The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service (21 page)

“Of course not. That wouldn’t be dignified, either.”

“Let me tell you something about your precious Mew-lay. She’s impossible to please. She’s rejected at least five potential adopters.”

“I would expect nothing less from my little Muumuu.” Justine beamed with pride. “She adheres to the highest standards. She was holding out for the right owner, and here I am.”

Lara gagged. “‘Muumuu’?”

“Your jealousy is painfully transparent and frankly unbecoming.” Justine sniffed. “There’s no reason to feel threatened by the bond I have with a helpless dog saved from certain death at the pound. You’re still my daughter.”

Lara gave up. “And she’s your soul mate.”

“She is.” Her mother nodded. “I thought you wanted me to be happy.”

Lara kneaded her face in her hands for a moment, then looked up as the realization struck. “I know why you like her so much—she’s a cat.”

Mullet stuck out her tongue.

“In all the ways that count, she’s more feline than canine,” Lara said. “The open disdain for humans, the blatant manipulation and sky-high self-esteem . . . Mew-lay should meow.”

Justine exchanged a look of cliquish superiority with the Shih Tzu. “She has self-respect and dignity, like me. I could never respect a dog who would debase herself for a bowl of commercially processed food.”

“But that’s every dog in the world! Debasing themselves is what they do!”

“Not mine.” Now Justine was just flat-out bragging. “Really, don’t be jealous. Green’s not your best color.” She tapped one finger on the table. “Although I feel compelled to point out that you’ve been slacking in the Scrabble department. You haven’t played a new word in days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’m just saying, literacy and opposable thumbs are clearly an advantage in this ugly episode of sibling rivalry. If I were you, I’d put them to use.”

“So now you’re pitting my own foster dog against me to manipulate me to play Scrabble?” Lara
tsk-tsk
ed Justine. “You’re unbelievable.” She turned to Mullet. “And you’re a traitor. After all I’ve done for you . . .”

Mullet flopped over on her side, stretched out her legs, and started snoring.

Lara got up from the table. “You two deserve each other.”

As she stalked out of the kitchen, she could have sworn she heard her mother chuckling.

Chapter 27

On Saturday morning, at the latest of what was shaping up to be an endless season of conformation trials, Eskie once again snagged Best in Breed and moved on to the Best in Group competition. Midway through the show, Lara discovered a ruthless competitive streak she’d never realized she had. After years of opening her heart, arms, and wallet to the most filthy, matted, and gimpy dogs in Arizona, she found herself suddenly channeling her inner Justine, hyperaware of cosmetic flaws and dismissive of anything less than perfection. No dog could possibly live up to her standards . . . except, of course, Eskie.

“Look at the snout on that mastiff,” she whispered to Cherie as they scoped out the competition. “Disgraceful. And that schnauzer’s gait is so bouncy.”

Cherie tilted her head and joined in. “That Newfoundland is frizzy. And the styling on the Kuvasz?
Not
cute.”

When the Best in Group judging began, Lara and Eskie bounded into the ring, full of confidence.

“Second,” the judge announced, moving on to award the blue ribbon to a young fawn boxer so energetic he appeared to be spring-loaded.

Lara hurried over to the boxer’s handler, offered up a handshake and a totally insincere round of congratulations, but started fuming the second she left the show ring.

“We were robbed,” she hissed, covering Eskie’s ears to shield the sweet, innocent pup from the harsh truths of the pageant world.

“Robbed,” Cherie agreed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “This is nothing but breed discrimination, pure and simple. If you’d been up against all those schlumpy sheepdogs in the herding group, we’d have won hands down, but the working group is so cutthroat. Everyone knows it’s practically impossible to beat a boxer.”

“We’ll get ’em next time,” Lara promised Eskie, who was too busy trying to play with a Brussels griffon puppy to hear her.

“You have an admirer,” Cherie whispered in Lara’s ear as she pressed another post-competition “treat” from Tiffany & Co. into her palm.

Lara followed Cherie’s gaze to a stocky, fortyish guy in a baseball cap across the ring. When he caught her eye, he waved and walked toward her with a brisk, purposeful stride.

“Oh boy.” Lara shoved the beribboned blue box into her bag, handed Eskie’s leash to Cherie, and edged toward the exit. “I better go.”

Cherie grabbed her wrist. “Don’t run away. What if he’s nice?” Her eyes gleamed. “What if he’s loaded?”

And before Lara could make her escape, he was upon them.

“You’re Lara Madigan?” he asked, his gaze disconcertingly direct.

Lara nodded.

The guy nodded down at Eskie. “This your dog?”

“Actually, she’s mine,” Cherie volunteered. “Swiss Star’s Evening Escapade. Isn’t she a beauty?”

The guy sort of grunted by way of agreement, then returned his focus to Lara.

“You have excellent handling skills. How long have you two been showing together?”

“Just a few weeks,” Lara said. “Believe it or not, Eskie only learned to stack a month ago. She’s a natural.”

“Berners in general aren’t known for their brainpower, but Eskie’s smart as a whip!” Cherie crowed. Eskie panted up at them, looking sweet but vapid.

“Mm-hmm.” The man didn’t spare the dog another glance. “I’m Harold Jenkins, and I’m involved with a production company shooting a feature film here in town.” He handed Lara a business card. “We’re scheduled to shoot a few scenes featuring a dog, and our trainer dropped out of the project unexpectedly. We’ve been using the same animal-handling agency for the last few years, but they can’t get us a replacement on such short notice. I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of working with us over the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh, wow,” Lara said. “I actually did an internship with a studio trainer when I was in college. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s an outdoor scene that requires the dog to run up to a picnic table, grab a hamburger, and run away. We’re slated to shoot in about ten days. I know that’s not much time to train—”

“Especially since she’s booked every Saturday morning,” Cherie interjected.

Lara stepped between the film producer and the socialite, feeling absurdly like the prom queen trying to juggle two varsity-football-playing suitors.

“That’s going to be tight, but it
might
be doable, given the right dog,” she told Harold. To Cherie, she said, “And you know I would never let another job sidetrack me from Eskie.”

Harold checked his watch and held out his hand. “Great. So if you could just give me your contact information, I’ll have my people start drafting the offer.”

Lara fished a pen out of her bag. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“I called everyone I knew out here who’s in the TV and film business, and one of them recommended you. Claudia Brightling, from the local news affiliate.”

“Oh, right. She just interviewed me about my rescue group.”

“Yeah, she raved about you and passed along your number. When I called, your mother answered and told me you were working the show here.” He launched into a rapid-fire explanation of script demands, call times, per diem salary rates, and something about force-adding Lara to a union, but Lara was thinking about only one thing: “Do you have a dog in mind for the role?”

He shook his head. “We don’t need a specific breed, but we’re hoping to find a scrappy little terrier.”

Lara started to smile. “A scrappy little terrier.”

“Yeah. Any chance you could dig up one of those? Already trained and ready to work?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She walked Cherie and Eskie back to their car, reassured Cherie that she was still Lara’s first and most favored client, then got in touch with a guy who knew what it felt like to root for the underdog.

“Hi, Peter. It’s Lara. How’s everything going with Murphy? Great, I’m so glad to hear it. Listen, is there any chance I could borrow my old buddy for a few days?”

* * *

“I have a new job,” Lara announced as soon as Justine walked through the side door. She’d rushed home from the conformation show to find the huge house empty, and had been waiting (and practicing her online Scrabble game) for more than an hour.

“I’m aware.” Justine took off her sunglasses and winced slightly as she pried off her wig. Mullet sauntered in behind her with the air of a tragically hip high schooler forced to be seen in public with her parent. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. By the way, what’s up with answering my cell phone?”

Justine peered into the hall mirror, examining the arch of her penciled-in brows. “I got my start working the salon phones. What did you expect?”

“I’m going to make a ton of money on this job,” Lara informed her. “I get a per diem, the dog gets a per diem, and they said if this goes well, they’ll recommend me to the other production companies that film commercials and movies out here.” She glanced down at the trio of shopping bags in Justine’s hand. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, Mew-lay and I hit up some of the boutiques in Old Town. I needed to find her a leash and collar better suited to her personality, and it’s just so hard to tell what things really look like on the Internet.”

“How’d it go?”

Justine puckered her lips and dabbed on another coat of gloss. “Oh, fine, except there was a bit of a scrap with a wretched little Yorkie.”

“That sounds about right.”

“It was entirely the other dog’s fault. Mew-lay was just minding her own business.”

“I’m sure.” But Lara shot the snotty little Shih Tzu a look of thanks. She had motivated Justine to leave the house without bribery, coercion, or bloodshed. “Anyway, this whole film thing is very exciting because I know exactly what I’m going to do when I get paid.”

Justine put the cap back on her lipstick with a perfunctory
click
. “Buy a house in a gated neighborhood with great mountain views and a steam shower?”

“I’m going to officially incorporate the Lucky Dog rescue group as a nonprofit.”

“That’s your financial priority?” Her mother threw up her hands. “What’s the rush? You can do all that after you’ve gotten another few jobs under your belt and closed escrow on a stylish bachelorette pad. In fact, I was talking to one of the boutique owners about a loft that just went up for sale. Great location, right by the river.”

“No, thanks.” Lara stood firm. “I’m not a
House Beautiful
kind of girl, and I never will be. You were right when you said I’ve overextended myself with the dogs. I have, and so has Kerry. I’m going to file the legal paperwork, find some kennel space, update our Web site, and get a more organized support system in place.”

“‘File the legal paperwork,’ she says.” Justine snorted. “Do you have any idea how much effort is involved in setting up a nonprofit? It’s a full-time job in itself. Tax forms and bureaucracy and fund-raising and publicity . . .”

“I can handle it,” Lara assured her.

“You say that now, but you don’t know what you’re getting into. Trust me, I learned the hard way when I first started my business.”

Instead of getting defensive, Lara smiled sweetly. “Well, it sounds like I’ll need a partner who can stay on top of all the administrative duties. Would you like to apply for the job?”

Justine froze, mid–pore inspection.

“I’m serious,” Lara said. “You know everyone who’s anyone and you said yourself the salon doesn’t need you anymore. So why don’t you apply to be the Lucky Dog president? Or director? Whatever you want to call the position.” She flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “I’ll technically be your boss, though. And you’ll be taking, like, a ninety-nine percent pay cut. Can you handle that?”

Justine folded her arms. “I’m sorry—did you just say I’ll need to
apply
?”

“Well, I can’t just up and hire you without an interview. Don’t want to be accused of nepotism. You’ll need excellent references, of course. And Mullet doesn’t count.”

Justine appeared to be torn between maternal pride and indignant outrage. “Tell you what. We’ll start a new game of Scrabble tonight. If I beat you, I get the job.”

“Deal,” Lara agreed.

Her mother paused a moment, her wry smile fading. “And by the way, the film producer wasn’t the only one who called while you were out this morning. Your father called, too, and asked that you call him back as soon as possible.”

Lara was almost afraid to ask. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. But he said it’s urgent.”

Chapter 28

“Lara, finally! Where have you been?” Her father’s voice was frantic. “We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I was working all morning and I left my phone at home.” Lara wedged herself down on the bed between Rufus and Raggs. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Teddy. He’s sick. He’s throwing up; he’s lying around all lethargic; he’s not eating. . . .”

“Okay, well, if he’s throwing up you need to stop offering food.” Lara pushed up her sleeves and tried to think about the most obvious diagnoses. “What does the vomit look like? Maybe he ate something he shouldn’t have.”

“It’s kind of clear and foamy,” Gil said. “I don’t see food chunks or anything in it.”

“Take him to the vet,” Lara said. “Right now.”

“But it’s Saturday. Our vet’s office is closed till Monday.”

Lara could hear Trina crying on Gil’s end of the connection.

“Get in the car and drive to the emergency clinic.” Lara jumped up and grabbed her keys. “I’ll meet you there. He’s over twelve weeks old now, right? Is he up-to-date on his vaccinations?”

“Yeah.”

She pulled on her coat, switching the phone from ear to ear as she did so. “Well, did the vet see anything unusual at his last visit?”

Her father hesitated. “No.”

Lara heard Trina’s voice again, and then Gil confessed, “We didn’t take him to the vet for his twelve-week visit. We read online that we could buy the shots at a feed store and do it ourselves, so we figured we’d save the sixty-dollar checkup fee—it costs a fortune just to walk in the damn door—”

“You spent fifteen hundred dollars buying a dog on a whim, but you couldn’t spare sixty for a checkup?” Lara forced herself to stop yelling and take deep breaths. “So what happened when you gave him the injections?”

“Everything was fine.” Her father sounded huffy. “If there’s a problem, it’s because the manufacturer screwed up, not me.”

Lara turned this information over and over in her mind until something finally clicked. “Did you keep the shots cold?”

More murmuring on his end of the line. “What do you mean?”

“Did you put them in the refrigerator after you bought them?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Trina. Why? What’s wrong with him?”

Lara was already halfway to the garage. “I hope I’m wrong, but it could be parvo.”

* * *

“It’s parvo,” the emergency vet reported, taking off her eyeglasses and tucking them into her jacket pocket as she scanned the results of her lab work. “And it’s progressed pretty far. He’s severely dehydrated and the lining of his intestinal tract is sloughing off.”

Trina, who had spent the short, tense appointment sniffling into the front of Gil’s shirt, completely broke down at this news. She covered her face and burst into wet, heaving sobs.

Gil wrapped his new bride in both arms and continued his conversation with the doctor. “But I don’t understand,” he kept saying. “We gave him his shot.”

The vet stole a quick glance at Lara before replying. “If the syringe isn’t stored at the proper temperature, it loses its effectiveness.”

Lara kept her mouth closed and her expression as neutral as possible.

“How did he get sick?” Gil demanded. “Is this because we got him at the pet store?”

The vet put aside her paperwork and addressed Gil with quiet compassion. “Parvo is rampant in Arizona. The little guy could have picked it up anywhere.”

“You can fix it, right?” Gil bent his head to give Trina a kiss. “Tell me you can fix it.”

Lara and the vet exchanged another sidelong glance. “We can try,” the doctor said. “I’ve started him on antibiotics for the secondary infections, and we’ll push fluids, but parvo itself is a virus and there’s really not a lot we can do. Some dogs get through it, but he’s so young and his immune system is still developing.” She reached out and patted Trina’s back. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

As they trooped out of the exam room and into the waiting area, Lara tried to comfort Trina, whose agonized sobs had lapsed into shuddery gasps for breath.

“He’ll be fine,” her father insisted. “He’s a fighter. You’ll see.”

They sat in the waiting room for the next four hours, watching the cable news channel blaring from the TV in the corner and flipping through the old magazines scattered across the metal chairs. The vet techs came out with an update every half hour, and every time, the news was worse.

But every time, Gil’s response was the same. “He’ll rally. Don’t worry.”

Finally, as the sun started to set, Lara pulled her father aside and tried to make him understand. “It’s time to let him go,” she said. “He’s just too young to get through this.”

Anger flashed in Gil’s blue eyes. “But the vet said—”

“She said they’d try. And they did. But he’s getting worse.” Lara looked away as tears stung her eyes. She’d been on the receiving end of this lecture with sick and injured foster dogs more times than she cared to recall. “I know it’s hard, Dad. But if you wait for him to die on his own, he’s going to suffer even more than he already has.”

He jerked his thumb toward Trina. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

“Tell her the truth,” Lara said. “They’re doing everything they can, but it isn’t enough.”

Her father stalled for a few more minutes, then knelt down next to Trina’s chair and started speaking to her in a low, soothing tone.

“No,” Trina sobbed. “I can’t.”

When he tried to reason with her, she stood up, shoved past him, and ran out to the car. Lara let her go and remained with her father. She saw the receptionist watching them, waiting for them to make a decision.

“This is awful,” Gil said, staring down at his limp, empty hands.

“I know.” Lara pulled a tissue out of her coat pocket.

Her father sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “And it’s my own fault.”

Lara didn’t argue.

“If only I’d . . .” But then he stopped himself. “Well, maybe it’s for the best.” He glanced over at her with a mix of shame and hope. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Trina, but after everything you said about puppy mills . . . If he was going to grow up with lots of painful joint problems and whatnot, maybe it’s better that we let him go now.”

Lara knew he was waiting for her to absolve him, to hug him and tell him he couldn’t have known any better. It was her turn to let him off the hook the way he’d let her off the hook so many times. But she couldn’t force herself to move or speak.

When he realized she wasn’t going to respond, he crossed the room and gazed out at Trina in the parking lot. He said, almost to himself, “We’ll get another puppy and start fresh. Next time, we’ll know better.”

He nodded, shaking off his guilt. When the vet came out with a somber expression, Lara stepped forward to deliver their decision.

“Would you like to come in and hold Teddy?” the vet asked gently.

Lara looked to Gil, who stared back at her, once again waiting for her to intervene and offer absolution.

This time, she didn’t disappoint him.

“I’ll go,” she said, her heart numb. “It’ll be fine. Go take care of Trina.”

Her father’s whole body relaxed. “Okay. Thanks, La-la. I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.”

Lara felt the burst of cold air ruffle her hair as her father walked out the door. Then she followed the vet into the exam room and gathered Teddy’s limp, warm little body into her arms.