely rational, and while I absolutely believe in talking to dogs, I have a problem when the dogs start talking back.
“Raine.” There was mild admonishment in her tone. “You have to admit I’m right more often than not.”
She had me there. I refuse to call her a pet psychic, but the things she had purportedly learned from dogs had
I crinkled up my face in a grimace that barely reflected my mortification, and I was glad she couldn’t see. I had no choice then but to tell her the whole sordid story, beginning with how I’d unwittingly walked in on a wedding reception to which I had not been invited, and ending with how I’d tried to punch Buck out on my front walk. “I don’t know if they’re telling anybody about the baby yet,” I added, somewhat reluctantly. “So you probably shouldn’t spread it around.” Although why I was protecting them I didn’t know.
Sonny said thoughtfully, “I haven’t known either you or Buck all that long, but this seems so bizarre to me. I could have sworn he was still carrying a torch for you.”
I didn’t like to say so, but there had been more than one incident over the past few months that made me think the same thing. Perhaps what I was really upset about was that I had allowed myself to be so misled.
“Of course,” Sonny went on, “you divorced him for a reason, remember? I do like Buck, but he was not a good husband to you and, even though this must be painful—endings always are—maybe you could look at it as a good thing.”
“I do,” I assured her quickly, albeit in a voice that was still tense with the bitter taste of emotions I’d sooner forget. “I’m relieved, really. I’m glad he’s moved on. It’s just the way he did it was so …”
“Cowardly,” she supplied for me, and I sighed.
“Exactly.”
She sighed too. “Men,” she said. “They live by their own rules, don’t they?”
I took the phone out onto the back porch and sat down on the steps so that I could watch the dogs. Cisco ran the length of the exercise yard closest to the rescue pen, occasionally emitting a bark that would cause Cameo to look up from munching grass. Pepper chased him, nipping at his tail feathers, and he ignored her. He had eyes for no dog but Cameo. Mischief and Magic were always happiest in each others’ company, and took turns playing tag-team relay with a dog-proof soccer ball with a handle on it.
“Anyway,” I added, “I didn’t mean to go off like that. Thanks for calling about the dog. It turns out she was perfectly healthy, with a microchip, and we’ve got phone numbers. So maybe it won’t be too long before we find her folks.”
“Didn’t you say there was blood on her coat?”
“Doc couldn’t figure out where it came from any more than I could. Sometimes if a dog has been on the run for a while it’ll be hungry enough to eat a squirrel or a rabbit, or she might have come across something already dead.” But even as I said it I was uneasy. Those explanations had never sounded right to me, and they were no more convincing now.
“Raine …” Sonny’s voice sounded thoughtful, maybe even worried. “Something happened to that dog. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, but she was awfully stressed out this morning.”
“Well,” I admitted, “any lost dog is going to be stressed. Especially a pampered house pet lost in the woods. She had one of those designer collars with rhinestones on it, definitely not a dog used to roughing it.”
“No, it was more than that,” Sonny insisted. “She was traumatized. She had been through something, was worried about something. She felt guilty.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “Your superpower.”
Although an otherwise rational person, Sonny occasionally got “impressions” from animals that even less rational people might call communication. I myself am extremely rational, and while I absolutely believe in talking to dogs, I have a problem when the dogs start talking back.
“Raine.” There was mild admonishment in her tone. “You have to admit I’m right more often than not.”
She had me there. I refuse to call her a pet psychic, but the things she had purportedly learned from dogs had
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