just nervous after the earthquake. She needs you. â
Judy looked crushed and unconvinced. âOh. Itâs just that I was so excited to see that you were open. So many places are closed because of the quake. And honestly, we get those little quakes all the time, and this wasnât really that much bigger. It was more like a warning of something more, donât you think?â
A warning? Melanie wasnât sure that the earth knew anything about warning people or that the plates beneath the earthâs crust did anything more than react to natural stressors.
âWell, weâre always open on Saturday, so I figured Iâd give it a few hours. But you know how it goes. Iâm sure many places are closed because their employees live in areas that were harder hit. Anyway, I canât keep Miss Tiffany for you, Judy, but letâs talk to her for a minute. Hand her over, and listen to the way I reassure her,â Melanie suggested.
Judy complied, and Melanie held the little dog and talked to her gently, telling her that the quake was over, that everything was okay. The dog had no idea of what she was saying; it was the soothing cadence of her words that made the animal pay attention and finally wag her tail tentatively. Melanie gave her a few treats, and the little tail began to wag so hard it created a breeze. Judy gushed over the results, but Melanie waved a hand dismissively. âYou just need to use positive reinforcement, and it doesnât have to be food. Dogs are affectionate creatures. Miss Tiffany loves you, and she takes all her cues from you. Make sure youâre calm and sheâll be calm, too.â
Just as she handed back the dog, Judy gushing at how marvelous she was, Blake Reynaldo, LAPD, walked in with Bruno.
Blake was a big cop. Bruno was a big dog. He wasnât a shepherd or a rottweiler, though. He was a basset. Low to the ground, but massive, Bruno could pull with such strength that Blake had once fallen flat while walking him. After that, Bruno had come in for training. When he looked at Melanie with his soulful eyes, his intelligence shone through. Bruno was the kind of dog who just needed to learn that his master was the boss,and Blake needed to learn to be that boss, establishing his credentials not with swearing or anger, but with a steady stubbornness to match Brunoâs own.
âHey, Blake,â Melanie said. âHowâs it going out there?â
âThis morning, not so bad. Last night, a zoo. We got through with no fatalities. Damage is in the millions, but manageable. But the looting last night was savage. A lot of cops are still out there, but itâs been quiet enough that those of us who were out there tackling the looters last night were actually allowed to go home when the new shift came on.â Blake Reynaldo was a seasoned cop. Nearing sixty, he had put in all the years he needed to retire, but he said he wasnât ready yet. He wouldnât retire until they kicked him out, he had once assured Melanie. Stocky, strongâalmost like Brunoâhe was armed with over thirty years of street savvy. He wasnât married, and he spent his free time creating programs for local toughs, putting his time and money into coaching neighborhood baseball teams and sponsoring âart daysâ when his players spent an afternoon at a dance recital, classical concert or art show, with the intention of showing them how different approaches to movement, rhythm and perception helped with sports. Sometimes a bad baseball player even became an artist or guitarist. There was a method to Blakeâs madness, and Melanie loved him; she was sure that he had kept a lot of kids from going down the wrong path.
âSo what you brings you and Bruno in?â Melanie asked.
âDog food. I wouldâve had to knock on your apartment door if you hadnât opened today. I had some breakage. Donât want to take any chance of Bruno getting glass
Judy looked crushed and unconvinced. âOh. Itâs just that I was so excited to see that you were open. So many places are closed because of the quake. And honestly, we get those little quakes all the time, and this wasnât really that much bigger. It was more like a warning of something more, donât you think?â
A warning? Melanie wasnât sure that the earth knew anything about warning people or that the plates beneath the earthâs crust did anything more than react to natural stressors.
âWell, weâre always open on Saturday, so I figured Iâd give it a few hours. But you know how it goes. Iâm sure many places are closed because their employees live in areas that were harder hit. Anyway, I canât keep Miss Tiffany for you, Judy, but letâs talk to her for a minute. Hand her over, and listen to the way I reassure her,â Melanie suggested.
Judy complied, and Melanie held the little dog and talked to her gently, telling her that the quake was over, that everything was okay. The dog had no idea of what she was saying; it was the soothing cadence of her words that made the animal pay attention and finally wag her tail tentatively. Melanie gave her a few treats, and the little tail began to wag so hard it created a breeze. Judy gushed over the results, but Melanie waved a hand dismissively. âYou just need to use positive reinforcement, and it doesnât have to be food. Dogs are affectionate creatures. Miss Tiffany loves you, and she takes all her cues from you. Make sure youâre calm and sheâll be calm, too.â
Just as she handed back the dog, Judy gushing at how marvelous she was, Blake Reynaldo, LAPD, walked in with Bruno.
Blake was a big cop. Bruno was a big dog. He wasnât a shepherd or a rottweiler, though. He was a basset. Low to the ground, but massive, Bruno could pull with such strength that Blake had once fallen flat while walking him. After that, Bruno had come in for training. When he looked at Melanie with his soulful eyes, his intelligence shone through. Bruno was the kind of dog who just needed to learn that his master was the boss,and Blake needed to learn to be that boss, establishing his credentials not with swearing or anger, but with a steady stubbornness to match Brunoâs own.
âHey, Blake,â Melanie said. âHowâs it going out there?â
âThis morning, not so bad. Last night, a zoo. We got through with no fatalities. Damage is in the millions, but manageable. But the looting last night was savage. A lot of cops are still out there, but itâs been quiet enough that those of us who were out there tackling the looters last night were actually allowed to go home when the new shift came on.â Blake Reynaldo was a seasoned cop. Nearing sixty, he had put in all the years he needed to retire, but he said he wasnât ready yet. He wouldnât retire until they kicked him out, he had once assured Melanie. Stocky, strongâalmost like Brunoâhe was armed with over thirty years of street savvy. He wasnât married, and he spent his free time creating programs for local toughs, putting his time and money into coaching neighborhood baseball teams and sponsoring âart daysâ when his players spent an afternoon at a dance recital, classical concert or art show, with the intention of showing them how different approaches to movement, rhythm and perception helped with sports. Sometimes a bad baseball player even became an artist or guitarist. There was a method to Blakeâs madness, and Melanie loved him; she was sure that he had kept a lot of kids from going down the wrong path.
âSo what you brings you and Bruno in?â Melanie asked.
âDog food. I wouldâve had to knock on your apartment door if you hadnât opened today. I had some breakage. Donât want to take any chance of Bruno getting glass
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