Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

ANYONE NEED AN ASPIRIN?

    I t was seven-thirty when the clock radio woke me, the Beethoven sonata sounding as loud as the rap music blaring from some people’s cars as they drive around my neighborhood on Saturday nights trying to appear cool. I had slept a little over four hours.
    Martyn, bent over his notes at the far end of the breakfast table, his blond hair falling over his brow, looked more like an adolescent than an adult. I thought I’d sit quietly at the other end of the table so as not to disturb him, but when he heard me, he looked up and closed his notebook.
    “Come and join me, Rachel.” He pushed what was left of his breakfast off to the side. “It’s rather lonely down at this end. I was just writing my children. They love getting letters when I’m in the States. I don’t think it’s the letters per se they like; it’s your quirky American stamps. It’s so refreshing, the variety here. Not a queen in the lot.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that,” I said, taking a hard roll from the basket on the table and giving half to Dashiell. There was an envelope next to Martyn’s notebook, the address and two Bugs Bunny stamps already on it. “He came out, what, about a month ago.”
    “I hadn’t heard. The tabloids were too full of the latest pit bull fiasco. They have one in jail again. From the photo, I’d say he was a white boxer. The last one was a Great Dane mix, confiscated from a locked car because he wasn’t wearing a muzzle. Our breed-specific laws have created some bizarre behavior, but it’s in the humans, of course.”
    “There was a push to do that here, too, to ban pit bulls first. Then of course the list would grow. Who blows where it would stop?”
    The waiter came with a small pot of tea for me and took my order for breakfast.
    “What are you covering today?”
    ‘Temperament testing. In fact, I wonder if you’d consider letting me test Dashiell.”
    “My vicious pit bull? Sure, if you’re brave enough. Are you testing the other participants’ dogs?”
    “Yes, except for Sasha.” He sighed heavily.
    “How come?”
    He looked down at his letter, then back up at me. I expected that was all the answer he was going to give me.
    He was small, shorter than I was and skinny as capellini. Did he feel uncomfortable around large dogs? Then why had he asked to test Dashiell?
    “I think we’ll probably not test Cecilia either. She’s a lovely little thing, isn’t she? But too young for this test. I don’t think she’s one year old yet, and I don’t want to put this kind of pressure on a pup. How are you enjoying the talks, Rachel? Have you been attending all of them?”
    “Some,” I said. “Actually, parts of most.”
    “I must confess, I did duck out in the middle of Rick’s talk.” He leaned so close I could count his fillings. For just a second, I had the antic thought he was going to tell me why. “Now, of course, I’ll not have another chance to hear his theories, and I do think he had an awful lot to offer. But I wanted to get over to the gift shop at the zoo and send a little something off to Graeme and Sheila early in die week so that they’d have it by the time Daddy got home. With a new brother or sister on the way, they need some positive reinforcement of their parents’ affection, don’t you think?”
    Yeah, yeah, the zoo, a little something for Graeme and Sheila. And here I’d been thinking he’d spent tea time coming up with a little something for Cathy Powers.
    He lifted his attaché case from the floor next to his chair to the table, snapped it open, and took out two hand puppets, a butterscotch-colored lion with a big mane and a pointy-faced red fox. Slipping a hand in each, he held them up. “Brilliant, aren’t they? I must get over to the post office today, after the talk, and Express Mail them to London, even though that means missing Tracy’s little presentation. All, well. Family first.” He reached for his cup of cold coffee, took a sip, and made a face. “This was not the best time for me to be away, Rachel. I’d just gone home after several months of lecturing here, but Samantha’s done so much for me, I couldn’t very well say no to her, could I?”
    The door opened, and Beryl and Tracy walked in, Cecilia and Jeff at their sides, tongues lolling.
    “Is this a rehearsal for this morning’s talk or just something to get Rachel to eat her breakfast?” Beryl asked, taking her place at die table just as the waiter came with my