Jingle Bell Bark

by Laurien Berenson

Davey yanked open the front door as I was getting out of the car. “It’s about time you got home. Look who’s here!”

  Sam walked up behind my son and placed his hands on Davey’s shoulders. Davey had been growing like mad lately but he had a long way to go before he’d approach Sam’s six foot two. As usual, Sam’s shaggy blond hair was in need of a haircut and his clothes were casual. In other words, he looked great. But then, he always did to me.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, opening the back door so that Faith and Eve could hop out.

  “I know,” said Sam. “I came back a couple days early.”

  The Poodles didn’t waste any time sniffing around the front yard. They dashed right up the steps and greeted their visitor. By the time Sam was finished saying hello to them, I’d also managed to get myself into the house.

  “How come?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Sam slipped his warm hands beneath my jacket, his palms sliding around my waist, and pulled me to him. “I just missed you guys. Next year you’ll have to come out to Illinois with me.”

  “And meet your family?” I gulped.

  Sam chuckled under his breath. “I’ve met yours.”

  He had a point. Between Aunt Peg, my ex-husband, and my charmingly irresponsible brother, who’d recently married and turned his life around, not to mention another aunt and uncle who’d left the convent and priesthood respectively, my family was a bit of a challenge. Sam had not only met all my relatives, he’d been kind and patient and treated them all like normal people. Which sometimes I was only half convinced they were.

  “We’d love to go to Illinois with you,” I said, then sighed. Sam’s lips were nibbling suggestively on my earlobe, but with Davey watching the proceedings, a proper greeting was going to have to wait.

  “Hey, sport.” Sam looked at Davey over my shoulder. “How’d you like to take Faith and Eve and put them out in the backyard?”

  “No.” Instead Davey sat down cross-legged on the floor. Chin in hand, elbow braced on one knee, his position was implacable.

  “No?” He was usually very cooperative; I disentangled myself from Sam’s embrace and turned to see what was wrong. “What’s that about?”

  “Sam and I are doing something together. So finish up here and then you can put the dogs out while we go back to work.”

  “Finish up here?” I laughed in spite of myself.

  “You know, kissing and junk. Get it over with, because Sam and I have stuff to do.”

  Trust me, romance is tough with an eight-year-old in the house.

  “Okay, we’re done,” I said.

  “Until later,” Sam said under his breath.

  I peeled off my coat and tossed it on the coatrack. “What are you two working on?”

  “Dinner,” Davey announced. “Sam’s teaching me how to cook.”

  “Really?” I headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. I was pretty sure I’d been planning to serve frozen beef stew. “What are we having?”

  “Lamb chops, rice pilaf and broccoli with some yellow sauce that’s tricky to make.”

  “Hollandaise,” Sam said. He opened the back door and the two Poodles scooted past him.

  “Sounds great.” I decided I was perfectly willing to be treated like a guest in my own house. “I’ll let you boys go to it.”

  While they cooked, Sam and I filled each other in on what had been going on in our respective lives. In my case, much was left unsaid. It wasn’t until dinner had been eaten and the dishes washed, and Davey had gone upstairs to work on his homework, that I was able to tell Sam about Henry Pruitt’s unexpected death, and the two Golden Retrievers that were now making themselves at home in Aunt Peg’s kennel.

  To my surprise, it turned out that Sam knew one of the participants in the story. Like Aunt Peg, he’d been involved in the dog show world for a long time. And though he’d only moved to the East Coast three years earlier, he had a wealth of friends with connections to all aspects of the dog community.

  “I met Cindy Marshall last year in New York at a workshop for aspiring judges,” he said. “I’d be happy to give her a call if you like.”

  “I’d love it. I feel slightly guilty about having saddled Aunt Peg with this unexpected responsibility, especially right before Christmas. The sooner I can figure out what to do with Pepper and Remington, the better.”

  “Only slightly guilty?”

  “Well,” I said in my own defense, “it’s not as if Aunt Peg hasn’t gotten me involved in all sorts of situations that were none of my business.”

  “That,” said Sam, “is the understatement of the year.”

  He called information, got Cindy Marshall’s phone number, then sat down at the table and dialed. Hovering behind him, I eavesdropped shamelessly. After the first few minutes of small talk, Sam passed the phone to me.

  “Here,” he said. “You’ll be able to explain things a whole lot better than I will.”

  “Of course I remember Henry Pruitt,” Cindy told me once we’d introduced ourselves. “He was the nicest man, always sending Christmas cards with pictures of Pepper on them. I love selling puppies to people who want to keep in touch, and of course it was tremendously gratifying to know that Pepper had such a good home. I’m so sorry to hear the news about his death. Was he a friend of yours?”

  “He was my son’s school bus driver. Sad to say, I didn’t know him terribly well. Quite by accident I’ve ended up with his two dogs, since there wasn’t anyone else to take them.” I told her about Henry’s daughters, who had yet to put in an appearance, and that Pepper and Remington were currently living with my Aunt Peg.

  “If Peg Turnbull has them, I’m sure they’re in good hands,” Cindy said. “But of course I’d be happy to take Pepper back. He’s only four years old. I get plenty of calls from families with young children who would rather have an older dog, or from people who don’t want to deal with the hassle of raising a puppy. I’m sure I can place him in another good situation.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Aunt Peg said you probably wouldn’t mind—”

  “Mind?” Cindy’s voice rose an octave. “It’s not a matter of minding or not minding. I bred that dog. I brought him into the world. His welfare is my responsibility. Just because I sold him to someone else doesn’t mean I’ve relinquished the need to do my duty by him . . .”

  I sat through the lecture with a smile on my face. I couldn’t wait to hook Cindy Marshall up with Aunt Peg. The two of them were going to get along famously.

  I finished up by giving Cindy Aunt Peg’s phone number. She promised to get in touch right away.

  “That was easy,” I said to Sam-when I’d hung up.

  “Did you expect any differently?”

  “You know perfectly well, not everyone can take back a full-grown dog on a moment’s notice.”

  “Not everyone should be breeding dogs,” Sam replied.

  “You sound like Aunt Peg.”

  “Normally, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Sam reached around and pulled me into his lap. His hand settled on my thigh and began to work its way upward. “But right now I’d just as soon not remind you of your older relatives. How close are we to Davey’s bedtime?”

  “Soon,” I said, my breath catching on a gasp. “Very soon.”

  “Good thing,” Sam murmured.

  The next afternoon found me once again at the Long Ridge Arts Center waiting for play practice to end. Since I wanted to speak to Ms. Morehouse anyway, I’d told Alice I’d pick up all the kids. This close to Christmas, she didn’t need to hear the offer twice. I think Alice was on the way to the mall before I’d even hung up the phone.

  As I’d done before, I slipped into a back-row seat to watch the rehearsal. The story being enacted was the familiar biblical one. I watched as Mary and Joseph were refused a room at the inn. The boy who was playing Joseph patted “Mary’s” arm tenderly. As she turned away, the pillow that was belted to her waist to simulat
e pregnancy came loose and fell to the floor. The cast dissolved into giggles.

  “Yeah, right. If only it were that easy.”

  I spun around in my seat. My sister-in-law, Bertie, almost nine months pregnant and counting down the days impatiently, was standing in the back of the room.

  “Hey,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Peg told me where to find you. I was over at her house visiting, but she was making me crazy, you know? So I decided to come and check out the play.”

  “Hang on.” I grabbed my coat, slipped out of my seat, and led the way out of the auditorium. Out in the lobby we could talk without fear of incurring Ms. Morehouse’s wrath. “Let’s grab some coffee,” I said.

  Bertie shook her head. “At this point in my life, caffeine is just a fond memory, along with things like wearing a belt and actually being able to see my own feet.”

  “I think you look great.”

  When I’d been pregnant with Davey, I’d been puffy and bloated. Less than a week from her due date, the tall redhead was still stunning, if a bit unwieldy. She maneuvered herself gingerly into a low chair.

  “Good Lord,” she said, sinking back into the cushions, “you may need a crane to get me out of here.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find something. Maybe that pulley they’re using on stage to make the big gold star rise over the manger.”

  “That’ll do.” Bertie heaved a sigh. “And to think, I was so sure I’d sail right through this whole thing. Gain no more than twenty pounds. Eat all sorts of healthy food and exercise faithfully every day. Heck, I figured I’d be showing dogs right up until the baby popped out.”

  Bertie was a busy professional handler whose services were becoming increasingly sought after. A year earlier, she’d married my younger brother, Frank, who was manager and co-owner of a coffee house in North Stamford. They’d settled together in Wilton, where Bertie had room to house a kennel full of clients’ dogs, and until recently she’d continued to ply her trade at shows all over New England. In the last month, however, she’d sent the majority of her string home to their owners for a break until spring.

  “I could have told you that nobody who’s seven or eight months pregnant wants to be running around a dog show ring,” I said, taking a seat across from her.

  “You did tell me. I just didn’t believe you. I figured women have babies every day, so how hard could it be? Of course, it never occurred to me that I was going to hang on to mine for a year and a half.”

  “Nine months,” I said. “You’re not even overdue yet.”

  “How is that possible?” Bertie grumbled. “I feel as though I’ve been pregnant for half my life. Enough already.”

  I bit back a grin. Clearly, hormones were playing havoc with my sister-in-law’s normally sunny disposition. “So you went to visit Aunt Peg.”

  “I needed to get out of the house. I needed to go somewhere. Do something. Plus . . .” Bertie glared at me. “I needed to get away from your brother. He’s spent the last week following me everywhere I go. Like he’s afraid the baby’s just going to fall out and he needs to be there to catch it.”

  “At least he’s trying to be helpful.”

  Bertie didn’t look appeased. “And then there’s your aunt.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Kept telling me that having a baby was no big deal. Just like delivering puppies. I got the distinct impression that if I went into labor, she wouldn’t take me to the hospital. She’d just make up a whelping box, boil up some instruments, and go to work right there.”

  Now I was laughing in earnest.

  “So I came to see you. You’re my last chance for a little sanity and common sense.”

  “Good God, I should hope not. Not that I’m not glad to see you, but you know full well that my life hardly ever makes sense.”

  “I know.” Bertie sat back and smiled. “That’s what makes me feel better.”

  I wasn’t quite sure whether I’d been complimented or insulted. Probably the latter.

  “How would you feel about watching the kids for a few minutes after practice ends so I can go and talk to the director?” I asked. According to my watch, it was almost time.

  “No problem. But last time I checked, you only had one child.”

  “Today I have three. Davey, plus Joey and Carly Brickman. Two Wise Men and a ballerina.”

  “Interesting casting choice,” Bertie commented. “I don’t recall my bible mentioning the ballet corps.”

  “Very funny.”

  I stood up, reached out a hand, and pulled Bertie to her feet. The classes had begun to let out; the lobby was filling with kids. I spotted Carly and motioned her over. After making introductions, I went to the auditorium to get Davey and Joey.

  “Okay, guys,” I said when I had the group assembled in the lobby. “I’ll only be ten minutes or so. Listen to everything Bertie tells you to do.”

  The kids nodded. Above their heads, Bertie mouthed, what should I tell them to do?

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  I went to find Ms. Morehouse before she could make her escape.

  9

  The auditorium had emptied quickly when play practice ended. Only a few kids remained in the room as I made my way toward the stage. Ms. Morehouse was busy straightening the crates and cardboard boxes that served as a make-believe set until the actual scenery could be built.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  The older woman stopped what she was doing and looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Melanie Travis.” I hopped up onto the stage and extended a hand. “Davey’s mother?”

  “Of course.” Smiling, Rebecca Morehouse looked much more approachable. Her handshake was firm. “Your son is delightful. I hope he’s enjoying participating in the pageant as much as I’m enjoying having him.”

  “Thank you, he is. I think you’re doing a wonderful job here.”

  She tipped her head in recognition of the compliment, but her smile had faded. Up close, I could see that Rebecca’s eyes were rimmed in red and no amount of makeup could hide the lines of strain around her mouth.

  “Do you have a minute to talk to me about your dogs?” I asked.

  “Certainly. Though before we waste each other’s time, I should tell you that all the puppies are spoken for and I won’t be having any more until spring. My next litter will be Easter puppies if you’re interested.”

  Easter puppies. I ground my teeth. “Do you always plan your litters to coincide with a holiday?”

  “If possible. It makes placing the puppies so much easier. I don’t even have to run ads in the newspaper. At holiday time there are puppy buyers lined up around the block. Who would want to get their children a silly old bunny when they could put an adorable Golden Retriever puppy in the Easter basket instead?”

  Rebecca finally registered the expression on my face. She stopped abruptly. “Of course, bunnies make very nice pets too. Does Davey have a bunny?”

  “No, actually we have two dogs . . . Standard Poodles.”

  “Lovely breed.”

  “We think so.” I was not appeased. “Don’t you ever worry that when you sell your puppies as holiday gifts, they might end up with impulse buyers who are looking for a cute present on the spur of the moment but haven’t given any thought to the long-term commitment that dog ownership entails?”

  “Well, frankly,” Rebecca said slowly, “no. I don’t think that’s any of my business. If people want to purchase a puppy, it’s certainly not up to me to tell them how and when to do it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe I misheard you. Did you say you don’t think your puppies’ welfare is any of your business?”

  “No, not at all.” She was beginning to sound annoyed. “Until my puppies leave my home, their care is of the highest standard. But eventually, of course, they have to go out into the real world. Only a fool would think that she could control what happens to every single puppy a
fter that.”

  I guess that made Aunt Peg a fool then. And I was probably a fool-in-training. If I didn’t change the subject soon, the chances of this conversation remaining civil were just about nil. And aside from the fact that Davey had to work with Ms. Morehouse for the next three weeks, there were things I needed to accomplish.

  “As it happens,” I said, “you do have an opportunity to have an effect on the life of a puppy you once bred. His name is Remington now and he belonged to a man named Henry Pruitt.”

  Rebecca took a step back. Her hand rose to her mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  “Henry died earlier this week.” I was sure I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. After all, the story had been in the newspapers. “At the time of his death, he had two dogs. One is a young Golden Retriever that Henry got from you. That dog now needs a home.”

  “I don’t see why you think that has anything to do with me.”

  “Remington is a puppy you bred. That makes you responsible for him.”

  “What a perfectly silly idea!” Rebecca turned away and went back to cleaning up. “I sold that dog years ago. He belonged to Henry. I imagine his heirs will figure out something to do with him.”

  “They may,” I said implacably. “Or they may want to have nothing to do with him. In that case, he could end up at the pound. That’s why I wanted to let you know what was going on and give you the chance to take him back.”

  All right, so I was laying it on a little thick. Now that he was in Aunt Peg’s clutches, there was no way Remington was ever going to end up at the pound. Worst case, Peg would get the dog hooked up with the local Golden Retriever club, whose rescue committee would take him in and place him. But Rebecca Morehouse didn’t know that, and her complete indifference to the dog’s plight was really beginning to get on my nerves.

  “Take him back?” she said. “Why would I want to do that? The dog’s been neutered. He’s of no use to me.”

  “You could find another home for him. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about what became of him.”

  Rebecca stopped working. She straightened, placed both hands on her hips, and stared at me in exasperation. “Maybe you don’t understand. I don’t have a big kennel; I’m just a small backyard breeder. I wouldn’t have any place to put a dog like Remington. And nobody who comes to me is looking for adult dogs. Puppies are what sell—the cuter, the better.