Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

has to go precisely where—”
    “Sometimes it’s not up to the trainer,” Chip said, clearly annoyed. “Sometimes the dog’s method is the dog’s method. What you need to do is—”
    “What you need is this,” Alan said. He’d slipped the remote from the holster on his belt and was pointing it at Chip as if he were an errant dog in need of a correction. Or a TV whose channel needed changing. “This is what makes all the difference, gets the dog to keep his mind on his work, get to the victim as quickly as possible. I bet you that—”
    “Don’t bet nothing, you’ll be sorry if you do,” Boris said. “Because you’ll not only lose your money, you’ll lose expression, too.”
    “Face, Boris, face,” Alan said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been here how many years? Ten? Twenty? Isn’t it time you mastered the language?”
    Bucky sat back, puffing on his cigar, stroking Angelo, who was on his lap. He seemed to be enjoying himself, one of those people who thrived on conflict.
    “I’ve found that dogs are really getting mental pictures from the victims and that they—”
    “Half the time they’re dead, Audrey,” Alan shouted at her. “You think they’re sending mental pictures after they’ve died? Or after they’ve been eaten by a bear? When I was living out in Montana, we had to try to locate a guy who’d gone missing eight months earlier. We were in the mountains for five days, looking for something that would let his wife sell his business and go on with her fife. Finally, we found it. She had him declared dead on the basis of a belt buckle. It was all that was left. Sending pictures!”
    “Ladies, gentlemen,” Woody said, standing up to make sure he had our attention. “We’re all here to teach and learn. Couldn’t we—”
    “ Learn ?” Alan sneered. “From whom? A psychic? Duh.“
    „From each other,” Sam said, glancing quickly over at me, as if to say, See? then looking back at Alan. She was standing in the doorway and had probably heard the “discussion” from down the hall. “Wasn’t that one of the appeals of doing this?”
    “You’ll learn from die students too,” Woody said, “if you listen to their concerns and their questions.”
    “They won’t have anything to teach us about tracking, because they won’t be present,” Alan said in disgust, “and tracking is what we are discussing, isn’t it? I wish the rest of you could stay on the track Cutesy-poo pet owners coming to this mistake are going to illuminate professionals on a subject they know nothing about? Get real,” he said, shaking his head.
    “You really are an ignoramus, aren’t you?” Bucky said. “I’ve been trying like hell to understand why anyone in his right mind would choose a method as unnecessary and inhumane as the one you use and promote when dogs are so willing to learn and work, and now I know. You’re just plain stupid.”
    “Maybe you’d understand better if I did a reading on Beau,” Audrey said to Alan. “I can tell you already, he has a lot he wants to share with you, but he’s been afraid to try.”
    With that, Alan turned to Cathy Powers, at his left, and repeated what Audrey had just said, using a high, squeaky voice that was meant to imitate hers, his arms up, his wrists limp.
    “Maybe you’d understand better,” he said, “if I did a reading on Beau,” he began, exaggerating for emphasis.
    Cathy didn’t know where to look.
    “I can tell you already,” Alan squeaked, grimacing as he spoke, “he has a lot he wants to share with you.” He stopped and turned toward Audrey, who was holding Magic up on her shoulder as if the pug were a baby in need of a burp. “Give me a break, Pocahontas. You may fool the naive pet owner with that mumbo jumbo, in fact I hear you do pretty well for yourself, but here? Please.”
    “It’s not necessary to get so personal, folks,” Chip said, getting up to leave.
    “Good idea,” Woody said, “why don’t we call it a night?”
    “Yeah,” Alan said, “we have a whole week to become mortal enemies.”
    “Oh dear,” Beryl said. She was still holding my arm and now began to tug me toward the doorway.
    Once more I heard Alan committing a cardinal offense. This time it was Betty he was maligning, just as Chip was leaving with her. “Isn’t she tall for a shepherd?” he asked no one in particular, just loud enough so that he would be sure everyone heard him. “I’ve had enough. Haven’t you?” Beryl asked.
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