by Doug Goodman
Angie wanted to argue, but she was too embedded in the training.
“He can’t give me more time?”
Dr. Saracen shook his head.
“Well, I guess we better get to work then.”
With all her dogs delivered and no shows coming up, Angie had time to commit to Murder’s training. Dr. Saracen and her father took time to help her, too.
She spent the next three weeks pushing Murder into every conceivable scenario she could think of. She took him up high in the mountains to work in snow and in high altitude. She worked him in the evening, the morning, and in broad daylight. When it rained, she made sure to lay out a trail then, too.
For paperwork assurances that Murder was not tracking dead bodies, she ran him through a cemetery. For Angie, it was odd to see the freshly dug graves covered over in smooth cement.
“So that the zombie cannot dig itself out of its grave,” Dr. Saracen said. “It’s required by law now.”
After the cemetery scenario, Murder got to work in a three-story apartment building with twelve units and three wasps with overlapping scents. Murder figured out the puzzle easily.
“It’s like he was born to do this,” her father said as Murder pushed open the door to the apartment with the last ‘zombie’ and tracked the wasp to the bedroom where Dr. Saracen was hiding with a dead wasp.
“And we know that Murder isn’t just tracking any wasp,” Angie added. Murder had ignored the kitchen with the container full of paper wasps from the Invasive Entomology Studies Lab.
“I think he’s ready,” Dr. Saracen said.
“I think I haven’t tested him on a food distraction in a while,” Angie said.
“I think you’re out of time,” her father said.
Chapter Four
Angie stood next to her pickup, a rusted F-150 with love spots. She watched the entrance to the mall anxiously. People walked in and out. It was a typical July business day. Still too early for the teens to arrive. They would crowd inside to escape the heat.
Angie felt the sun’s yellow fingers warming her shoulders. Few clouds graced the sky with their presence, which meant that if they were working outside, she wouldn’t expect her dogs to come up with much. That sky was soaking up all the scent.
From the front seat she retrieved her hat, then went back to the truck bed. Watched the mall entrance some more. Murder was in his cage which was strapped to the bed. It was one of several modifications she had made to the F-150, like the second car battery she’d had installed so that she could run a fan for the dogs even when the engine was turned off. The cord from the fan ran through a hole in the back of the truck’s cab, where the battery bolted to the floor. The bed of the truck itself was raised six inches by a storage unit that kept most of her working supplies.
Murder watched Angie go back and forth alongside the truck.
“Why aren’t they back yet? It’s been almost half an hour.”
Then she saw them. Several men in business suits, and Dr. Saracen in blue jeans and a button-up, appeared at the entrance. Dr. Saracen waved Angie over. It was time.
“Now or never, Murder. Let’s go prove you’re a zombie dog.”
Angie leashed Murder and put a search and rescue vest on him, then let him out of the truck bed and walked him over to the mall entrance. A tall, barrel-chested man wearing cowboy boots and blue jeans with his suit shook hands with Angie. He shaved what little hair he had, and he had a warm and inviting smile on his milk chocolate face.
“Hello, hello. You must be the famous Angie Graves. My name is Steve Rangel. I am the head of the Animal Control officers. This is Mark Summers, our director. Of course, I believe you know Dr. Saracen. This must be your dog. What is his name? Can I pet him?”
“This is Murder, and he is sometimes iffy around new people.”
Steve leaned down to the dog’s level and extended his hand. Murder sniffed it with a businessman’s interest.
“Does he have some shepherd in him?” Steve asked.
Angie shrugged. “Possibly, but I don’t know. I got him off the side of the road. Found him under a murder of crows.”
Steve wagged his finger knowingly.
“Dr. Saracen’s said a lot of good things about you, Ms. Graves,” the director said while he held his hand out for Murder to sniff. The Director was shorter than Steve Rangel, had a small belly that was threatening to overtake his belt, and two patches of hair over his ears that guarded his sweating head. He stood with his arms crossed and did not shake Angie’s hand.
“Well, this whole thing was his brainchild,” Angie said, thumbing at Dr. Saracen.
Steve said, “So he’s the one to blame if this is a complete waste of time, right? I’m just kidding, Angie. I’m sure you will do fine. You sent us your training logs. They were more extensive than we expected.”
“I like to be thorough. You never know what will turn up in court.”
“Well, as I am sure Dr. Saracen told you, we understand that you are training your dog ultimately to find wasp larvae, but today we want to make sure your dog can track a wasp. So we are going to do a little exercise. About half an hour ago, we placed a crimson wasp somewhere in the mall. Your goal is to find the wasp. You will have one hour. Any questions?”
“Can you tell me where the wasp is?” she jested to perfunctory laughter.
“Let’s get in where it isn’t so hot and start,” Steve said.
“Before we go in, I want to make something clear, Ms. Graves,” Mark Summers said. “I’ve seen dogs work in the past. I don’t think they are good, especially when compared to the programmability of a robot. Specifically for your dog, how do we know it will track a live wasp and not a dead wasp? I’m sorry, but I wanted to be upfront about this. I don’t expect your dog to work out.”
As the two officials entered the mall, Angie held Dr. Saracen back.
“A complete waste of time? Don’t think my dog will work out? Who are these a-holes?” Angie growled.
“They are the people we have to convince, Angie, nothing else. And don’t worry about Steve. Steve Rangel is known for his office humor. Don’t take it to heart.” As they started to go inside, Dr. Saracen added, “Don’t take it too lightly, either.”
Angie brought Murder inside the doors, then commanded him to sit. She unclipped his leash, but before she could give him the command to search, the director stopped her. “I’m sorry, but I think there has been a misunderstanding. Your dog needs to work on leash.”
“He’s a recall dog. It doesn’t work very well unless he is off lead.”
“But this is a place of business, and the city of Jack Calf does not allow dogs off lead in a place of business. I cannot sanction this test unless the dog is on lead.” Director Summers gave Dr. Saracen a look of see what I mean? as he turned to walk away and discuss the matter with Steve Rangel.
“Federal law allows service dogs in a place of business,” Angie said to Dr. Saracen.
“Let’s let them figure that out.”
As Steve and Director Summers returned moments later, Angie reiterated the law to them.
Steve held out his hand. “We discussed that. But Jack Calf defines service dog as animals that have been filed with the City. We just have to get your dog confirmed.”
“That’s bullshit,” Angie said. “There is no way any dog that isn’t a police working dog has been registered. I’ve been doing this a long time in this area, with a lot of people. This has never come up before.”
“Maybe,” Director Summers said, “But we are government officials. If you can’t work your dog on lead, you must forfeit the test.”
Angie considered walking out on them. If Dr. Saracen hadn’t been there, she would have. Instead, she kneeled down next to Murder and said, “This is a big one, Murder. You’ve never worked on lead or with a suit or in a place this big and with this many sights and sounds and people, but it’s the card we’ve been dealt. You ready to find a zombie? Are you, boy? Are you? Find buzz.”
/> Murder dropped his chicken and ran forward. As she reached down to pick up the chicken, Murder got to the end of the thirty-meter leash and was jerked back. He looked to Angie, wondering why he was being corrected.
“Sorry, Murder. Keep going.” He moved to one side of the hallway, then sprinted to the other.
“He’s casting for a scent,” she told her evaluators, who followed her throughout the exam. “Looking for the wasp’s trail.”
A young couple was walking out of the mall, hand-in-hand. Seeing the dog on lead and with the vest, they took a wide path to stay away from the working dog.
“Is someone lost?” the young man asked Steve.
“It’s just an exercise for the dog. That’s all.”
Murder started heading for the food court. Angie noticed Mark giving Steve a furtive smile. She thought of the handler’s mantra ‘trust your dog,’ and didn’t call him back, though her stomach turned cold. It wasn’t that long ago that Murder was chasing cereal bars through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He ran across the tiled floor and entered the food court. Immediately his nose went up and his tail wagged.
“Get to work,” she told him. Murder didn’t even look to her. He jumped up on a table next to some people who had been watching him and reached for their calzone.
“Ah!” she corrected and pulled so hard on the lead that Murder nearly fell off the table. His paws scurried for a footing, then he jumped down. He came back to her and wagged his tail.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” she said. Frustration took the express elevator to Angie’s head. Not only was her dog off-scent, but he was displaying the negative habits she had worked so hard to remove. Angie ignored the big ass smile sprawled over the director’s chin and escorted Murder away from the food court. She reminded herself that a frustrated handler produced frustrated dogs. Her nerves had probably set off Murder’s bad habits. She stopped, took a few deep breaths, then set him up in front of a clothing store and said, “Find buzz.”
Murder put his nose to the ground, then headed back across the hall to a women’s clothing store. He crossed in front of a woman pushing a stroller. The woman was dressed in yoga pants and a hoodie.
“Hey, dogs aren’t allowed in the mall,” the woman said to Angie.
“It’s just an exercise,” Steve responded.
“Exercise him somewhere else. I’m doing my walking here. Who gave you the authority to do an exercise here anyways? Some people are allergic to dogs. You can’t just go into a mall area without notifying everyone first.”
Murder went to sniff the baby in the stroller.
“Get away from my baby,” she said.
“I’m sorry. Murder, here.” She jerked the lead, but Murder went around the far side of the woman, wrapping her up in his nylon cord.
“Excuse me!” the woman said, much angrier.
Angie dropped her end of the rope and walked Murder around the other side. He nosed the stroller. Angie came around, and the woman huffed as she continued her walk.
Angie sat down for a moment. Everything was going wrong. This ‘test’ had jumped Murder from level one to one hundred in distractions.
“This mall is nothing but distractions,” Angie complained.
The testers and Dr. Saracen said nothing. When she looked up, the director was looking at his watch.
“How much time has passed?” Angie asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
She did the math in her head. Forty minutes to search eighty stores. That was half a minute for each store, with people in the way and a giant food court calling to her dog.
“If you want to stop, you can,” Mark Summers said.
“Hell, no. We’re just getting started.” She unclipped his leash and gave Murder the command. Murder looked to her for assurance. “Go,” she urged him, and he took a few steps forward. He then slid down to one side of the hallway, and put his nose in the corner. Took a big whiff like a vacuum cleaner.
That’s when Angie suddenly realized the real obstacles to the test. It wasn’t the walkers or the strollers or the food court. She extended her hand into the sunlight that was streaming through the plaza sunroofs. It was the light. The walkways between the stores had giant sun roofs that were heating the walkways. Scent preferred shadows. Also, the walkways were edged with porous sandstone, which would soak up the scent.
She pointed farther down the sandstone and said, “Check here.” Murder put his nose to where she pointed and took another whiff. She walked a few more feet down the sandstone and told him again to check for scent. By working down the walkway in this fashion, she was able to cover more ground, and more stores, in less time. But there was still a lot of ground to cover, and not much time.
“I swear, if that dog comes anywhere near me, I will sue the pants off of you all,” the woman in the yoga pants said from behind Angie. Angie could hear her and her squeaky-wheeled stroller coming toward them. She held her hand up to Murder, who sat and waited for the woman in the stroller to pass.
Angie pointed to another area. Murder stepped away from the edge and walked into the middle of the walkway. He just stood there, panting. She remembered seeing Waylon display the same behavior the night they first encountered a zombie. Waylon had been at a tree line then and was trying to figure out which direction to go. Angie had waited patiently then and she would wait patiently now. It was possible Murder was simply trying to work out in his head where to go next, but she was sure he was on top of the scent. He may have even been breathing heavily to place the scent on his Jacobson’s organ, a little-understood part of the dog’s brain that was potentially used in tracking. Cadaver dogs had a habit of tasting for scent in water and in buried training exercises. She wondered if Murder was showing a similar behavior.
Murder woofed and ran back up the way they had come. As Angie followed, she thought about air circulation and currents in the mall, but she didn’t really have an answer to it. Murder disappeared around a corner.
Angie tried to keep up. Her evaluators tried to keep up as well, which was no easy task. Angie was a pretty fit country girl. She didn’t run regularly or own a gym membership, but she had a lot of hard chores and dogs to work with every day.
As she came around the corner, the woman in the yoga pants yelled. Murder was running up to them, wagging his tail.
“Murder, stop it!” Angie roared.
Murder ran a circle around the frightened woman, tail wagging, then ran back to Angie and sat.
Angie looked back at the evaluators and said, “You sons of bitches.”
She pulled the chicken out of her jacket pocket and gave it to Murder. He took her back to the stroller, this time leaping up against it. The woman tried to push Murder away, but Angie grabbed the woman’s hand.
“Don’t you touch my dog.”
Angie pulled back the stroller top and found a little stuffed dog.
“That isn’t it,” Steve said. “But it is a decoy, set up to smell like the real wasp.”
“What do you mean, ‘set up to smell like the real wasp?’”
“I mean,” Mark said, “a crimson wasp was put in this stroller last night, then taken out today and placed somewhere in this mall. It is a great decoy.”
“No,” Angie growled, barely able to contain herself, “It is a great source. You may have another wasp around here, but this is a wasp. Congratulations. You’ve proven that against a direct order to stay away from the source, my dog will still locate your damn wasp.”
“But this isn’t the target,” Director Summers said slowly, like he was talking to a child. “There is still a wasp in this mall, and it hasn’t been found.” He looked at his watch. “And you only have ten minutes left to find it.”
“That is bullshit!” Angie yelled. “This is a bullshit test and you are full of bullshit if you don’t accept my dog into your program. To hell with it. I don’t want my dog in your program.”
Angie leashed Murder and walked out to her pickup and drove away.
/>
Chapter Five
She ignored Dr. Saracen’s calls, not because she was angry with him but because of everything else. And she was embarrassed. She cursed her ‘all-bitchiness’ temper. She wondered why she couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth. She thought of calling somebody to talk about it, but the few people she could think of were more colleagues than friends. That got her thinking of her anti-social tendencies and how her father had always said she needed to join a dog club or something just so that she could socialize with the outside world.
She was an anti-social, tempestuous, slovenly (looking at her house, which looked like the dilapidated house in a Febreeze commercial—With Febreeze, You Won’t Realize How God-Awful Nasty Angie Graves’s House Smells—Angie Graves, the home that smells like a grave) agoraphobe who can only talk to dogs. It was a downward spiral for her, one that usually ended at the bottom of a pizza box and cheap romance books.
A few days later, the dogs were in the house, and she was eating pizza and scrutinizing her body in the mirror, thinking of how her hair was as greasy as an oil check garage and how when she was a teen her aunt had said that she had “Similac breasts” because there was no way she was ever going to breast-feed children with what she had under her shirt.
Her cell rang. She wanted to silence her phone. She wasn’t taking calls, not even when the hospital called to confirm she was negative for Hepatitis C and AIDS. This time, though, the ringtone sounded like the calling card pipe organ music to the Phantom of the Opera. That meant it was Lieutenant Hankamer. She answered the phone.
“I really can’t,” she started to say when she was interrupted.
“I need to see you. Now. Drop whatever you’re doing and come on over. It’s about the zombie you found in the funeral home.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” Angie thought about saying she needed time, but that wouldn’t make sense to Jasper, who didn’t care one way or the other because he had already ended the call.
