Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

oil for essential fatty acids, vitamin E for a healthy coat and its antioxidant benefits, glucosamine and condroitin sulfate to help maintain and rebuild healthy joints, raw chicken, kelp—”
    “And chard.”
    “For calcium.”
    “So homes for two bullies. The young one should be pretty easy. Blanche is going to be tough, though. She’s how old?”
    “You’re way ahead of me, Chip. I can’t place the animals until I’m sure that’s necessary. Anyway, I said taking care of the animals was the very least I could do. Doing the least is not my intention.”
    I put the sliced chard in a pile and began to cut in the other direction.
    “I’m going to do what Sophie asked me to do. Actually, that's the least I can do and live with myself. Sophie was concerned that Side by Side is cloning dogs that will not work as expected for their disabled owners and I’m going to do my best to find them and tell them that. I’m going to start by listening to the tapes again, see if there’s anything I missed when I took notes. Tomorrow, after acupuncture, I’ll go over to The School for the Deaf and see if I can talk to anyone who was close to Sophie. I know there’s one person she was tight with, the receptionist. Then as soon as the police release the apartment, I’ll stay there for a day or two so that I can take care of the girls in their own home and while I’m there, I’ll check all Sophie’s papers, bills, notes—whatever I can find. I have to see if she made arrangements for the dogs or if there are any relatives who might take them.”
    “Do you need my help with anything?”
    “Maybe later, if I have to find the dogs a new home.” I measured the cod-liver oil and dumped it into the bowl. “Chip?”
    “I’m here.”
    “I wonder if it’s the food.”
    “If what is?”
    “Blanche. She’s eleven and a half and still working. I thought service dogs retired by nine at the latest.“
    “Apparently Sophie didn’t know that.”
    “And neither did Blanche.”
    She was sleeping on the couch, her face pressed into one of the pillows. It didn’t look like much to most people, trotting along beside Sophie or sleeping under her desk while her mistress taught, but she’d taken on the responsibility of trying to keep Sophie from having seizures, and no matter what it looked like, it was a big job for a dog of any age.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I whispered into the phone.
    “Rachel—”
    “I love you,” I told him. “Everything will be okay”
    But looking at the old dog on my couch, I had trouble believing it would. What would become of her now that the rug had been pulled out from under her for the second time in her life?
    I finished chopping the vegetables and mixed everything together, noticing how bright the colors were—the orange of the carrots, the deep green of the leaf and cherry-red rib of the chard, the yellow skin of the squash against its firm, pale flesh, and the paper-thin seeds, slippery to the touch and nearly as hard to pick up as a drop of water. When it was all blended together, I checked the list Mel had written out for me. I added a dollop of yogurt, the digestive enzymes, and kelp, putting the bowl down for Blanche, calling her to come and eat. I thought she might ignore me, or come and sniff at the food, then walk away. But she picked her head up from where she lay on the couch and began to slip down to the floor, front legs first, the hind legs oozing slowly afterward, rubbing against the couch as she left it. She trotted right over to her bowl and, legs wide, as if she was protecting her meal from competitors—and perhaps she was—she ate ravenously, not stopping until the bowl looked as if it had never been used.
    When I began to fill a bowl with kibble for Dash, I couldn’t help noticing that Blanche’s meal had smelled like food and his did not. I might as well have been giving my own dog a bowl of pricey cardboard. I dumped the kibble back into the bag and began all over again, grinding carrots for Dashiell this time.
    He looked up at me, hopeful, his tail wagging horizontally. As soon as I put the bowl down, he wolfed down every fresh, crunchy morsel. As I cleaned up, I could hear the sound of the bowl smacking hard against the kitchen wall as he made sure there was nothing edible left in it.
    I thought I’d let the dogs out into the garden, wash a couple of raw carrots for myself, go up to my office to listen to the tapes I’d made, and try to figure out