The first part of the exercise was tedious, but uncomplicated. Grasping the harness handles, we gave the command “forward” and led the dogs straight ahead. Each time the dog did it exactly right, didn’t veer off course, we clicked a handheld castanet-like gadget. The drill was simple: the dog obeys the command exactly, we click, and a treat is delivered at the sound of the click.
Soon most of the dogs had to only hear the word “forward”—even as we were standing still—to respond properly. It’s surprising how motivating a liver-flavored Treat-Um can be! I couldn’t help wondering what kind of treat it would take to motivate me to deal with the school debacle. Only one I could think of. But that would require a life rewind, where what happened, hadn’t.
Next was teaching the dogs to stop at the curb. As soon as their paws landed on an upgrade or elevation in the sidewalk—a curb—we’d say, “Wait.” If the dog stopped, he/she heard a click, followed immediately by a treat. The pattern, “forward,” “stay,” click-and-treat, was repeated until the dog did it right every time.
None of this was difficult for Rex and me, or for Daffodil, Maria’s yellow Lab, who was nearly as receptive to training as Rex. Too bad I couldn’t say the same for the others.
Romeo, the chocolate Lab, was turning out to be the poster boy for the “beautiful but dumb” stereotype. He couldn’t seem to understand “forward.” He kept circling and sniffing at Megan’s knee. Which frustrated her to no end. She tugged at him repeatedly, but that only got him to stand still, not move forward.
Trey’s corgi, the diminutive Clark Kent, was relentless in his pursuit of Daffodil. No amount of clicking, Pup-Peroni, Snausages, or even Yummy Chummy Bacon Bits could trump his single-mindedness. Trey was worse than Megan as a trainer. He kept scolding the poor pup, “Clark Kent, no! Stop it!” while yanking the leash. LuLu was forced to give them all her attention, to show Trey how to gently correct the dog, not scold him. Dogs learn by praise, not punishment.
They certainly don’t learn if you’re not teaching them. That was the situation with the fearsome foursome: Lissa and Chainsaw, JJ and Otis. They trailed behind us, at least half a block away. It took a moment to see why. They’d stopped to stare at one of the houses.
Really? They are going to break into this one? In the middle of a class? Besides, the house—a small, one-story beige stucco with a postage-stamp-sized lawn—was not exactly a burglar’s dream house. To me the house didn’t look like much, but maybe to Lissa it was a palace.
Rex and I did a U-turn and jogged back toward Lissa and JJ. I was still too far away to hear much when they began to argue. It didn’t matter. Their body language spoke volumes—set on high.
Lissa had tossed Chainsaw’s leash on the ground and started down the driveway, furiously motioning for JJ to follow.
JJ wasn’t into it. He strode after her, trying to grab her arm and, it looked like, pull her away. Lissa was resisting, holding her ground.
By now Rex and I were just a few yards away. Did I yell out to them? Let them know I was watching? If you suspect a crime’s about to be committed and don’t say anything, isn’t that withholding information? Isn’t that exactly what JJ was doing with my dad’s case?
But were they really planning to break in? I should have either interfered—or walked away.
Instead, I just stood there like an idiot. Any minute, they could turn and see me.
“There’s a time to be brave and a time to cave.” That wasn’t Rex; it was my dad’s voice in my head. “If you know something is the right thing to do, even if you’re scared, do it anyway. But if doing it puts you in immediate danger, run away, fast. I trust you to know the difference.”
I didn’t.
“What do you want to do?” This time, it was Rex.
“Not sure. What do you think?” I actually asked this of a dog.
“Your call, Detective Abernathy.”
In the end, JJ made the call. He yanked Lissa around, put Chainsaw’s leash in her hand, and marched her back toward the group. Too bad. I would’ve liked to catch him in a crime. I’d have been on the phone to the cops in a blink of an eye.
Rex, reading my mind, said, “He stopped her from breaking into someone’s house. Maybe he’s not as bad as you want to think.”
I countered, “Or maybe he’s not stupid enough to do it in broad daylight. Maybe they’ll both go back tonight.” Even as I said it, however, my instinct told me no—whatever Lissa was going to do, it wasn’t going to involve JJ.
When Lissa and JJ rejoined the group, I laser-focused on them. The two were quick studies and had their dogs moving forward in a straight line and stopping at curbs in a lot less time than it took, say, Romeo or Clark Kent.
They apparently had not hugged it out, though. The tension between JJ and Lissa was thick as layered cheesecake. Every time she looked at him, she scowled.
LuLu was now ready to teach us how the dogs lead a blind person across the street. I stole nervous glances at Lissa and JJ as we walked a few blocks farther until we came to a wide, busy avenue and gathered at the nearest intersection. The light was red.
“Don’t look at what color the light is,” LuLu instructed. “I want you to listen—and think. A blind person can’t see the colors. Neither can a dog. How does a guiding-eyes dog know when it’s safe to cross the street?”
The light was now green. The “Walk” sign lit up, but we stayed put. The light changed back to red, then after a while, green again. Suddenly, it hit me and I blurted, “When the light facing us is green, the traffic in front of us stops and it’s quiet. When it’s red, there’s the noise of the traffic flow. It has nothing to do with the colors of the light.”
A broad smile brought out crinkles around LuLu’s eyes. “That’s exactly it! Well done, Grace!”
I looked at Rex. He was beaming, his eyes actually twinkled, and his tail waved like a palm tree in a wild windstorm.
“But what if they come to an intersection and it’s quiet?” asked Megan. “How do they know how much longer they have until the light’s going to change?”
“Good question,” LuLu said.
“They just wait,” Maria guessed. “They wait until they hear the traffic surge, and as soon as the sound stops, and they’ve checked that no cars are coming, they know they’ve got enough time to cross.”
“They wait through an entire traffic cycle before crossing. It takes a little longer, but it’s the safest way,” LuLu recited. “When in doubt, wait it out.”
10
Truth or Dare
As a reward for an excellent session, LuLu let us out early. Six trainers and six dogs tromped out of the building together. After fifteen minutes, two were left standing and waiting. Neither JJ nor I had been able to reach our rides for an earlier pickup. Neither of us was happy about it. But I wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip by. I would confront him.
Only now that I had him, all the things I thought I’d say went flying out of my head. So I went with the first thing that came to mind.
“That whole thing today with Lissa, I couldn’t help overhearing.” Big lie.
“Overhearing what?” He looked annoyed.
I backpedaled. After all, I hadn’t overheard anything: Rex had. I wasn’t on firm ground here, but I went for it. “I got the distinct impression she was about to break into someone’s house.”
JJ, taller than me by a head, stared at something well over mine. I couldn’t even tell if he was listening, so I said, a little louder, “Was she?”
This time, he shrugged and mumbled dismissively, “No idea, man.”
Okay, now I was annoyed. “Right, you have a history of not knowing what’s going on right in front of you.”
That got his attention, and his defenses up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Really? Like when my dad got shot—you were right there, but somehow convinced the cops that you didn’t see what really
happened.
I would’ve gotten in his face if I were taller. I took a half step closer and with all the bravado I could muster, I said, “Again, I think you do.”
Too late, it hit me that I didn’t know what JJ was really capable of. What if his annoyance turned to anger? Sure, we had big dogs at our feet—big dogs who were now plopped out, fast asleep on the sidewalk.
I sucked in a breath. If he took one step toward me—I’d turn around and run as fast as I could.
JJ didn’t move. Instead, he gazed into the distance and said, “Look, I wasn’t even in the car that day, if that’s what you mean. I don’t know how your old man went down.”
I was stunned into silence. How could he say he wasn’t in the car—that was the one thing he’d admitted to. Now he was taking it back? Unacceptable!
“You’re lying!” I accused him, forgetting to be scared. “Why’d you tell the cops you were there if you weren’t? Why put yourself at the scene of the crime?”
JJ’s nerves were starting to show. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rubbed the back of his neck with his arm.
“Why confess to being there if you weren’t?” I repeated.
His eyes skated back and forth. I bet he was hoping his ride would pull up right then. It didn’t. There was no escape at hand.
“Look, my brother was there, okay? It was him in the backseat, not me. But he’s got kind of a record, and I didn’t want the cops looking at him. Besides, he didn’t do anything. The way it worked out, I didn’t get in trouble and neither did he. So it’s win-win.”
My jaw fell to the ground, my eyes began to sting. Win-win?
JJ noticed—and sort of apologized. “That came out wrong.”
At least that’s what I think he said. I couldn’t hear over the screeching of a car’s brakes coming just a second too late—its front tires were already up on the pavement—and someone shouting at JJ, “Yo—wu-ss-ee! Get your ass in gear!”
I nearly vomited. So this was JJ’s ride—two gang members, both all too memorable from the days of sitting behind the one-way glass watching them being interrogated.
“Oh, man—look who’s with him—the cop’s kid!” blared the guy in the passenger seat. Chris. I was surprised—I remembered them, but I didn’t think they’d know me.
“What’re you doing with her?” demanded the driver, the pock-faced Hector Lowe. Or lowlife, as I thought of him.
“Not cool, man,” said Chris.
“Get that girly dog and get in the car,” barked Hector.
Without a word, or a second glance, JJ obeyed. So much for my brilliant plan to get JJ to fess up. I was left standing on the sidewalk with a head full of questions and fewer answers than I’d ever had.
Oh, and a talking dog. Can’t forget that.
“Earth to Grace Abernathy!” Regan had pulled up to the curb.
“What?” I said, opening the back door for Rex, taking shotgun for myself.
“I’ve been talking to you.”
“You just got here,” I stammered, trying to shove JJ’s big reveal to the back of my mind—for now. I searched for something mundane to say, and found it on the seat: Regan’s cell phone, open to a chat. “Tell me you weren’t driving and texting.”
“Stay on topic,” she admonished me.
“Which is … ?”
“Mom’s necklace.” Regan’s voice was tinged with annoyance. “It was hanging off the screen of my laptop. Mom didn’t know anything about it. Did you put it there?”
On Friday—three days ago. I’d about given up that Regan was even going to mention it.
“I did, because—” I was just about to explain when Regan accused me, “The laptop was open. Were you eavesdropping, too?”
Eavesdropping? It was official. My sister had fertilizer for brains. “Eavesdropping means secretly listening in on someone. And no, I wasn’t snooping.” I only half lied. She didn’t need to know I read her essay.
“Were you trying to bedazzle my screen, then?” she guessed, changing lanes while eyeing me.
I told her to keep her eyes on the road. Then, choosing my words carefully, I said, “I got the necklace from Sheena.”
Again Regan turned to look at me quizzically.
“Please watch the road,” I said. “And let me explain.”
Only … I didn’t have a believable explanation for why I’d gone to Mom’s room and caught Sheena red-handed. I went with, “I was in my room, and I heard noise coming from Mom’s room.”
An excuse that wouldn’t hold up under questioning—the music was too loud for me to have heard anything—but Regan was no Sherlock Holmes.
“I went to investigate. I took Rex.”
“Your point?”
“I found Sheena pawing through Mom’s jewelry. She was checking out that necklace. She was going to steal it.”
“You’re delusional.”
“That’s what I thought,” I agreed, remembering. “Then I asked her what she was doing, and she goes, ‘I was on my way to the bathroom.’ Right—like the most direct route is through Mom’s jewelry box.”
“You’re not making any sense, Grace.”
That’s because none of this makes any sense! I wanted to scream. But I held it together and plowed on.
“Rex … well, he must have sensed something. He sort of growled at her, and she, uh, dropped her purse. I couldn’t believe my eyes—a bunch of Mom’s stuff fell out, including”—I hesitated, getting indignant now—“Dad’s wedding ring.”
Regan jerked the wheel, and we cut into the right lane, missing a UPS truck by inches. She mashed her lips together and defaulted to a second-grade put-down: “You’re a big fat liar.”
I don’t lie. If you knew at least one thing about me, you’d know that. A tiny bubble of self-pity threatened to burst, but I choked it down. “Why would I make this up?” I croaked.
“I don’t know!” She sounded exasperated. One hand flew off the steering wheel. “You want to punish me for having a few friends over. You’re jealous … or something. Besides, you never liked Sheena.”
Tiny beads of sweat tarnished Regan’s smooth, unfettered forehead. Translation: she was starting to have doubts. For now, that would have to do.
Then my sister threw me for a loop of her own. A biggie.
“So what are you going to do about your grades?”
My stomach plunged. She knew. “Did the school call Mom?” I asked in a small voice.
“They left a message. I erased it.”
I did a double take. “Why?”
“I don’t want to upset her. Not without giving you a chance to pull yourself out of this mess you’ve created.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I said belligerently.
She gave me a sideways glance. “Of course you want to. Besides, if Mom finds out, she’ll ground you and your training days will be over.”
“Always an ‘advantage-Regan’ agenda,” I grumbled.
“It’s not about me,” she lied. “Training that dog is good for you.”
“And frees you up to do whatever it is you actually do,” I retorted.
“It was Dad’s idea, you know, training a service dog,” she said slowly as she made a left turn on Center Street.
“No, it wasn’t,” I contradicted. “I never heard him say anything about it.” True, Mom had said he sometimes enrolled at-risk kids into the program, but he’d never mentioned it to me.
“He talked to me, too, you know,” Regan said quietly.
“Of course he talked to you. You’re his daughter.”
Was his daughter. Neither of us said it. But I couldn’t drop it. No way did Regan and Dad share stuff I didn’t know about. I huffed, “So you’re saying Dad told you to train a service dog so your college application would look good?”
She squirmed. “Not exactly, maybe. But I think he would totally approve.”
“I don’t think so, Regan, not for that reason. It’s self-serving.”
“
I’m not as smart as you are, Grace,” she said heatedly. “I sweat for every decent grade I get. I tank on standardized tests in spite of all the tutors Mom and Dad hired for me. To get into Parsons, I need this kind of advantage. Dad understood, he really did. He wanted me to follow my dream.”
11
Lost
“Let’s walk home!” Rex exclaimed the following Friday after class. “Waiting for Regan is boring.”
“It’s too far,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“I know a shortcut!” Rex’s dust-mop tail wagged eagerly.
“You do? Do you have a built-in GPS chip you haven’t told me about?” Anyway, no.
It had been a tire-melting day with temperatures matching the kind of test scores I used to get—high nineties. I raked my fingers through my limp hair and yawned again. Today’s lesson had been particularly tedious. We’d spent most of it waiting for the other dogs to learn how to target, or zero in on a specific item, retrieve it, and return it. LuLu explained that this exercise is so our dogs will be able to go shopping with their new partners, pick items off the shelf, and place them in a shopping basket. It’s a very cool skill but learned only with a lot of practice. The commands “watch me,” “get it,” “hold,” “give it,” and “good boy!” played like a loop in my head.
“Let’s go,” Rex insisted, tugging on the leash.
“Regan will be here any minute.”
“She can pick us up en route,” Rex replied.
“En route? You speak French, too?” I said, almost smiling.
“I’m not your average Scooby-Doo,” Rex said puckishly.
“You’re more like Scooby-Don’t.”
“Oh, come on, Tracey, be adventurous! Get out of your rut! Exercise is good for the soul!”
I groaned. “You’re gonna keep talking until I give in, aren’t you?”
The dog looked like the Cheshire cat.
We crossed the wide boulevard and made our way west past the Publix supermarket, the CVS pharmacy, and Cold Stone Creamery. We wove through Gregory’s Landing, a posh complex surrounding a manicured golf course. We crossed route A1A, and cut through a neighborhood called Jupiter Pines, where every house matched the one next to it.
What the Dog Said Page 6
