Part of working with dogs who have issues is working with the owners. Let me rephrase that—most of working with dogs who have issues is working with the owners.
In this case, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that the royal floor mop had sensed weakness on the part of his keeper and was taking full advantage of it. Mandy’s uncertainty was working against her.
The key clue was, “Nietzsche decided.”
“When did this start?” I dropped my tote on the floor and stood back to observe the dog. Lhasas’ long white fur is legendary and the Beenermans did a great job of keeping Nietzsche groomed. I could only assume either the agoraphobia had just started or the groomer made house calls because otherwise his fur would have been a matted mess.
“On Monday.” Mandy flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder and I had the fleeting thought about dogs and their owners looking alike. “We tried to take him out for a walk in the neighborhood and he refused to go.”
Nietzsche tipped his head with seeming interest.
“Then yesterday he decided he wouldn’t even go outside to do his business. When I tried to force the issue, he actually nipped at me.”
Nietzsche growled low in his throat as if disagreeing with the accusation and then put his head back down.
“He’s been going in the house?”
She nodded and pulled her hair back with both hands. Her beautiful face framed by the action.
I stared at Mandy.
For the first time I noticed there was a fine dusting of white powder on her nose. Not a lot, grant you, but I wondered if the health freak was into drugs to keep her weight down.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen the phenomena. Back when I was counseling people instead of dogs, I’d had more than one client who’d started with food issues and ended up with drug issues. Cocaine addicts can go for more than a day without being hungry. The habit does often make you thin. Of course, it wrecks your life at the same time.
I looked for other signs, dilated or bloodshot eyes, burns on her hands, but saw none. Hmmm. Maybe Mandy had been baking and it was flour, but somehow I didn’t think so.
“Mandy, is everything okay?” I had to at least open the door for a conversation in case there truly was a problem.
“Sure.” She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Except for Nietzsche. He’s got to get over not being able to leave the house.”
I retrieved my bag and got out a toy and some treats. What to do with an agoraphobic Apso? We’d try coaxing with the dog treats. It had worked well before and hopefully it would again.
I opened the package and Nietzsche raised his head from his paws. A bit of interest. Talking to him in a quiet voice, I got closer so he could smell the organic dog biscuit I’d brought. It was barbecue chicken flavor.
His favorite.
I waited. Don’t try fooling me into thinking you’re all high-class, Mr. Canine Philosopher. You may have Tibetan royalty bloodlines but I know you’ve got Texas barbeque longings.
He finally made his way to where I was sitting on the floor, crawling toward me all hunched over, like he was doing some sort of military field exercise.
I took it slow and let Nietzsche dictate the pace.
Eventually he took the treat and stayed with me. I moved further away, closer to the door. Then a few steps outside and then back into the house. Then back out and staying on the steps for a while. Each time waiting until he relaxed. We finally got him to the curb.
The technique is pretty effective but takes tons of patience. Also, you need to be able to read when you need to push and when you need to back off and give the dog time.
I hoped Mandy had it in her. To her credit she had stayed with us through the whole exercise.
I explained how to read the dog’s body language. The lowered tail, lowered ears, the “C” shaped crouch that means he’s afraid and wants to escape. I left Mandy with the treats and instructions on how to continue to work with Nietzsche.
The dog still seemed somewhat tense but so did Mandy. We didn’t talk about Kevin, but I imagined I would be tense, too, if my neighbor had just been tased to death. Even a neighbor I didn’t like.
The next stop in Ruby Point was to work with Huntley, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, who belonged to Davis Pinter, a retired newspaper tycoon who lived in a very nice Mediterranean style home at the western edge of the development. It had one of the best views in Ruby Point.
The two greeted me at the door.
CKC Spaniels are beyond cute and Huntley was no exception. The adorable guy was a well-behaved pooch, and I didn’t think he truly needed my services anymore. Initially, Huntley had some problems staying with his owner and barking at other dogs.
As those of us who have dogs know, even a friendly bark can get the whole neighborhood howling. That’s not usually a serious problem in a dog-friendly community, but it could become an issue.
I’d previously worked with Davis on some simple training techniques for their daily walks, and Huntley had soon curbed his barking habit. I’d just been doing periodic check-ins and things seemed to be going well.
But Davis had called yesterday and said Huntley had been barking frantically on walks. He asked me to stop by.
Something was for dang sure going on in Ruby Point. Kevin’s dogs had gone nuts. Nietzsche was too scared to leave his house, and Huntley, normally so well-behaved, had been acting up.
Or maybe Davis, though he’d never admit it, was probably a little bored and lonely, and it was just my over active imagination finding patterns that were no more than coincidence.
Laguna Beach, with its artsy-fartsy crowd, was a long way from the hustle and bustle of the newsroom. Davis Pinter was a bit of a legend in the industry, having won a Pulitzer in his rookie days for his story about a young woman who refused to take her husband of one day off life support despite the wishes of his family. Davis had been retired for a couple of years now but hadn’t really adapted to the concept.
I imagined my own daddy would be the same way. He had his routine and I don’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t go into the office. And besides, if Daddy didn’t get out of the house every day, Mama would drive him bonkers.
We took Huntley for a walk and chatted. The dog seemed a little hyper, at least compared to his usual sweet, calm nature, but no frantic barking. As we circled back towards his house, Davis brought up the topic of Kevin Blackstone’s death.
“I hear the police believe he was killed with a Taser.” He had a good handle on Huntley’s leash and we’d established a nice pace.
“That’s what I’m told.” I didn’t say who told me.
“Something was off with the guy.” Huntley spotted another dog across the street and stopped but Davis easily got him moving again.
“Great job.” I complimented both the owner and the dog. “What do you mean, something was off?”
“I don’t know exactly, but mark my words, there’s a story in Kevin Blackstone’s life. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a story.” Davis’ dark eyes sharpened and I saw the shadow of what must have been a strong and stubborn dog-with-a-bone investigative reporter.
After I left Huntley and Davis back at their house, I thought that maybe Davis was right. Kevin had seemed to me to be much like the rest of the crowd in the gated community. I didn’t know a lot about him but he’d seemed to be like a lot of my other dog parents. A bit over indulgent with his dogs, often more money than sense, but I’d seen nothing to create the kind of suspicion Davis seemed to have about the guy.
As I opened the car door my cell phone rang. I prayed it wasn’t my mother. I knew I owed her a phone call and I reminded myself to put it on my to-do list.
I glanced at the phone but didn’t recognize the number. “Hello.”
“Is this Carolina Lamont?” I didn’t recognize the voice either.
“Yes, it is. Who is this?” Many clients called my cell number rather than the office number and I hadn’t discouraged the practi
ce. It was the easiest way to reach me.
“My name is J.T. Blackstone and I believe you knew my brother, Kevin.”
No wonder I hadn’t recognized the voice.
“Oh, my, yes, of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Don Furry had mentioned Kevin’s brother, but I hadn’t expected to hear from him.
“Thank you.” I could hear a little hint of a regional accent in his voice but couldn’t place it.
“Is there something I can do to help?” I couldn’t imagine why he’d call me.
“This is a little awkward, Ms. Lamont, but I wondered if maybe Kevin had given you something to keep for him.”
“What? No, Kevin didn’t give me anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I had been responsible for losing the little book and the yellow towel, but he couldn’t mean those things.
“Is there something missing at Kevin’s?”
“No, not really. I don’t know. I’m going there this afternoon. The police think they’ll be able to release the house so I can get in.”
“Mr. Blackstone, you know Kevin had two dogs, right?”
“Yes.”
“They’re wonderful German Shepherd Dogs and are currently being kept at the ARL. Do you think you’ll be interested in taking them?”
There was a pause.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
We said good-bye, and I tucked my phone away and started my car.
What a bizarre conversation. Why on earth would Kevin’s brother think Kevin would give me something to keep?
I gathered from his reaction about the dogs that he was not going to be taking them home with him. I wondered how much time we had to give him to make up his mind. I’d tell Don to continue working with the German Shepherd Dog rescue.
I had some time before my next appointment and decided this was a good time to swing by the jewelry store. Now that I had Grandma Tillie’s brooch back in my possession, I wanted to get those loose stones checked out right away.
Grant Trask was behind the counter again. A tall blonde young man in a white shirt and a clumsily knotted tie stood nearby. His at-full-attention stance made me think he might be a trainee.
“Hi, Caro.” Grant motioned the young man up beside him. “This is my nephew, Zane, who is staying with us for a while. He’s going to be working part-time at the store.”
“Nice to meet you, Zane.”
Zane smiled showing what would someday be a beautiful smile. Currently it was a work-in-progress with a mouthful of shiny silver braces. He shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Let’s take a look at that brooch, Caro.” Grant laid a cloth on the counter in readiness.
I handed over the jeweled pin.
Grant placed a jeweler’s loop to his eye and examined it, poking with his fingernail at the stones.
“As you suspected, one of the emeralds is a bit loose. Twenty-two carat gold is very soft and so often settings on vintage pieces like this one have to be checked.”
I wasn’t sure whether he was explaining to me or to Zane. He put the loop back to his eye.
“Hmmm. Possibly one of the rubies, as well.”
“I didn’t notice that one.”
“Caro, it’s excellent you brought it in before any of the stones were lost. These are extremely good quality stones and they would be difficult to replace.”
I was glad I’d noticed the loose emerald.
“We’ll get this repaired and call you when it’s done. It shouldn’t be more than a week at the outside.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a large envelope, jotted some notes on the outside, and slid the brooch inside.
“Okay, thanks, Grant. Sorry to be such a flake yesterday. I really appreciate it.”
Once out on the sidewalk, I breathed a sigh of relief. One thing I could cross off my list. Grandma Tillie’s brooch was safe and sound and any problems were being fixed.
After the last couple of days, beach time and some exercise would be a great break from thinking about all that had transpired. I hooked up Dogbert to his leash and headed toward Main Beach.
We stepped around the posted dog rules sign and onto the sand. Dogs had to be leashed and were only permitted on the beach at certain times, depending on the time of year.
Dogbert was excited about the idea of a run on the beach and we kept a steady pace for a while. Eventually we had to stop for a breather, both of us panting like crazy. At least I tried to keep my tongue in my mouth. I love running along the coastline but if the sand was wet, like now, it was like running with a bulldog clamped to each ankle. Definitely a workout.
I took in the salt air, exhaled, and gazed down the boundless beach. We’d come a long way from where we’d started. I twisted my neck left and then right, loosening the knots of tension, and then turned, admiring the saturated turquoise of the water and the endless horizon. For me, the ocean sort of puts everything in perspective.
It’s a big world out there. Too big to focus on the small stuff.
Stuff like irksome detectives and neurotic mothers.
Even stuff like family heirloom battles.
Breathing better, I turned back to the beach and stretched forward, feeling the tug in my hamstrings.
“Ready to go?” I patted Dogbert, shook some of the sand off my shoes, and readied myself for the run back.
That’s when I spotted him.
Oh. Wow. I was suddenly breathless again.
Muscular and fit, he pounded toward me with a smile as if we were long lost friends. As his strong legs brought him closer, his warm brown eyes sent a tingle through my body. Mesmerized by his perfection, I didn’t realize he was headed right for me until the last second.
The very last second.
As in too late to move.
I let go of the leash as he hit me, so at least poor Dogbert wasn’t tangled in the mess.
The smile never left his face as the hugely handsome Border Collie smacked into me, and we both went tumbling into the soft sand. I tried to get up but he held me down and licked my face.
“Stop, sugar. Stop it, now.”
I, of all people, knew it would take a commanding voice to get his attention, but unfortunately I couldn’t stop laughing. Both at the dog and at myself.
Like a fool, I’d just stood there mesmerized and let the big dog bowl me over.
“Name is Mac, after John McEnroe.”
Clearly the dog wasn’t talking, right?
I looked up from my soggy spot in the sand. Until that moment, I hadn’t registered the leash or the fact there should have been a human at the other end. My focus had been on the dog.
The human, like the dog, was gorgeous, his pedigree clear in his attitude, his posture, his perfect smile.
“Well, no wonder he has control issues then.” I stroked the canine’s silky fur and struggled to get to my feet, the wet sand making me about as graceful as a goofy rodeo clown.
“Sam Gallanos.” Mac’s human offered his hand and his assistance as introduction. “I’m sorry Mac mowed you down. His enthusiasm gets out of hand at times. Especially on the beach.”
“Caro Lamont.” I accepted both the assist and the apology. “Well shoot, darlin’, I’m pretty enthusiastic about the beach myself.”
Finally upright, I attempted to dust the worst of the wet sand off my backside. The two canines were busy sniffing each other’s butts. Doggie speak for “Hello, who are you? What’ve you been up to?” I looked down at the masculine hand I still held. Thank goodness we humans settle for a handshake.
“You from around here?”
He didn’t look like a tourist but you never know. It was still off-season, meaning the big influx hadn’t begun, but we get visitors year round.
“At the moment.”
Well, what the heck kind of answer is that?
I wasn’t interested in playing twenty questions with the guy, attractive or not. I gathered my wits and my dog’
s leash and turned to go. “Come on, Dogbert.”
“Nice to meet you, then.” I couldn’t resist once last stroke of the Collie’s fur. “You have a handsome dog.”
Placing my hands on each side of the dog’s big head, I leaned down and gave him a squeeze. “You watch where you’re going from now on, Mac.” The dog’s brown eyes looked up at me with adoration and he leaned into my caress. I gave him a nuzzle.
“I think I’ve just been upstaged by my dog.”
I looked up to find Sam Gallanos staring at me. I got the impression he didn’t get ignored too often.
I’m not much for pretty boys but his somewhat mussed dark brown hair was an attractive contrast to what otherwise might have been a too-perfect face.
“Y’all take care.” I gave the dog one last pat.
“Hope to see you around.” Both Sam and his dog had easy-going smiles and seemed friendly. But either my natural suspiciousness where men were concerned or the events of the past few days made me wary.
Dogbert and I started our run back to Main Beach. I dare say both of us were intrigued by the new acquaintances we’d just made. Still, I think Dogbert probably gained more from his butt-sniff introduction than I had from my conversational encounter.
Chapter Nine
The next morning started off just fine. I did some laundry, minor cleaning, straightened up my desk, took care of paying some bills. And you know me, I made my list for the day.
The sun streamed in and warmed the room. I’d pulled up the blinds at the window next to my desk. Even paying bills seems easier when you’ve got a breath-taking view of blue sky and breakers. I decided to take a little break to lavish some affection on the critters.
Thelma, Louise and I had adopted Dogbert as a puppy, so they didn’t seem to realize dogs and cats weren’t supposed to get along. I wasn’t sure if Thelma and Louise thought they were part canine, or if Dogbert thought he had feline blood, but in any case they definitely acted like family.
Ahh . . . family.
That’s when I opened my e-mail. Mama had been at the computer early it appeared.
Desperate Housedogs Page 5
