Bloodlines

another try now.” She dialed, listened, and handed me the phone. A recorded male voice gave the number Lois had dialed. It went on to issue an unfriendly invitation to leave a message. Lois took the phone from me and hung up. “I keep leaving messages,” she said.
    “So let’s go! Let’s just drive over there. You know, it’s possible that this is a different bitch, isn’t it? Lois, We could get there, and this one could be fine. You aren’t a hundred percent positive that this is the one, are you?”
    “Ninety-nine,” Lois said, but her face was expressionless, and she made no move to get up. “I’m prepared to buy her back, you know. I’ve reconciled myself to that. And I have to keep reminding myself, I’m not the first person this has happened to.”
    “Then let’s go!” I said again. “People don’t always answer their phones. Sometimes they just leave their machines on because they don’t feel like talking. Lois someone could be there! I mean, for all we know…”
    She shifted in her seat. I looked at her, but she avoided my gaze. “I can’t now,” she said. “I’ve got someone coming.”
    “To look at a puppy,” I said coldly.
    “Yes, as a matter of fact. These happen to be exceptional litters. I’ve had a lot of interest. These people are... Well, it’s a show home, and I’ve got to...” I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out Missy’s pedigree, slapped it on the table, pointed to the top half of the page, and ordered Lois to look at it. “This bitch of yours is only a year and a half old, and she’s probably been bred at least twice by now. The chances are very good that she’s sick and half starved, and you better believe that even if she’s in okay physical shape, she’s a mess otherwise, because no one’s spoken a kind word to her since she landed in this hellhole, wherever it is.”
    “I’m prepared to buy her back.” Lois’s voice and gaze were strong. Fat, thin, brawny, scrawny, old, young, whatever, anyone with Alaskan malamutes has a tough streak. “You’re not a breeder, Holly. You don’t understand. I’ll pay twice the purchase price. I’ll pay more if I have to. This is one of the worst things that could happen to any breeder.”
    That’s when I lost my temper. I stood up, glared, and yelled, “Lois, you are not the one this has really happened to! The one who’s really suffering is this poor half-grown puppy, Sissy, and if you gave a damn about her, you’d leave a note for these puppy buyers and come with me right now.”
    She curled her lips inward, ran her tongue over them, and said mulishly, “I can’t.”
    “In that case,” I said, “maybe we better get something straight. If I find this bitch, you will take her back?”
    As you may or may not understand, my question was an insult. In effect, I’d asked her whether she was an ethical breeder, and in asking, I’d suggested that the answer might be no.
    Lois certainly got the point. Her little eyes blazed. “I already told you, I’ll buy her back.”
    “And if I show up here with her?”
    Lois looked down at the pedigree. I followed her eyes as they moved over the dogs’ names. Then, with no warning, she thrust out her fat right hand, grabbed the paper, crumpled it, and hurled it to the floor. Neither of us spoke. In the background, the radio played a Dolly Parton song. Sweat beaded on Lois’s blunt nose.
    “Look, Holly, you’re trying to do the right thing, but you said it yourself. After where she’s been? You don’t know what she’s picked up there. Brucellosis, parvo, parasites—it could be anything. I just can’t have a sick dog carrying something in here. One litter out there’s only five weeks.” Lois was absolutely right. A five-week-old puppy is horribly vulnerable to infection. But she killed my sympathy. “Besides, I’m full up. I’ve got these two litters on the ground, and I did a repeat breeding of Jim and Hank, and she’s due in a week. I’d like to take this bitch, but how can I, even if she’s healthy? I don’t have room.”
    Any breeder with no room to take back a single dog has no business breeding another litter, never mind two or three. Lois looked up and read my face.
    “Holly, like I said, you’re not a breeder. You don’t understand. I can’t have her here, but I will buy her back. I’ll take responsibility for her. I’ll pay whatever I have to, and I’ll pay the vet bills and whatever it costs to board her. You’ve got my word