The Dogfather

screamed as loudly as if he were right here. Anthony had done a fine job of shaping her behavior. “Hey, I got to tell you, Frey’s doing awesome.”
    I smiled. “Frey is a lovely pup. I’m very proud of him.”
    “Enzio’s real happy with him.”
    Enzio? As recently as Joey’s funeral, hadn’t it been Mr. Guarini ?
    “I’m glad to hear that.” I set the crate on the floor, and next to it, a big tote bag of dog-civilizing supplies.
    “You want me go get Anthony?” Carla took a few steps toward the back of the shop. How, I can’t imagine. Her patent leather pumps had five-inch heels. The shoes were black, as were her velvet Capri pants. Like the dress she’d worn at her husband’s funeral, her frilly white blouse had a plunging neckline. Her earrings, bracelet, rings, and an ankle bracelet were gold, as was the glitter on her cheeks and eyelids.
    “No,” I said. “Let’s leave Anthony there for a few minutes. Before we get started, we need to have a little talk about our goals for Anthony. And how we’re going to go about training him.”
    “You want some coffee?” Carla asked. “I got a machine in the back. It’s real. I hate that instant shit.”
    I accepted. The machine proved to be a fancy automatic espresso maker. To my delight, Carla rapidly produced two cups of incredibly delicious cappuccino, foamed milk and all. She served it in oversized cups, real, not paper. But I’m hard to distract. Once both of us were seated behind the counter of the shop, I said, “Goals for Anthony.”
    “I hate, like I really hate, having him locked up out there,” Carla shrieked, “but I got a business to run, and I got to get him to shut up, or I can’t even answer the phone.”
    “Perfect. First goal. Anthony will learn to be quiet.”
    “And he’s got to leave the plants alone. He keeps digging stuff, I had to put it all away, and you can’t hardly run a flower shop without plants, can you? And flowers? Maybe you noticed.”
    “Now that you mention it,” I said. “But naturally you need to be able to have plants and flowers. Second goal: Anthony will not ruin the merchandise.”
    “And he don’t do nothing I say. Like take Frey. You tell him sit, he sits. But Anthony? Well, you saw what he’s like.”
    “Goal three: basic obedience. Except,” I said, “I, uh, had the impression that you didn’t particularly care about that.”
    “Well, Anthony is small,” Carla said. “It’s not like if he jumps on people, he knocks them over. And about what happened at Joey’s funeral, it’s not like Anthony goes to funerals all the time.”
    “We have a saying in dog training: If it’s not a problem for you, it’s not a problem. Anthony is your dog, and if you don’t care whether he sits, why bother teaching him?” Carla stirred her coffee and licked the foam off her spoon. At the lowest volume I’d heard her use, she said, Enzio don’t like it.”
    I bought time as she had. The coffee was wonderful. The froth was... well, frothy. As for Carla, she was young enough to be Enzio Guarini’s granddaughter. “Mr. Guarini likes a well-behaved dog. That’s true. Well, okay, we have our goals.”
    The phone rang. Carla excused herself to answer it. She listened and scribbled, then repeated the order to the caller: floral blanket to cover a casket, six vases of gladiolas, and a wreath of rosebuds. “The blanket’s going to be super,” she said. “You’ll love it. For a friend of Mr. Guarini’s, I’ll do something real special.” She then placed a phone call to order flowers. Hanging up, she said, “You ready for Anthony?”
    I said yes. I was ready, too. I like a challenge. And I’d come prepared. While Carla got Anthony, I emptied my tote bag of its contents: a size small citronella anti-bark collar, a clicker, a leash, a container of thin-sliced roast beef, a packet of my homemade liver treats, and a copy of The Irrepressible Toy Dog by Darlene Arden.
    Anthony entered the shop between Carla’s breasts. Despite the cozy traveling spot, he was screaming. Carla was screaming back at him.
    “Put him down.” I pointed to the floor in the middle of the shop.
    The look in Carla’s eye was fearful.
    “I won’t hurt him!” I hollered. Kneeling next to the little monster, I snapped on the leash, fastened the citronella collar around his neck, and stepped away. These collars are painless alternatives to bark-activated shock collars: The dog’s barking makes the collar emit a harmless