by Tracy Weber
The teacher’s voice soothed my nerves and dissolved salt-like grains of tension from behind my eyes. “Release your weight into the mat. Imagine that your muscles are made of softened wax, melting on a smooth, warm surface.” My jaw muscles loosened. My shoulders eased down from my ears.
She continued her spoken lullaby. “With each inhale, imagine a white light entering the crown of your head and pouring through your body, illuminating every cell.” A soft sigh escaped from my lips. “With each exhale—”
The now-familiar sound of barking drowned out the teacher’s voice and jolted me awake.
Loud, angry barking.
My momentary tranquility vanished. As if in one motion, my jaw tightened, my shoulders lifted, and my hands clenched into tight fists. An embarrassing litany of swear words spewed from my lips.
I jumped up from the desk and frowned out the window. George and Bella were outside my door again, this time with a much larger stack of papers. Bella was no happier than the day before at the parade of dogs passing by. How dare they think they could walk on her sidewalk!
George couldn’t have picked a worse place to hawk his wares if he tried. The walkway in front of the studio was practically a canine superhighway. It connected the building’s parking lot to its street-level businesses. Serenity Yoga occupied the southern-most unit. The north end was home to the promised land of doggy delights known as Pete’s Pets. The PhinneyWood Market and Zorba’s Greek Deli separated the two.
As of this moment, the only thing keeping Seattle’s treat-starved canines from an infinite supply of dog cookies was the sidewalk’s newly acquired guard dog, Bella. If I wanted Serenity Yoga to live up to its name, I’d have to come up with a better strategy than buying the daily production of newspapers.
My customers didn’t look at all peaceful as they grumped out of class. Neither did their teacher, for that matter. She stared out the window, scowling. “Who’s the guy with that awful dog, Kate? Can’t you make him leave?”
I smiled, pretending to be in charge. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.” Though I have no idea how.
I joined George and Bella on the sidewalk. “How’s it going today?”
“Sales are OK, but I’ve got lots of papers here if you need some more,” he replied, grinning.
I couldn’t help but grin back. I may have been stubborn, but I knew when I’d been outsmarted. “Look. We need to come up with a compromise. You obviously want to set up shop here, and you’re right; you have every legal right to do so. But I can’t have the noise, much less the terrified customers. What do you propose we do?”
“It’s not Bella’s fault, you know. I’ve trained her some, and she’s a good dog.” He smiled at Bella, scratching the soft spot behind her ears. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetie?” Bella let out a heavy sigh and leaned into his touch. “She just never had a chance to get to know other dogs very well.”
I suspected he was skillfully changing the subject, but I didn’t press him. I asked another question instead.
“Why not?” I asked. “Is she a rescue?”
“Sort of. You see, before I got this paying gig, I used to live down south in a park near this ritzy neighborhood. Nice houses, great big yards, obviously plenty of money. People there throw away more food every week than most people eat in a month. I made out pretty good.”
“They let you go through their trash?”
“Not exactly, but they didn’t stop me, either. That’s one nice thing about being homeless. People don’t see you. They don’t want to see you. It reminds them how good they’ve got it and makes them feel guilty, you know? Most of the time Miss Bella and I just blend into the background.”
I had a hard time imagining this man-beast combo blending in anywhere, but I let it go. George continued his animated speech, barely even pausing for breath. He was obviously a practiced storyteller—and I had a feeling he’d shared this particular tale many times before.
“Honestly, people would be shocked if they knew how much I see and hear. And I’m no dummy,” he said, emphatically shaking his head. “Most folks assume I’m too stupid or lazy to make it on my own, but I wasn’t always homeless. I even used to have my own business. But people look right on through me as if I’m not even there.
“Anyway, this little puppy showed up at one of those houses one day. No more than three months old.” He leaned down and ruffled Bella’s ears. “Cutest little thing you ever saw, weren’t you, Pumpkin? And would you believe it, they chained this lovely girl here up to a stake in the yard. I guess they thought she was a guard dog.” His lips wrinkled in disgust.
“Those fools never played with her, never even took her out of that yard. Not once did I see them give her any affection. As if giving her a few kibbles and buying a stupid dog house were enough to make her want to protect them and their precious belongings. I watched for over two months as they let this little girl grow more and more frustrated. Of course she started barking and digging and whining. Who could blame her?”
“Didn’t she bark at you?” I asked. “I mean, if you were prowling around her yard, I’d assume she’d have sounded the alarm.”
“Nah, she liked me, poor little thing.” George knelt on the ground and hugged Bella close. “I was the one person in her life that actually paid attention to her. I’d come by late at night when everyone was asleep. I’d talk to her, scratch her ears—I’d even share some of my loot from the trash. She and I became best buddies.
“Well, one night she started howling; lonely, I think. The noise must have royally pissed the creep who owned her, because he marched right out of that fancy house of his and kicked the crap out of her.” His eyes hardened. “And her still a puppy! Well, that was it as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t stand there and watch him abuse this sweet little thing. I waited a couple of hours, until I figured he’d gone back to sleep. And then I marched right into that yard, unhooked her chain, and took her. She’s been with me ever since.”
“Wait a minute” I interrupted. “You stole her?”
George stood up tall, holding his head high. “No, ma’am,” he said, sounding slightly offended. “Absolutely not. I have my vices, that’s for sure. But I am not a criminal, and I do not steal. No way. I rescued her.”
Snatching a puppy from her own yard sounded a lot like stealing to me, but I decided not to argue the point.
“Of course, I couldn’t stay down south anymore. That jerk might not recognize me, but he sure as heck would know his property. Bella and I went on the road that night and came up here to Seattle. That’s been almost a year now. Saving Bella was the best thing I ever did.”
It was a beautiful story—but beside the point. “Regardless of how you got Bella,” I interjected, “we still have a problem. She can’t stay here. Why don’t you leave her at home while you work?”
George’s face remained deadpan. “Ma’am, not to state the obvious, but we’re homeless. Where exactly would I leave her?”
I had to admit, he had a point.
I looked up and down the block, trying to come up with a solution. Seattle prided itself on having more dogs than children, so finding a dog-free zone to park Bella wouldn’t be easy. The sidewalk on my side of Greenwood Avenue would never work. Hundreds of animals walked this path daily on their excursions to Pete’s Pets.
The other side of the street didn’t look much more promising. Tying Bella to the bike rack on the corner might work, but the nearby crosswalk would be problematic. I scanned farther south. Mocha Mia, the neighborhood’s most loved coffee shop, had an outdoor sitting area that was shaded by large green and white umbrellas. Unfortunately, it was also pet-friendly. On warm days the crowded, chained-in space was practically a doggy day care. Tasmanian Devil-like whirlwinds of fur, coffee, china, and baked goods flashed through my mind.
No good.
My eyes finally landed on the
block’s most infamous dive bar, The Loaded Muzzle. The retail space next to it had been empty for months. Only the most desperate of drinkers ventured to that end of the block. If Bella barked at those poor souls, they’d be too anesthetized to notice. I pointed to a half-dead tree between the two businesses. “Why don’t you tie her over there? That part of the sidewalk doesn’t get much foot traffic, and there’s plenty of shade.”
George looked downright insulted. He forcefully shook his head. “No way. I’d never leave Bella over there by herself. That place is scary. Besides she goes crazy when she’s tied up alone—sometimes she even hurts herself trying to get loose. She’s still scarred from what that jerk of a prior owner did to her. She only feels safe when she’s with me.” He crossed his arms. “Bella and I stick together. We’re family.”
George and I were clearly at an impasse. I would never call Animal Control, and he knew it. Time ticked on as we stared at each other, each waiting for the other to give ground. Finally, inspiration struck. “Wait here,” I said. “I have an idea.”
_____
The chime on the door to Pete’s Pets sang out brightly as I walked into a veritable cornucopia of pet delights. Brightly colored squeaky toys, rhinestone-studded collars, and a thousand varieties of designer pet foods lined the shelves. These were obviously not Alpo dogs.
“Welcome to Pete’s Pets. May I help you?”
Those words came from a man with the most gorgeous blue-green eyes I’d ever seen. That’s all I noticed before I realized the rest of his face was hidden behind a scraggly, disgusting beard. Beards always gave me the shivers, and not in a good way. I knew it was superficial of me, but I couldn’t stand beards, and I tried not to get too close to the people underneath them.
My best friend Rene teased me incessantly, claiming I exhibited all the classic signs of pogonophobia. Clearly she exaggerated. Just because some psychologist coined a fancy term for “fear of beards” didn’t mean I was neurotic.
It was completely understandable, really. Whenever I saw a beard, I wondered what its wearer was hiding. I could never get past the defects that might be buried underneath all that unsightly hair, not to mention the food crumbs, saliva, and multilegged critters that might have taken up residence inside. In a word, gross. So in spite of his cool eyes, thin waist, and approximately six-foot frame, this man was not my type. Bummer.
I got right down to business. “Hi. I’m Kate, and I need to buy the biggest cage you have.”
“Sorry, we don’t sell bird supplies, but I can give you directions to an aviary supply store in Ballard. What kind of bird do you have?”
“No, I need a dog cage.”
“Oh,” he replied, looking surprised. “You must mean a crate! Follow me and I’ll show you where they are.”
We walked past bright yellow tennis balls, a zoo’s worth of stuffed animals, and carefully balanced pyramids containing every kind of dog treat imaginable. We finally arrived at the back of the store and an area littered with so-called crates of all different shapes and sizes. Some were made of plastic, others of wood. Some contained metal rods that looked unmistakably like jail bars. Each boasted four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and a door with a lockable front. Frankly, they all seemed like fancy cages to me, but who was I to argue?
“Now, what kind of dog do you have?”
“It’s not my dog. But I think it’s a German shepherd. A big one. I mean huge.” I spread my arms out as wide as they would go. “So a cage that fits something between a large horse and a small elephant will probably do.”
He laughed. “A big shepherd used to hang out here with her owner, but they moved down by the yoga studio.” He paused. “Hey, wait a minute, I recognize you! Don’t you work there?”
“I own it, actually. And that shepherd’s the dog I’m talking about. She’s freaking out my customers. I hope if we put her in a cage, she won’t bark and seem so threatening. Otherwise, I’ll have to dig an access tunnel to my business underneath the sidewalk.”
“I know what you mean,” he said, grinning. “Bella’s actually a pretty good dog, but she sure doesn’t like other dogs getting into her business.” He held out his hand. “It’s great to meet you after all this time! I’m Michael, and I own this store.”
I dropped my hand and stared at him, dumbfounded. “Seriously? Your name is Michael and you own a shop called Pete’s Pets?”
His blue-green eyes sparkled. “Well, I wanted a memorable name, and all I could think of for Michael was Michael’s Magpies. That name seemed to seriously limit my clientele. Besides, Pete’s Pets was catchier.” He winked and smiled wider. The crinkles around his eyes hinted that he smiled a lot.
I laughed in spite of myself and hoped my eyes were wrinkle free. Michael might not be my type, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t look irresistible. He turned around to grab a crate, and I got a good look from behind. A sense of humor and a nice rear. Really too bad about the beard.
When he turned back toward me, those same eyes sparkled flirtatiously. “You know, we small business owners should help each other out. I’d like to learn more about yoga.” He flashed a beguiling smile. “Want to go out for coffee some time?”
Crooked smile or not, I wasn’t fooled. He clearly had no interest in perfecting his Downward Dog, or discussing the cat chow business, for that matter. The business he had in mind was of a more romantic nature.
The thought of spending time with him was appealing. He was obviously intelligent, except for the crazy idea he had of running his own business. And he might even be attractive underneath all that facial hair. For a blissful moment, I allowed myself the luxury of daydreaming. I imagined sharing a bottle of cool, crisp Chardonnay, curled up next to a roaring fire. I mentally snuggled in close to his broad chest, hugged his lean waist, and leaned in to kiss his … fur-covered lips.
Nope. That ruined it. The mental image of all those tiny microbes swarming from his face to mine interrupted my daydream and brought me back to reality. I didn’t know what lurked in that disorganized tangle of facial hair, and I wasn’t about to find out the hard way. I just couldn’t shake the subtle wave of nausea.
“Thanks, but I’m so busy with the studio I barely have time to brush my teeth, let alone go out.”
“I hear you,” he replied. “Been there myself. In fact, I’m planning to hire some help soon, if you know anyone interested. The pay will be crap, but I hear the boss is fabulous.” I laughed in spite of myself. “As for that coffee, I figure it never hurts to ask.” He winked. “You have to like a dog lover.”
I winked right back. “Maybe you’ll meet one someday.”
Ultimately, he sold me an extra-large collapsible wire crate that would hold Bella during the day and fold flat for storage behind the studio at night. The extra-large crate came with an extra-large price tag, but I swallowed hard and gave him my credit card, silently praying that the early morning yoga class would fill the next month. Either that or I’d have to keep the thermostat set pretty low this winter.
I crossed my fingers and hoped that, like I’d been taught, everything happened for a reason. Maybe there’d be a silver lining in all this. After all, hot yoga was all the current rage, but it was bound to die out eventually. Maybe I’d make my fortune in shivering cold yoga.
Michael threw in a few dog cookies to soften the blow. Bella was impressed.
three
Less than twenty-four hours later, I ventured across the street to Mocha Mia for a sacred girl’s coffee date with Rene. While I waited for her to finish ordering one of her thousand-calorie desserts, I sipped my nonfat soy latte and considered—not for the first time—how Mocha Mia’s eclectic décor represented everything I both loved and hated about the Greenwood neighborhood.
Sparkling Tiffany-style lamps sat atop ancient, scarred wooden tables, which were surrounded by a mismatched assortment of formal dining room chairs. The café’s exqu
isitely framed paintings competed for wall space with flyers for local businesses and crude crayon drawings taped up by neighborhood school children.
Even the drinks were a study in contrasts. Each artisanal beverage was served in a faded coffee mug that had either been scavenged from a local thrift store or donated by one of the cafés many loyal patrons. Today’s barista had obviously chosen a cartoon theme; my nonfat latte was topped by a Curious George coffee swirl and served in my favorite Looney Tunes mug.
Likewise, the neighborhood around Serenity Yoga seemed trapped between the forces of decay and renewal. Frozen by a poor economy and various environmental factors, the Greenwood business district sandwiched ghetto-like empty buildings in between trendy new construction—like a sort of architectural split personality. Well-dressed professionals and trendy antique shops vied for dominance with addicts and skid-row-type bars. It wasn’t yet clear who would win.
I chose to open Serenity Yoga in these unusual surroundings for two very simple reasons: the rent was cheap and the studio’s mixed-use building was only a ten-minute drive from my home in Ballard. I ignored The Loaded Muzzle and the early morning drinkers that frequented it. I ignored the annoying sounds that reverberated through the ceiling from the apartments above. I even ignored the empty storefronts of several recently failed businesses. I should have known better.
I would have continued beating myself up over my poor business acumen, but Rene sat down with a flourish and waved her hand in my face. “Earth to Kate … Are you there?” She pointed at my mug. “No fair. You got Tweety Bird.” She deposited her double chocolate mocha on the table with a disappointed thud. “That barista hates me. She always gives me one of the boring brown pottery mugs.” Rene stopped talking long enough to swipe her tongue through a heaping mound of chocolate-drizzled whipped cream.
