Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

excluding him from the testing. It could give the students the wrong idea. On the other hand, someone with less of a temper, and less of an ego, would have let it go, or spoken privately to Martyn.”
    “I wonder why Martyn doesn’t just apologize. Wouldn’t that be the gentlemanly thing to do?”
    “Perhaps he’s not a gentleman,” Chip said, as if he knew that to be the case. And didn’t I suspect the very same thing?
    “Enough.” Sam stood in the doorway like the principal come to discipline a class that had gotten away from its teacher. “Next time you want to play the fool, Boris, kindly let the rest of us know precisely where you’ll be performing so that we can fail to show up. And next time you pull a disappearing act, you can book your own future seminars. I was just upstairs banging on your door and was this short”—she held her thumb and pointer a half inch apart—“of calling in the police. After what’s happened this week, I’d prefer knowing where everyone is. And I’d prefer it if none of you would listen to music in the bathroom, and when you eat your meals, I hope you’ll cut your food into small pieces.” She turned and left the café, leaving the door open instead of slamming it, but the effect was the same.
    “Sam’s got a point,” I said, barely over my own pointless worry. “There’s been enough excitement this week. We need to make a real effort to get along for the next few days, and then we can agree to never lay eyes on each other again.”
    “But—”
    “No buts, Boris. First, Martyn, do you have something you’d like to say to Boris?”
    “Indeed. I apologize, Boris. You are absolutely correct that I should have tested Sasha. He’s a fine dog, well trained and with excellent Rottie temperament. I hope you will forgive me. You see, I was once bitten very badly by—”
    “Thank you,” I said. “Boris, can we get by this now?”
    “Why test pit bull and not Rottweiler?”
    “Boris?”
    “Boris accepts apology.”
    “Good. Thank you both. A few more days, people, and that’s it.”
    Tracy was at the buffet table, a plate in one hand, a glass of lemonade in the other. No one was arguing about her talk. It was as if it had never happened.
    Audrey was speaking in the afternoon. Aside from the meditation, she would talk about her psychic experiences with animals, what they had told her, and how they had revealed in their own words surprising solutions to the common problems so many dog owners face. She said she would do some readings with our animals too. I couldn’t wait. They say smiling, like sex, is good for the immune system, and Lord knows I hadn’t done enough of either lately.
    After lunch, we walked as a group into the auditorium. Audrey started with a basic chant, and so for five minutes Dashiell and I sat in the middle of a sea of noise, the energy rising with people’s voices. Some of the dogs joined in, too, howling along as their owners chanted.
    When it was over, Audrey lowered her head, her hands together as if in prayer, and remained that way for what seemed like an eternity.
    “I know that some of you find what I have to say foolish, and that some will not be able to implement these skills and ideas in order to have a better understanding of the animals you train. But I hope all of you will try to be open, to listen with your hearts as well as your ears, and to try the techniques instead of just writing them off.
    “What I would like to do today instead of telling you old stories I’ve heard over the years from the many wonderful animals I’ve met is to work with some of the dogs that are here and see if they will tell me new stories, stories of their lives with you and how they could be made better. Boris,” she said, “would you bring Sasha up front?”
    Audrey was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stage, wearing the same T-shirt and jeans she’d had on in the park this morning. I was a little disappointed that she hadn’t worn her Native-American garb, but excited that she had chosen Sasha to be a first subject. I looked around for Martyn, to see his reaction—surely this was a slap in his face, that little Audrey could work with a dog he had declined to use—but I couldn’t see his expression. He was leaning forward, and he seemed to be writing.
    Boris and Sasha were on the stage now, Boris beaming, the Rottie standing at his side.
    “I’d like Sasha to be free to say whatever it is that’s on his mind, Boris, so