Paws before dying

think it’s worth the risk of the general anesthetic.” Ready for a historic first? I swear, it was the first time I’d even considered this question, never mind actually uttered it, and the words felt stranger in my mouth than the lingering taste of wax: “Um, why are we talking about dogs?”
    It might have been a first for me, but not for her. “My son is a veterinarian.”
    And does he always ask his patients about their owners teeth? But I didn’t say it. “Oh, what’s his name? I have a good friend who’s a vet.”
    “Don,” she said.
    “Zager?”
    She nodded.
    “Is he around here?”
    “Newtonville,” she said. “On Washington Street.”
    On my way home, I took a slight detour to satisfy my curiosity. Not far from the corner of Walnut Street was a shabby two-story house with a curtained storefront and a fresh white shingle that showed a stylized outline of a Scottie and the name Donald M. Zager, D.V.M. The dumpy faded building had a view of the section of the Mass. Pike that has a Star Market built over it. It reminded me of something Rose Engleman had said, that Newton isn’t the way people think it is. As I know from Steve, who hates the business part of being a vet, even someone with great credentials and an endearing whelping-box manner has to remember that owners care about appearances even if the patients don’t. Donald Zager’s clinic looked like a place you’d go to have your palm read or your cards done, not somewhere you’d want your dog neutered or your cat defleaed.
     

Chapter 11

     
    “JUST give it back,” Jeff was telling Leah when I walked in. His tone was reasonable, but his expression was hurt and sullen. The humidity had made deep-golden ringlets of his hair. He looked like a gawky, pissed-off Renaissance angel.
    Leah’s hair was meticulously French-braided in cornrows and plaits, but an aura of tendrils had escaped. Her eyes were pleased, her mouth stubborn.
    “No,” she said forcefully. “Why should I?”
    One of them might at least have said hello to me. I flashed them a post dental-hygienic smile, anyway.
    Jeff nodded to me and mumbled. He looked abashed. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “See ya.”
    “So what’s this about?” I asked Leah when the door closed behind him. She was standing mule-like in the middle of the kitchen. “Or maybe it’s none of my business.”
    “Nothing,” she said. He’s just making... Forget it.”
    “Oh, damn. He noticed the roses.”
    “Not exactly.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Not the roses. It was something else.”
    “Willie, uh, sent something else?”
    “Brought it.”
    I looked around the kitchen, but there weren’t any flowers.
    "Well, what was it? And what is he giving you stuff for? He practically doesn’t even know you.”
    “So?”
    “So what is it?”
    She produced what used to be called a boom box—I’m not sure what the right word is now—a supersize combination radio, tape, and CD player with a few dozen dials and lights and big detachable speakers, the kind of contraption that runs through ten D batteries every few hours. It was even bigger than the one she had and much flashier.
    “It looks like the one in that Spike Lee movie,” I said. “You know, the one that kid carries around. And then it gets kicked in.”
    “Wait’ll you hear it!”
    “When I walked in, Jeff was telling you to give it back.”
    She smiled and made a face.
    “I hate to tell you,” I said, “but the fact is, you do have to give it back. Tough, but there you have it.”
    When malamutes decide they don’t want to do something, they plant their feet, brace their legs, and imitate the Central Park statue of Balto, the canine hero of the 1925 Great Serum Run that saved Nome from diphtheria. I wasn’t sure whether Leah was imitating the statue of Balto or imitating Kimi and Rowdy’s imitation, but she locked her knees and elbows, clenched her jaw, and froze that way.
    “The best thing would be,” I went on, “if you call him and explain. You don’t have to be rude or anything. All you do is say you can’t take such a big present. I know you think it’s wonderful and you want to keep it. But you can’t.”
    “That is not fair! And what’s he supposed to...?”
    “Leah, he didn’t know any better, that’s all. Among other things, it’s no favor to him to let him think this is just sort of the way it’s done, because it isn’t. You can ask Rita if you want. Or we can try to call your parents. Or