Bloodlines

head toward the back of the store; and said, “Come on this way, and I’ll let you play with; her. See that door?”
    Just try missing a door marked CUDDLE SPACE. I remembered something I’d read once, something attributed to one of the head honchos of a chain of pet shops, “There are only two places you can buy love,” the guy had said. “A brothel. And a Docktor Pet Center.”
    “Could you get that for me?” Diane Sweet asked Steve, who compliantly held open the door.
    I followed Diane Sweet in. The Cuddle Space was a bright, cozy little white-painted room with red plastic-cushioned benches around the sides. Her eyes on me, not on Steve, Diane Sweet said, “Now you just play; with her as long as you want. Do you know how to hold a puppy?”
    Roger Tory Peterson, who devised the famous system of bird identification based on unique combinations of field marks—yes, the Peterson system—once went to an eye doctor who advised him to take up a hobby that would require him to focus on small objects seen from a distance. Something like, say, bird watching? I felt just like Peterson.
    “I guess so,” I said, lowering myself to the red bench.
    “Well, there’s nothing to it.” Diane Sweet’s tone was obviously intended to boost my weak sense of self-confidence. “Just hold out your arms. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” And with that, she lowered the squirming little malamute into my lap and added, “Anyone who knows how to hug can hold a puppy.”
    The Alaskan malamute is a tough breed, and this was a tough, fearless little puppy who immediately scrambled up my chest, sniffed my neck, burrowed her head, and licked. I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her soft baby coat. Against my own wishes, I lowered my head, rubbed my chin over the top of her head, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply.
    Diane Sweet addressed Steve: “Aren’t they the cutest thing you ever saw? This is the perfect picture of love.” I can’t even begin to imagine how Steve’s face looked, and I was too busy with the wiggling puppy to take a peek. Diane Sweet went on. “You know, I just have to tell you: This is a nice friendly puppy, but she’s never responded to anyone like this before.”
    Diane Sweet could have been telling the truth, of course. The puppy was nuzzling my neck and licking my hands. It’s certainly true that dogs know who loves them, and, besides that, the pup must have smelled Rowdy and Kimi.
    “She sure is cute,” I said.
    “Uh, how much is this dog?” Steve asked quietly.
    “She’s six hundred dollars. This is a show dog,” Diane Sweet said shamelessly.
    Well, look, it has happened. There are a few famous cases of pet shop puppies that went on to become and to produce AKC champions—a Maltese called Lover, the sire of the legendary “Aennchen dancers” who all went Best of Breed at Westminster—but those cases are famous because they’re rare and improbable.
    “And,” Diane Sweet assured Steve, “you’ll get the purchase price back the first time you breed her.”
    Steve cleared his throat.
    “Think it over if you want,” Diane Sweet said, “but I have to tell you that this puppy isn’t going to be here long. It’s Valentine’s week, and this is a very special puppy. We’ll get other malamutes, but I can’t guarantee you one like this.” Then her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “You know,” she advised Steve, “it would really be a shame to separate them.”
     

4
     

     
    When I got home, I forced myself to watch a videotape about which I’ll say nothing except that it showed a raid on a puppy mill in the Midwest and that the dogs on the tape included Siberian huskies, Dobermans, and Alaskan malamutes. This tape is so gruesome that I’d put Rowdy and Kimi outdoors in their fenced yard before I’d popped it into my new VCR. I won’t expose my dogs to filth. As for myself, I took the tape as a booster shot, the sharp jab I needed to protect myself from buying either the malamute puppy or the poor little Boston terrier. Fact: Puppy mills breed their bitches the first time they come in season and every six months thereafter until the age of five or six, when the litter size decreases. And then? If the bastards used needles instead of shotguns, I suppose it could be considered mercy killing.
    While the tape was rewinding, I went to the door, whistled, and called, “Rowdy! Kimi!” Then I back-stepped to avoid the dogs, who barreled up the steps, fled past