The Dogfather

acceptance. A year earlier, when my relationship with Steve was in its previous incarnation, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to go out to dinner with him. Let me rephrase that. Once, long ago, back when I took Steve for granted, I’d have made no big deal of going out with him. As a dog trainer, I knew damned well that behavior was governed by its consequences. The behavior in question: my taking Steve for granted. The consequence: Steve’s marrying someone else, and not just anyone else, but Anita Fairley, an embezzler and a bitch, not that Steve knew about her criminal activities when he married her. As to her bitchiness?
    Having resolved to modify my behavior, I subjected myself to as thorough a grooming as the dogs get before a show. Dog-minded as I was and am, I respected the species differences. For example, I did not chalk my legs with cornstarch and brush it out, but I did shave my legs and even went so far as to neaten my nails, with an emery board, let me emphasize, not with Rowdy and Kimi’s orange handled clippers. I did the whole bit: applied makeup, blew my hair dry. Cambridge being Cambridge, I could’ve worn anything from old jeans and a T-shirt to a floor-length velvet dress. Cambridge is big on options. Leaving options open is the basis of the arguments that Cambridge parents use in convincing their kids to attend the local college: Once you have your Harvard degree, dear, your options will be open. What the kids don’t know is that Harvard crimson won’t wash out; like shirts sent to a laundry that uses indelible ink, Harvard students stay marked for life.
    But I’m avoiding the issue. Steve’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Anita, was incredibly beautiful and wore expensive, fashionable clothes. Feeling like a jealous teenager, I pawed through the contents of my closet. Rowdy reduced my options by snatching a black skirt and running off with it. So long as he and Kimi didn’t use it to play tug-of-war, it would survive, but it was already too thick with dog hair to wear. I settled on a gray skirt and top that were probably covered with malamute coat, but at least didn’t show it. To the best of my recollection, I’d never seen Anita in gray. Have I mentioned that she hated dogs?
    Where was I?
    The new awkwardness between Steve and me had its limits; he didn’t go so far as to make a formal appearance at the front door. When he entered the kitchen, Rowdy and Kimi did the malamute equivalent of falling all over him by wagging their entire bodies and emitting melodious, half-howled greetings, all the while fixing predatory eyes on the bouquet of delphiniums he held high above their reach.
    “You’ve done something to your hair,” he said. “You look nice.”
    “Thank you.” In case the delphiniums were inexplicably for Rita instead of me, I didn’t thank him for them. Also, I didn’t return his compliment by telling him the truth about his own appearance, which was that he looked like a combination of Mel Gibson and the young Paul Newman.
    “Aren’t delphiniums the ones you like?”
    “They’re my favorites. They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Delphiniums are toxic to dogs. So are many other ornamental plants, including, irony of ironies, holly. Luckily, Rowdy and Kimi had never shown any interest in vases of flowers.
    “Thanks for having Sammy here.”
    “My pleasure. I’m crazy about Sammy. You can leave him here whenever you want.”
    Steve smiled. “Now? He’s in my van.”
    “The puppy crate’s right here. Rowdy and Kimi can stay in the...”
    Bedroom.
    I’m going to sound like Rita, but I have to say that our precautions about maintaining distance between Sammy and the adult dogs mirrored our concern about maintaining distance from each other. The chances were good that if turned loose with little Sammy, neither Rowdy nor Kimi would’ve hurt the puppy. And just how safe together were Steve and I?
     

CHAPTER 10
     
    The dinner, and the expensive pinot noir we drank with it, induced in me an unfamiliar sense of contentment and optimism, especially about Steve. It is often said of companionable but discontented couples that the chemistry just isn’t there. With us, the chemistry always had been there and still was. Furthermore, we’d never been and obviously wouldn’t become one of those couples who disagreed about pets or fought about dogs. Dogs were, however, one of the reasons we’d never lived together. India, Steve’s shepherd—German shepherd dog—wouldn’t