Spring Forward

by Catherine Anderson

  “You’ll like Jack Palmer,” she assured the dog. “I’ve only met him once, but people in Mystic Creek speak highly of him.”

  Rip barked and sent her one of those grins. With a start, she realized she was becoming fond of them—and of the dog. Maybe Tanner had it right, and she loved Rip in her way. The thought alarmed her.

  Once at the clinic, Crystal kept a firm grip on Rip’s leash. Technicians and assistants in scrubs appeared at the other end of the waiting area, and the dog snarled each time he saw them. Cassidy Peck, a pretty brunette, came out front in her street clothes, crouched down to let Rip smell the back of her hand, and began petting him before she addressed Crystal.

  “Sorry. I needed to focus on Rip first. Animals who hate scrubs are often animals that have had bad clinic experiences.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she met Crystal’s gaze. “How are you?”

  “Good,” Crystal told her. “Nervous, actually. I’ve never taken Rip to a vet, and my grandfather’s stories about his past behaviors in a clinic have me on edge.”

  Cassidy stood. “Come on back. You’ll be in room three.” As Crystal followed her up the left hallway, she spoke over her shoulder. “It’s not uncommon for dogs to hate scrubs and stethoscopes, you know. To them, they must look scary.”

  Crystal doubted that most dogs grabbed the stethoscopes and jumped off examining tables to hide under chairs while tearing the devices apart. “Do most dogs swallow the bell and need an emergency procedure to prevent a bowel blockage?”

  “Um, no.” Cassidy laughed as she ushered Crystal and the heeler into the examining room. “Jack’s been warned. He’ll keep the stethoscope out of sight, and he won’t wear scrubs.” She bent to lift Rip onto the table. “You’re a nice boy. Yes, you are.”

  “He snarls and tries to bite when I pick him up,” Crystal observed. “Aren’t I blessed? Half the time I can’t even pet him. Our friend Tanner says Rip may feel jealous of me, because he senses that my grandfather loves me.”

  Cassidy gave Rip a scratch behind his ears. “That could be. Some dogs are possessive.” She smiled and turned toward the door. “Jack’ll be right with you.”

  Crystal stood at the table, watching Rip to make sure he didn’t fall off. “Is that the deal, Rip? That you’re jealous?”

  The door opened just then and Jack Palmer entered. Crystal had met him at Taffeta Brown and Barney Sterling’s wedding. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was a handsome man, tallish with light brown hair and friendly gray eyes. He wore hiking boots, jeans, and a blue Western shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Beneath the front button placket was a large lump. She suspected that his stethoscope caused the bulge.

  “Hi, Crystal.” He approached the table, greeted Rip, let the dog get his scent, and then began petting him while he spoke with her. “Did any wires get crossed, or am I correct in believing you told the receptionist that this fellow has a drinking problem?”

  “I know it’s clear off the charts. But, yes, that is what I told her.”

  “Not as far off the charts as you might think,” he replied. “One of my clients lost her husband a couple of years ago, and last week when she brought her Chesapeake in, a blood test revealed that he had severe cirrhosis of the liver.”

  Crystal’s stomach lurched. “Oh, God.”

  “Vodka and orange juice, two or three drinks a night. And I think she mixes them strong. Her dog took her husband’s place as her drinking partner.” Jack was already checking Rip’s gums, teeth, and ears. “Can you keep his attention while I listen to his heart and belly activity?”

  Crystal did her best to keep the dog’s gaze on her by drawing a biscuit from her pocket and showing it to him. Only when Jack had stowed the stethoscope back inside his shirt did she give the blue heeler the treat.

  “He seems perfectly healthy,” Jack told her. “No detectable stiffness in his joints, no obvious jaundice, no buildup of fluid in the abdominal area, and his gums are pink. I’ll take some blood and run a panel on him for any indications of trouble that aren’t always obvious during an exam.”

  “I feel so awful about this. I had no idea Rip was regularly given beer.”

  “It happens,” Jack replied. “We’ll talk in my office. Let me get Cassidy in here to help with the blood draw first.”

  Again Cassidy appeared in street clothes and had no stethoscope around her neck. After helping Jack draw blood, she praised Rip for being such a good boy and gave him a treat from a cookie jar. Jack lifted the dog back down to the floor.

  “My office is right across the hall.” He led the way, talking over his shoulder. “We like to think everyone knows how dangerous alcohol is for dogs and cats. But a lot of people don’t.” He ushered Crystal into a small but tidy room that featured several wall charts about pets, a desk, and three chairs. He gestured for Crystal to take a seat. She accepted the invitation and coiled the slack in Rip’s leash around her wrist so he had to sit near her feet. “I have some literature for you and your grandfather. Mostly things I’ve found online and printed out. Actual alcoholism is, so far as I know, rare in dogs, but it can happen. Any time we consume anything daily that has a propensity to become addictive, man or beast can grow dependent.”

  Crystal told Jack about all the times Rip had run away and come home at three in the morning. “Our friend Tanner believes Rip is going to the Witch’s Brew, where patrons buy him beer.”

  “So Rip is staying for last call.” Jack smiled, but no warmth reached his gray eyes. “I can see how upset you are, Crystal. One thing all pet owners need to remember is that as cautious and responsible as you may be, bad things can still happen. Dogs can bolt out a door and be gone in a blink. Most of us try to keep them safe at home, but when you have an exceptionally smart dog—and Rip sounds as if he falls into that category—you find your authority challenged often. And looking at it from Rip’s side, can we blame him? Your grandfather apparently gave him beer almost every evening. Rip can’t verbalize how he feels, but maybe he craves it now, and with you at the helm, he escapes so he can satisfy his needs.”

  “What can I do to help him?”

  Jack spread his hands. “Aside from keeping Rip confined to his own yard, there isn’t a lot you can do except keep him away from alcohol. Check the ingredients of all your personal-hygiene products.” He named off different things that she should watch for on labels. “I’ve had dogs brought in with alcohol poisoning from consuming cough syrup, facial cleansing products, and all manner of other things. Keep potentially dangerous things inside a wall cabinet, not in a lower cupboard. Recreational alcohol should be kept in an upper cupboard or in a locked cabinet. If you have a patio party, confine Rip in a safe area or caution your guests never to leave their drinks unattended. Basically, you should use all the same precautions you would for a young child.”

  “I’ve never had a child, either.”

  Jack grinned. “You’ll get it down. Just go through your bathroom. Figure out a way to keep Rip at home where he belongs.”

  “How do you feel about the use of shock collars on dogs?”

  “That they are sometimes necessary. If a dog can be controlled without one, fine, but if not, a correction collar does no harm.” He turned on the swivel chair to open a file cabinet. “I’ll give you some literature for your grandfather to read, and I’ll have my receptionist make up some warning signs that I can tack up in bars, preferably in a prominent spot. Ever since the Chesapeake situation, I’ve been meaning to do an educational campaign.” He shrugged. “I got busy. Spring brings with it viruses that remain dormant in the soil all winter. Distemper can be a killer. But Rip’s story is a good reminder that I need to do it. There are people who honestly don’t realize that pets can be seriously harmed if they’re given alcohol.”

  “My grandfather loves this dog. He’d never do anything to hurt Rip, never.”

  “He’ll better understand the consequence
s after he reads the stuff I’m sending him. And the warnings may carry more weight if they come from a vet.”

  Jack created a stack of copies and put them in a manila envelope for Crystal to take with her. “I’ll call you Monday with the test results,” he told her. “But until then, try not to worry. He appears to be in excellent health. I won’t be at all surprised to see a perfect blood panel.”

  “Did the Chesapeake seem perfectly healthy?”

  “No.” Jack held her gaze. “I knew when I examined him that something was seriously wrong.”

  “Did he die?”

  Jack sighed. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean Rip will. Keep him home. A script for him will be waiting at the front desk, a little something to take the edge off as his alcohol consumption is curtailed. Don’t start him on it until I call you with an all clear on his liver, though. If he has issues, we don’t want to introduce anything more into his system.”

  Crystal pinned Jack with a questioning look. “Are you prescribing medication so Rip won’t go into alcohol withdrawal?”

  “This drug serves the dual purpose of acting as a mild tranquilizer and minimizing the effects of alcohol withdrawal. If Rip has been drinking daily, it certainly can’t hurt to keep him relaxed as he’s forced to abstain, and it’s also a good precaution just in case of withdrawal. He can’t tell you how he feels. The medication will provide a safety net.”

  Crystal bade Jack farewell, paid the bill, and collected a small white sack containing a bottle of pills. She talked to Rip all the way to the car.

  “I hope Jack is right and your liver is fine. Imagine that. I’m amazed you’ve survived, Rip. But don’t take that to mean you’re a rare canine that can get away with drinking. We must take this very seriously.”

  Once in the car, Crystal sat behind the steering wheel, thinking something wasn’t right. Had she forgotten her purse? No, it was on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. Rip’s script was tucked in a console compartment, and the dog was fine, except that he looked at her expectantly.

  And then it came to her. “Oh, dear heaven, Rip! I forgot to give you a biscuit when I got in, and you didn’t bite me. Is this a sign from you? Like, maybe you’re trying to tell me you’re starting to love me?”

  The dog snarled. Crystal dived her hand into the door bin to get him a biscuit, but she was still smiling as she handed it over. “You’re like a teenage boy, getting all grumpy because you don’t like mushy stuff. What blows my mind is that you seem to understand most of what I say.” She studied the heeler as he devoured the treat. “Do you know the word love, Rip?”

  The canine stopped chewing to growl at her. Crystal laughed and started the car.

  * * *

  Given the damage Rip had done to the laundry room, Crystal decided to take the dog with her to the salon for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow was Sunday, and she could stay home. Monday she would take Rip with her to work again while his new collar was charging.

  When she called the shop, Shannon answered. “Silver Beach Salon. This is Shannon. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, it’s me,” Crystal said.

  “Oops. Sorry. I’m busy and didn’t look at caller ID. What’s up?”

  Crystal explained about the destroyed laundry room and her decision to bring Rip to work. “I need everyone to ditch the salon aprons. Rip doesn’t seem to mind the brown slacks and silk blouses we all wear. He sees that outfit at home all the time.”

  Shannon made an odd sound. “You’re bringing the dog from hell to our shop? You come to work with red marks all over your arms. What if he bites somebody?”

  “He doesn’t bite,” Crystal retorted. Then she realized she was starting to sound just like Tuck. “Well, he does bite Tuck, me, and people in uniform, but even then, Shannon, he’s never broken the skin. He pinches with his front teeth.”

  Shannon groaned. “That’s comforting.”

  “He won’t do it to any of you. I promise.”

  Over the next five minutes of driving, Crystal lectured Rip on how she expected him to behave inside the salon. “You were such a good boy at the clinic. I know you can do it.”

  She parked under the carport at the back of her building, grabbed the end of Rip’s leash, opened the driver’s door, and started to exit the car. Rip snarled and pinched the back of her right arm.

  “Ow!” Crystal gained her feet. The dog nailed her again just above her right wrist. “You little snot! Stop it! I’m getting a biscuit, damn it!”

  After appeasing her grandfather’s dog, Crystal stuffed at least a dozen biscuits in her purse and pockets just in case she needed them to control the dog inside the salon.

  “You’d better behave yourself.” Her arm panged where his teeth had bruised her. “I can’t believe I was thinking we might be forming a bond.”

  She bribed the dog at the back door before entering her place of business. Rip, apparently excited by all the strange smells, lunged forward and jerked the leash out of her hand. As Crystal ran up the hall, she heard feminine voices. “Oh, how beautiful!” “Hello, Rip!” “Aw, you’re darling.” “Oh, what a sweet fellow.”

  When Crystal reached the front of the building, she stopped and watched the dog go from station to station, grinning at technicians and patrons alike, and charming the socks off every person he encountered. Releasing a taut breath, Crystal relaxed. This could work. She only wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before now.

  And just then a Federal Express deliveryman opened the front door. Rip saw his uniform and shifted into attack mode. Crystal ran up behind the dog, stepped on his trailing leash to prevent the assault, and dimly registered that the nylon rope had tugged her feet out from under her just before she landed flat on her back. The deliveryman leaped outside and closed the door to protect himself. As Crystal sat up, she saw Rip clawing at the glass.

  She struggled to her feet, retrieved her purse from the floor, and got a handful of biscuits. Grabbing Rip’s leash, this time winding the rope around her wrist so it wouldn’t slip through her fingers, she held the dog back as she opened the door.

  “Here,” she said, holding the portal ajar with her foot as she handed the man a biscuit. “Just offer him one of these, and he’ll let you come in.”

  Middle-aged with thinning gray hair, the man laughed. “I know the drill. I just didn’t expect a dog in here.”

  He appeased Rip with a biscuit, handed Crystal a parcel, and then paid the dog another toll to leave the shop. Watching him walk away, Crystal realized the salon had gone silent. Not even a hair dryer was running. She turned around and took in the pale faces of everyone who’d just witnessed Rip in terrorist mode.

  “He really is a nice dog,” she said, feeling foolish. “He’s just quirky about uniforms.”

  Nadine broke the tension. “Well, of course he’s a nice dog. All of us met him seconds ago, and he was delightful. I don’t like cop uniforms, a hangover from my wild and rebellious teens, so I kind of understand how Rip feels.”

  An older lady with tinfoil strips layered over her head said, “My little poodle, Trixie, detests Courier Express, FedEx, and UPS people.”

  “My spaniel goes crazy when the postwoman rattles the box beside our front door. He thinks she’s doing bad things to our house. It gives him a great workout, though. He runs in circles for nearly five minutes.”

  Crystal was glad to have people visiting again, and she led Rip to her station. She tied his leash to the leg of her styling cabinet. Then she rubbed her back, hoping she wouldn’t be bruised in the morning.

  Just then Crystal’s one o’clock entered the shop. Marietta Adams, a plump blonde with a warm smile that always seemed to light up a room, called hello to people she knew and then gave Crystal a hug.

  “Oh, a dog. How nice!” She bent to give Rip friendly scratches behind the ears. “Having you here may help with my haircut anxiety.
You can be my therapy dog.”

  Crystal’s phone rang and she saw Tanner’s name on the screen. “Excuse me, Marietta. I need to take this.” Crystal answered the call as she hurried to the rear hallway, where she’d be able to talk in privacy. “Hey, you.” It wasn’t a particularly romantic way to greet a man who’d made her moan in ecstasy last night. “It seems like a year has passed.”

  He laughed. “At my end, make it a decade, and not only because I miss you. Although I truly do. I have a bit of an emergency, and I’m wondering if you can help me.”

  “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “My little girl, Tori. A girl at the play park called her ‘Kinky.’ You know, because her hair is so curly. She’s been crying ever since I brought her home. She doesn’t want kinky hair, and I, um— Well, I’m probably dreaming, but is there a way to make Tori’s hair straight?”

  Crystal’s heart caught. It bothered her when she encountered cases of girl envy. Why was it that so few females were content with the physical features that they’d been born with? “I’m not sure straightening her hair is wise, Tanner. She’s beautiful just as she is.” In addition to that, Crystal had reservations about meeting the child of her new lover. She liked kids, but she wasn’t very good with them. “Can’t you soothe her hurt feelings by telling her how pretty she is and taking her out for ice cream?”

  “She wants hair that’s straight like yours. After all this time, she still remembers the pretty lady with long red hair. Now, whenever she mentions you, she tosses in straight as another adjective.”

  Crystal said, “My schedule is really tight today, Tanner.”

  She heard him sigh. “Okay. I understand. If she’s still upset next week, maybe I can get her in to see someone after school.”

  Crystal almost let it go at that. But then she thought of how wrong things could go if a stranger touched the child’s hair. Some techs would use a straightening solution, after which Tori’s hair might have to grow out before it would be curly again. The harsh chemicals could also do damage. “Hold on.” She considered her schedule. “If you can come after six, I can see her.”