Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

her adoring fans to take any notice.
    As I walked off the stage and back to where I’d left Dashiell on a down-stay, I noticed Chip and Woody talking to trainers in the rear of the auditorium. Beryl was on her way out the door with Cecilia when I got there.
    “It’s off to the park, dear. Do you and your boy want to join me?”
    “No lunch?”
    She patted her stomach. “Too many lunches, I’m afraid. I made an awful pig of myself at breakfast as well. At my age, the metabolism doesn’t do what it used to. It hardly seems to do anything at all.
    “Throughout my twenties,” she said as we walked through the lobby, “I could drink a milk shake if I was thirsty and not gain an ounce. Now”—she rolled her eyes—“well, you can see what happens now. I’ll probably gain a pound skipping lunch and walking Cecilia in the park.”
    We crossed at the corner and walked uptown along the outside of the park until we reached an entrance. Then we turned east and headed for a grassy area where we could keep watch for the park patrol and let our dogs play off leash.
    “My Carl liked big dogs,” she said. “Bullmastiffs. I prefer the little ones, border terriers. I like their energy, the way they fling themselves into life with such enthusiasm over the least little thing.”
    We stood and watched Cecilia run, with Dashiell following behind her.
    “Although I did quite fancy Charles.”
    “Charles?”
    ‘The bullmastiff, dear.”
    “Oh.”
    ‘Then, so very suddenly, Carl was gone, and by the time I sold his practice, Charles was gone too.”
    “How did it happen?”
    “Bloat,” she said.
    “I meant Carl.”
    “Oh, I see, yes, of course you did, dear. It was his heart.“
    “So it was quick?”
    “A complete surprise. And afterward, I took our little one and went home. But you already know that part, don’t you, love? ” I nodded. “Was that when you became a dog trainer?”
    “Oh, no, Rachel. I’ve always been a dog trainer. My mother used to say that my teething ring was a feed pan. My father was a veterinarian too, and my mother bred Irish terriers, wild things they were, so full of the devil. I adored them.
    “As far back as I can recall, I was teaching the dogs, manners and commands, tricks, tracking, anything I could. I had one, Hubert, who I taught to ride a three-wheeler, clever thing. The dogs were my companions, my dearest friends. And when you learn on terriers, well, dear, you can train anything, anything at all, so while I was still quite young, eleven or twelve, neighbors began to ask me to straighten out their pets for them and paying me to do so. It was, I think, a perfect childhood.”
    “Time for leashes.” I pointed out the green truck of the park rangers, visible as it passed on the other side of the trees that grew at the edge of the grassy hill where the dogs were playing. We called them to us, hooked on the leashes, and headed for the path.
    “Hello, there.” The voice was breathless. Someone had been running. “I see I’m not the only one skipping lunch,” she said, the little pug puffing along behind her. “It’s too much food, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, dear. I was just saying that very thing to Rachel. Walking is a lot better for the waistline. Besides, no doubt Samantha has another feast set for this evening.”
    Dashiell stopped to sniff Magic’s rear and genitals, and then stood motionless, not even his tail moving, as she sniffed his, the traditional doggy handshake. When we turned onto an isolated dirt path, we let the dogs off leash again.
    “I can’t believe what’s been happening here,” Audrey said. She picked up her hank of thick, dark hair and twisted it around in her hands nervously. ‘These accidents.”
    But before Beryl or I could respond, we saw Tracy up ahead with Jeff.
    “It seems we left Samantha and Cathy with all those good-looking men,” Beryl said.
    “What’s left of them,” Audrey said. “I don’t know if I can—“
    “Of course you can, Audrey. If you don’t speak, the rest of us will have to carry an even bigger load.”
    Jeff spotted the dogs and came running, his tail wagging. Tracy turned and waved, heading our way.
    “She’s perfectly right, dear,” Beryl said. “Grace under pressure is the mark of a true professional. ‘Chin up, dear girl.’ That’s what my mother used to tell me. ‘Soldier on,’ she’d say, ‘no one wants to hear you snivel, so just get over it.’ She’d say that no matter what it was. And I