Bloodlines

In fact, for a pet shop dog, she was surprisingly decent looking, and she was loaded with personality.
    As it turned out, she’d been confined to a large pantry at the back of the kitchen. The little room had been stripped of its original contents and furnished with a mammoth red dog bed, a set of stainless steel bowls, and a big Vari-Kennel complete with a cozy-looking fake-sheepskin crate rug. Enid Sievers had supplied me with a sturdy inch-wide leash, and I’d cautiously opened the door, but the second Missy caught sight of me, she dashed forward, wiggled all over, rubbed her head vigorously against my knees, and then veered, dashed in a couple of happy circles, and returned to me.
    “Hi, pretty,” I said, massaging her neck and rubbing the top of her head. “Are you a good girl?”
    She plunked her bottom on the floor, flattened her ears against her head, rose up a little, gently placed both front paws in my hands, and held my eyes in hers. I was crazy about her, of course. I am a complete sucker for dogs, but especially for malamutes. And here’s the damn i thing, the real killer: Her color and facial markings were a whole lot like Kimi’s. Gray dog, white trim with a little tan, the full mask, the whole bit. Her eyes were paler than Kimi’s, her coat was a lighter gray, her tail was shorter, and her build was more delicate than Kimi’s—she’d end up smaller than Kimi, I thought, with legs and feet too fine for the breed—but the superficial resemblance was there. And sweet? Missy was a born cuddler, much more submissive than either of my dogs. She rubbed herself against me like a cat. When I knelt down, she wrapped her forepaws around my neck and —I swear it’s true—gave me a big hug. She didn’t just rest her paws on me; she squeezed. I loved her on sight and felt a momentary rush of anger at Rowdy and Kimi, who would’ve welcomed her with all the joyous enthusiasm I’d display if Steve announced that, guess what, our life was about to be enriched by the addition of a new woman. Damn them, I thought. And damn the show on Sunday, too. This was one rescue malamute who’d be easy to place in a good home.
    “Well,” I said to Enid Sievers, who hovered timidly in the background, “she’s a sweetheart.” Then, although the floor of the pantry was clean, I asked, “Is she fully housebroken?”
    “Oh, yes,” Enid Sievers said.
    “Any, uh, bad habits? Chewing on things? Anything like that?”
    “Just her toys.” They littered the pantry floor: one large Nylaring, one giant Nylafloss, two plaque attackers in different sizes, three hard plastic balls, a tug-of-War toy, a big red rubber Kong toy, a chew-proof Frisbee, to mention a few. “The lady at Puppy Luv explained to Edgar that toys are very important.” Well, they are, of course. But two or three hundred dollars’ worth? “And,” she added as if transmitting a piece of insider information, “water must always be available, that’s very important for Alaskan malamutes.”
    “Yes,” I said. Missy’s water bowl was full. “Mrs. Sievers, has Missy come in season yet? Has she had her first heat yet?”
    As you’ve probably guessed, Enid Sievers wasn’t exactly a real dog person. Her pale, fine skin turned from ivory to pink to scarlet. I heard her catch her breath. Her voice was faint and controlled. “Not that I’ve noticed,” she said. “But I’m not…”
    I tried to dream up a probe that wouldn’t embarrass this woman. Notice any bloody vaginal discharge ? Any swelling of the vulva? In fact, it seemed to me that there was some. “Um, have there been any, uh, red spots on the floor?”
    She peeped a response: “No!”
    “Okay, well, don’t be surprised if there are. It’s perfectly normal. Look, we’ll be glad to take Missy. She’s lovely.” Missy dropped to the floor, rolled onto her back, and eyed me. I scratched her chest and rubbed her tummy. Enid Sievers probably thought I was mad. “But,” I said, “uh, I can’t take Missy today, and neither can Betty Burley. If it’s okay, I’ll come back for her on Monday, and I’ll drive her out to Betty’s. Is that okay? Can you keep her for the weekend?”
    Enid Sievers said that it was no problem at all. Remember that, would you? Remember that. Then I asked whether she had Missy’s papers.
    “Those are very important documents, you know,” she informed me. “Edgar said that those were valuable documents. Missy’s papers meant a lot to him.” Her tone