by Gail Sattler
Walking the Dog
Gail Sattler
Copyright
© 1998 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
one
Doreen blew the silent whistle and waited. For thirty seconds, the only sound was the wind rustling through the treetops in the summer breeze.
Then they came. In the distance, she could hear the crescendo of barking, accompanied by the snap of twigs under the rushing of anxious paws. The startled flight of birds from the branches overhead signaled their imminent arrival.
The thin whippet broke into the clearing first, followed by the muscular Doberman, then the midsized dogs. After a few minutes, the toy poodle appeared and finally, scrambling for all he was worth, came the Yorkie.
“Sit,” Doreen commanded with a downward motion of her palm in the air.
All sixteen dogs sat immediately. Instant quiet.
Doreen smiled. This had not been an easy accomplishment. Pulling the name sheet out of the back pocket of her worn jeans, she commanded the dogs one by one to come, to heel, then jump into the back of her van, where she deposited them into numbered travel kennels, securing all her charges before she continued on her way.
As far as businesses went, this one had been a minimal investment. While the work was easy, the advertising had been far more difficult than she had anticipated. Despite notices and business cards posted in all the local veterinarians’ offices, poodle parlors, and whatever pet stores she could convince to display her flyers, all leads for more business had dried up. She had posted some flyers at the local supermarkets recently and on her church bulletin board, hoping for the best.
In order to turn a profit, she needed four more dogs. If she could get to twenty, she would be able to pay off her small loan and make a comfortable living.
She tossed the leashes in the box on the seat beside her and checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. Not that the dogs cared what she looked like, but she never knew when she would run into a potential customer.
The brisk wind left her face flushed, emphasizing the freckles on her cheeks and nose. Grinning at her reflection, she picked a twig out of her chestnut hair, a souvenir from being knocked down playing fetch with all sixteen dogs at once. Her clear, blue eyes sparkled. This was the best job she had ever had.
Doreen knew her small business, Walking The Dog, would be a success; she could feel it in her bones.
Her friends all thought she was crazy, but as she began to attract more inquiries and, finally, serious customers, their teasing turned to fascination and respect. Still, they kidded her about being “the president and founder” of Walking The Dog, Ltd., not to mention the only employee.
Doreen stopped the van to close the large chain-link gate behind her, then continued on her way to take the dogs back to their respective homes.
One by one, each was delivered, and by supper time, she was back home. Before allowing herself the luxury of a break or a bite to eat, she first checked her kennels, and restocked the supply cupboard with a new supply of dog biscuits. She was not above using bribery.
When everything was ready for the next day, she returned to her house to prepare supper. Running around with a bunch of dogs all afternoon was hard work. At least some days it might be considered hard. She grinned.
On her way through the living room, the flashing light of the answering machine attracted her attention. She waited anxiously for the tape to rewind, hoping the message was a potential new customer rather than someone to whom she owed money. After distributing some rather expensive new flyers, she had hoped to have received at least a few calls by now.
“Hello?” a male voice asked hesitantly, then paused. She sympathized with the caller’s reluctance to leave a message. She hated answering machines herself, but she couldn’t afford to miss a single call. “Is this the place that looks after dogs? My name is Frank Chutney, and I’d like you to call me. I have some questions.”
Unable to control her excitement, Doreen let out an excited whoop, then needed to replay the message to get the phone number. If this man became another client, she would be almost at her goal. She made a mental note to ask him where he got her phone number.
She dialed immediately, but instead of reaching him, she was greeted by a taped message. In the background, she heard a yappy little bark, most likely another terrier. Doreen left a message, ending with a joke about playing telephone tag, and informed him that she would be home all evening awaiting his call.
As she hung up the phone, her gaze drifted to Gretchen, waiting patiently beside her bowl, tail wagging.
“Well, old girl,” she said as she playfully ruffled the dog’s ears, “I hope we’ll have one more playmate for you soon.”
Gretchen was a good dog. Even though her beard was constantly dirty, and her boundless schnauzer energy was sometimes hard to match, Doreen loved and appreciated her companion. It was an autumn hike with Gretchen that started Doreen thinking about Walking The Dog as a career.
Who would have thought she could make a living exercising dogs? Of course, there was more to it than merely walking them. She had to pick them up, all sixteen—maybe seventeen, soon—exercise them, give them a snack and some water, then let them run free until it was time to deliver them back home to greet their owners when they returned from work.
The phone rang as she lifted her first bite of mashed potatoes. Quickly, Doreen turned down the television.
“Hello, Walking The Dog,” she replied, trying to sound businesslike. She kept a wary eye on Gretchen, who was stalking her abandoned supper plate over on the coffee table.
“Hi, this is Frank. I phoned earlier. Evelyn Forthwright gave me your name. I might need your services. Do you have any vacancies?”
Yes! A customer! Doreen pulled one fist through the air in a gesture of triumph, then cleared her throat, trying to contain her excitement.
“Yes, I do,” she said calmly. “My name is Doreen McCullough, and I’m the owner. What information do you need?”
“Everything,” Frank replied.
She recited her rehearsed speech with all the details, and before she knew it, she had dog number seventeen signed up.
She glanced anxiously at the clock as she rescued her dinner from under Gretchen’s hungry and hopeful gaze. She needed another kennel and leash to accommodate her newest client, who would be starting the following morning. She had half an hour to get to the pet store before Bill went home.
Doreen gulped down a few bites of lumpy, cold potatoes, dumped the rest in the sink, grabbed her keys, and ran out the door. “Okay, Gretchen. You can come.”
§
Edwin checked his wristwatch as his car screeched to a halt in the driveway. Traffic had been terrible, causing him to be half an hour later than usual getting home. Frustrated from sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, he gritted his teeth at the thought of his poor dog locked in the house all day.
He turned the key in the lock and eased the front door open. Dozer shot past him, making a beeline for the large tree in the middle of the front lawn. Edwin chuckled and heaved a sigh of relief. He was as grateful as the poor dog that he had made it home in time.
He wished a neighborhood kid could let Dozer out at lunchtime, but he knew that a schnauzer could sometimes be a difficult dog for a young kid to handle. The neighborhood teenag
ers, who wouldn’t be alarmed by Dozer’s exuberant exit, stayed at school for lunch. Sometimes the dog’s boundless energy and enthusiasm caught Edwin himself off guard. Bulldozer had turned out to be a very appropriate name.
“Come on, Dozer,” Edwin called over his shoulder. “Get back in the house, boy!”
“Eddie! Can I have a word with you?” a feeble but stern female voice called to him from the end of his driveway.
Edwin cringed. Only one person, other than his grandmother, called him Eddie: old Mrs. Primline, the neighbor from across the street. He knew what was coming, and it was too late to hide. How could such a sweet, little old lady make a twenty-five-year-old man feel like a naughty little boy?
Turning around in slow motion, Edwin forced a smile on his tired face. “Good day, Mrs. Primline. How are you this fine evening?”
“Don’t give me that,” his neighbor chastised him sharply, wagging her finger in the air as she spoke. “That dog of yours howled for hours after you left again! The poor thing is in pain. Why haven’t you called the vet or something? Can’t you do something for that animal?”
Trying to keep a straight face, Edwin remembered the words of a friend’s little boy regarding Dozer’s vocal talents. “The dog isn’t in pain, Mrs. Primline, he’s just very sad to see me leave in the morning.”
“That animal’s howling rattles my windows. I could swear he was being tortured.”
Edwin forced himself to smile at his scowling neighbor. “Schnauzers do howl, Mrs. Primline. I’m just one of the lucky owners whose dog howls better than others. Maybe if I gave him voice lessons, he could focus his pitch into a more soothing melody.”
Edwin laughed at his own joke. Mrs. Primline did not. Not that he expected her to, but today he couldn’t help himself. It had been a bad day at work and he wanted nothing more than to put his feet up and catch the game on TV. So far, he had been unable to convince her that the dog’s howling, while no doubt disturbing, was relatively normal.
“It’s got to be a toothache. I know how bad that feels, that’s why I’ve got dentures,” the old lady continued to complain. “Have that dog’s teeth checked!”
Her complaining was soon going to make him howl right along with Dozer. “Sure thing, Mrs. Primline. I’ll do that. Good night.”
To his relief, she turned around in a huff, stomped off down the driveway, across the street, and into her house, closing the door with a heavy slam.
In her own way, the old lady was a good neighbor. Most other people would probably call the police, but Mrs. Primline’s primary concern was for the welfare of the animal.
Edwin opened the front door all the way and stepped into the house. Dozer trotted along gaily behind him, oblivious to the discord on his behalf.
On his way to the kitchen, Edwin grabbed the remote control for the television, flipped on the game, and shuffled into the kitchen to search the fridge for anything edible that wasn’t green. Leftover pizza beckoned from the lower shelf. He heated it in the microwave, grabbed a soda, and sat down on the couch.
Dozer pranced in front of the television, his pink tongue lolling out, then sat, cocked his head, and cast his doleful eyes on Edwin. Edwin had just taken his first bite when he noticed Dozer’s big, brown eyes staring at him. He dropped the lukewarm pizza on the plate and sighed as he turned off the television.
“All right, I’ll take you for a walk.” It was just as well. After sitting most of the day and then being cramped up in the car, a walk would do him good.
“Can’t you wait until I’m finished eating?” He grumbled and gulped down the remaining pizza. How did that stupid dog learn to get under his skin like that? “Next time, I’ll just get a goldfish.”
Edwin left the dirty plate on the coffee table, then headed to the door with Dozer following admiringly behind. “You win, come on. We’re out of treats, so let’s go for a walk to the pet store.”
At the word “walk,” Bulldozer lived up to his name. Bounding down the stairs in his haste to get to the door, he bumped into Edwin, almost knocking him over, then tripped on the last stair, slid on the linoleum, and crashed into the door for a grand finale.
By the time Edwin made it down the stairs, Dozer was jumping up and down and whining loudly.
“I know, I know,” Edwin mumbled as he sat on the stairs to put on his sneakers. He attached the leash to Dozer’s collar, smiling at his dog’s enthusiasm. “I wish I had the energy you do at the end of the day.”
After carefully locking up, the two of them made their way at a comfortable pace on the three-mile walk to the pet store.
Upon their arrival, Edwin tied Dozer’s leash to the bicycle rack, pushed the door open, and paused. He grinned as he noticed a “No Pets Allowed” sign. “Hey, Dozer. They’re happy to have you as a customer, but you’re not welcome in their store.”
Inside, he picked up a variety of dog treats and a raw-hide chew, and waited his turn at the counter. It was mere minutes before closing time, but there was another customer at the register. When he caught a glimpse of the young lady ahead of him, he was more than happy to wait for her.
She was average height, but that was the only average thing about her. Shoulder length brown hair framed a lovely face with a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her blue eyes shone, highlighting the most charming smile he had ever seen. The woman smiled and laughed as she spoke to the proprietor. Wow, Edwin thought to himself. She can smile like that at me anytime.
Doreen laughed as Bill finished his story. Even though she saw him every Sunday, their casual greetings in the crowd at church couldn’t compare to talking with him one-on-one at his store.
She appreciated that Bill stayed open late. He couldn’t match the wholesale prices of the giant pet store across town, but he always gave her a hefty discount, and the personal service could not be matched. Their families had been friends for years, and Bill had been a close friend of her uncle’s before he died.
Bill had always been her biggest fan and was the first person to actively encourage her to start her own business. He always had a funny story to tell and, around Bill, she didn’t feel self-conscious about her boisterous laugh.
Out of the corner of her eye, Doreen noticed that the young man who had come in a few minutes before was ready with his purchase, so she stepped aside to let him pay, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. She was in no rush, and wanted to stay and chat with Bill a little longer. After the store closed, she would most likely end up at his house for coffee and to visit with his wife. Gretchen would wait obediently in the van.
As she waved Edwin toward the counter, she couldn’t help but notice that he was very attractive. He looked a bit older than her twenty-two years, but he fit the profile of tall, dark, and handsome. His dark brown hair had a tinge of red, and he had the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen. Most people might say he needed a haircut, but Doreen liked it.
Caught staring, Doreen’s gaze shifted to the floor. She felt the rising heat in her cheeks. It appeared that he had been evaluating her, as well. Cautiously, she raised her eyes again.
Doreen froze as their eyes met. How embarrassing. She’d never seen him before in her life.
Edwin stood transfixed. Vaguely, in the background, the old cash register clunked and clattered as the proprietor rang up his small purchase. “This everything?” the man asked politely.
Edwin blinked, then turned his head to face the man. “Uh, yes,” he answered as he reached to the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He laid a few bills and his wallet on the counter while he dug in his pocket for some loose change.
As he fumbled for the coins, he glanced as casually as he could manage at Doreen. Their eyes locked once again.
Caught completely off guard, Edwin continued to stare until she blinked and looked shyly down at the floor again.
What in the world was he doing, making eyes with her like that? He tried to contain his blush, but he couldn’t look away.
“Dozer!” Edwin gasped. “How did you get loose?” Edwin dropped his change on the counter and raced through the store to retrieve his dog before disaster struck. Dozer possessed absolutely no street sense, and was likely to run into the street and get hit by a car!
The second Edwin opened the door, Dozer lived up to his name again. Dodging Edwin’s hand, he made a run for it. Edwin took a frantic swipe at his collar, but Dozer eluded him and dashed into the store.
Edwin’s stomach clenched as he watched Dozer bound up the aisle, knocking over a row of scratching posts for cats, a display of food and water dishes, and a few other assorted items on his way. Then, to Edwin’s horror, Dozer headed straight for Doreen and jumped up on her, his paws landing abruptly in her midsection, sending her sprawling backwards into a rack of stuffed toy mice. As if in slow motion, her hands flailed, little fuzzy rodents flew into the air, and everything—dog, Doreen, and dozens of mice—crashed to the floor.
Doreen winced as she landed. Edwin could have died.
Jumping over the mess his dog had made, Edwin ran as fast as his legs would carry him through the store. Dozer was dancing excited circles around Doreen. She scrambled to her feet before Edwin could help her up.
“I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, wishing he could melt through the cracks in the floor. “Are you hurt?”
Doreen sucked in a deep breath, fighting the urge to rub her tender backside in front of the two men. “It’s not that bad, I’ll be fine.”
Bending down to calm Dozer, Edwin continued to hold the unruly dog while he extended his other hand to Doreen. “I’m really sorry. I’m Edwin Olson, and this idiot is aptly named Bulldozer. Are you sure you’re okay? Please, I’d like to make this up to you.”
