Read Online Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laurien Berenson
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all got ourselves assembled at Aunt Peg’s sprawling home in backcountry Greenwich. Bertie stayed for the groups, placing with a Tibetan Spaniel, then drove home to Wilton to unload the dogs she had with her, check on the dogs she’d left at home, and do evening feed and ex. Frank came over from Stamford.
Though he lives in Cos Cob, a small shoreline town next to Greenwich, a year earlier my brother had opened a coffee bar just north of the Merritt Parkway in Stamford. By all accounts (Bertie’s being more reliable than Frank’s), the business had really taken off. Since my brother had spent nearly a decade trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life, I was delighted to find that he’d been working on a Sunday evening. Bertie’s stabilizing influence, no doubt.
As for Davey, Bob, and me, we had it easy. We simply loaded up our gear at the show and drove directly to Aunt Peg’s. She’d beaten us there by a couple of minutes. The joyous barking of her house dogs, running loose in the fenced meadow behind the house, attested to their recently attained freedom.
“There’s Eve,” cried Davey, pointing out our puppy as the cavalcade of black Standard Poodles came racing past the fence near the driveway. “And that one’s Zeke!”
Zeke was Eve’s litter brother. Both puppies had been born, along with four other brothers and sisters, in my bedroom in July. Davey had been in attendance for part of the whelping and he felt a proprietary air toward the litter.
“Who?” Bob’s head whipped from side to side as the Poodles streaked by. The man was trying, I had to give him that. “Which one? Where?”
Faith meanwhile, shot out of the car and threw herself up against the fence, annoyed that she was missing out on all the excitement. “Soon,” I told her, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her back. “Another couple weeks and you’ll be right out there with them, running and pulling hair to your heart’s content.”
“There!” Davey pointed again for Bob’s benefit as the bunch swung in a wide, galloping circle and came back around. Poodles love to entertain. These dogs knew they were the best show in town, and they enjoyed putting on a performance for our benefit. “That one, right there.”
“They all look alike. How do you expect me to pick one out?”
He did have a point. The Cedar Crest line of Standard Poodles was incredibly uniform, both in looks and temperament. Aunt Peg had devoted three decades of her life to achieving just such a goal. Watching the family of beautiful dogs gambol around the field filled my fledgling breeder’s heart with joy.
Not Bob’s. Once again he was lost.
“Try and pick out the two little ones,” I advised as the wild bunch zoomed by a third time.
Bob just shook his head. When we went inside a minute later, he was leading the way. You didn’t have to be a teacher to see that he probably hadn’t enjoyed pop quizzes in school either.
Aunt Peg had gone through the house to let her dogs in the back door at the same time we came in the front, and the Poodles met in the hallway. Predictably, pandemonium ensued.
Ordinarily I would have stepped in and quelled the raucous greeting for the sake of Faith’s coat. That night, I let her tear around and have some fun. I guessed Aunt Peg was pretty pleased about Faith’s finishing, because she didn’t say a thing.
“Now,” Bob said to Davey, when things had finally begun to settle down, “show me which one is Eve.”
That was easy, especially since my son was sitting on the floor with the floppy almost-four-month-old puppy in his lap. “She’s right here!” Davey giggled.
“Where’s her head?” Bob leaned down for a closer look. “I don’t think she has any eyes. All I can see is a big ball of black fur.”
Automatically Peg reached over and smoothed back the puppy’s short, silky topknot, revealing her long, tapered muzzle. As with all Poodles intended for the show ring, the hair on the
Though he lives in Cos Cob, a small shoreline town next to Greenwich, a year earlier my brother had opened a coffee bar just north of the Merritt Parkway in Stamford. By all accounts (Bertie’s being more reliable than Frank’s), the business had really taken off. Since my brother had spent nearly a decade trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life, I was delighted to find that he’d been working on a Sunday evening. Bertie’s stabilizing influence, no doubt.
As for Davey, Bob, and me, we had it easy. We simply loaded up our gear at the show and drove directly to Aunt Peg’s. She’d beaten us there by a couple of minutes. The joyous barking of her house dogs, running loose in the fenced meadow behind the house, attested to their recently attained freedom.
“There’s Eve,” cried Davey, pointing out our puppy as the cavalcade of black Standard Poodles came racing past the fence near the driveway. “And that one’s Zeke!”
Zeke was Eve’s litter brother. Both puppies had been born, along with four other brothers and sisters, in my bedroom in July. Davey had been in attendance for part of the whelping and he felt a proprietary air toward the litter.
“Who?” Bob’s head whipped from side to side as the Poodles streaked by. The man was trying, I had to give him that. “Which one? Where?”
Faith meanwhile, shot out of the car and threw herself up against the fence, annoyed that she was missing out on all the excitement. “Soon,” I told her, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her back. “Another couple weeks and you’ll be right out there with them, running and pulling hair to your heart’s content.”
“There!” Davey pointed again for Bob’s benefit as the bunch swung in a wide, galloping circle and came back around. Poodles love to entertain. These dogs knew they were the best show in town, and they enjoyed putting on a performance for our benefit. “That one, right there.”
“They all look alike. How do you expect me to pick one out?”
He did have a point. The Cedar Crest line of Standard Poodles was incredibly uniform, both in looks and temperament. Aunt Peg had devoted three decades of her life to achieving just such a goal. Watching the family of beautiful dogs gambol around the field filled my fledgling breeder’s heart with joy.
Not Bob’s. Once again he was lost.
“Try and pick out the two little ones,” I advised as the wild bunch zoomed by a third time.
Bob just shook his head. When we went inside a minute later, he was leading the way. You didn’t have to be a teacher to see that he probably hadn’t enjoyed pop quizzes in school either.
Aunt Peg had gone through the house to let her dogs in the back door at the same time we came in the front, and the Poodles met in the hallway. Predictably, pandemonium ensued.
Ordinarily I would have stepped in and quelled the raucous greeting for the sake of Faith’s coat. That night, I let her tear around and have some fun. I guessed Aunt Peg was pretty pleased about Faith’s finishing, because she didn’t say a thing.
“Now,” Bob said to Davey, when things had finally begun to settle down, “show me which one is Eve.”
That was easy, especially since my son was sitting on the floor with the floppy almost-four-month-old puppy in his lap. “She’s right here!” Davey giggled.
“Where’s her head?” Bob leaned down for a closer look. “I don’t think she has any eyes. All I can see is a big ball of black fur.”
Automatically Peg reached over and smoothed back the puppy’s short, silky topknot, revealing her long, tapered muzzle. As with all Poodles intended for the show ring, the hair on the
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