Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

pick him up. He was a cute baby, I’d give him that. Only time would tell what he’d become. I hoped like hell, in this case, nurture would win out over nature.
    Without saying a word—what was there to say?—I turned and left, going back to Sophie’s the way I’d come, the bullies pausing for only a moment before following Dashiell and me over the wall.

Chapter 35
    He Tried to Pull Me Closer

    On a crisp fall day at the end of September, two days after visiting Sophie’s class and getting petted and hugged by all her kids, Blanche kissed me good morning, ate her breakfast, and walked slowly out into the garden, lying down in a sunny patch of grass between the cottage and the main house. After a moment, I heard her cough once. When I got to where she was and knelt to stroke her head, she sighed deeply. I told her I loved her and felt her let go and disappear, as peacefully as my father must have, his blanket as smooth in the morning as it had been when he’d shut off the light.
    We buried her in that very spot and that weekend we invited Ruth, the young boy who had Sugar, the freelance editor who had her sister Snow, and Sophie’s class to come. Some of the kids read poems they’d written for her. One sang a song. Everett, the tall boy who carried a purple backpack, had brought a flat stone to mark the grave. Chip had gotten a white dogwood tree to plant there and the boys helped him dig the hole and set the tree. After that, we ordered pizza for the kids and watched them play with each other and the dogs until it was time for them to go.
    That night, the bed seemed much too big with just the two of us and Dash and Betty.
    “She waited until the case was resolved,” I said into the dark room, “and until she could say good-bye to the kids.“
    “Rach?”
    “Mmm?”
    “Do you think the baby is really a clone?”
    “I don’t know. Agoudian thinks it was a scam. He thinks Philips and that woman made the kid the old-fashioned way. I told him that was ridiculous, that Madison was crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d have the baby tested.“
    “What did Agoudian say about that?”
    “That they’d get a court order and do exactly that.“
    “Test the baby’s DNA?”
    “And Madison’s.”
    “And?”
    “Look, Chip, whether the kid’s a clone or not, it’s inevitable, like no-iron cotton, the tangelo, the Doberman pinscher, the H-bomb—one day, it’ll happen. Man is a tinkerer.”
    He tried to pull me closer but someone’s rump was in the way and someone else’s foreleg was pushing hard against my back. I closed my eyes and pictured the flat, white blossoms that would appear next spring, white like Blanche, and the words Everett had painted on that flat stone we’d pressed into the earth at the base of the tree.
    “Here lies one good dog.”
    Then, despite myself, I pictured the baby’s fat little fingers, reaching up to me as I bent over the crib.
    They’d have the results any day now, but I’d told Agoudian not to call me. This was one answer I didn’t want.

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    A former detective and noted dog trainer, CAROL LEA BENJAMIN is the author of several books on canine behavior and training, as well as eight Rachel Alexander and Dash novels. She was recently honored by the International Association of Canine Professionals with her election to their Hall of Fame. Ms. Benjamin lives in Greenwich Village with her husband, Stephen Lennard, and their dogs, Dexter, Flash, and Peep. You can visit her website at www. CarolLeaBenjamin.com.