Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Page 2

  When I’d only seen Tar at dog shows and at Sam’s house, his limitations hadn’t been that obvious. But now that I lived with him full-time and dealt with him on a daily basis, it was hard not to compare him with his more intellectually endowed peers. And to see that he came up short.

  “Tar is very sweet,” I said slowly. I knew how I’d feel if someone insulted one of my Poodles, so I chose my words carefully. “But I’m not sure that obedience would necessarily be the right option for him.”

  “I’m not saying he would be a star,” Sam said. “But taking a few lessons might teach him how to deal with new things. You know, he could learn how to learn.”

  “Or how to think,” said Davey, shaking his head. “Because that is one dumb dog.”

  So much for not insulting the new family members.

  To my relief, Sam chuckled. “I wondered how long it would take you two to notice. I don’t know when was the last time I had a Poodle that was so lacking in brain power.” His hand waved in the direction of Raven and Casey, his older females. “Those two know everything. If you told them to cook you breakfast in the morning, they’d ask how you wanted your eggs. But Tar…well, what can I say? Everyday he wakes up to a whole new adventure, because nothing he learned the day before ever seems to stick.”

  Hearing his name, Tar lifted his head. His weight shifted, and his leg moved. His sodden foot slipped off the rim of the water bowl and landed on the floor with a soggy thump. Cold water splashed up onto his close-clipped hindquarter. Expression quizzical, clearly confused, Tar turned to see what had caused the spray.

  “I don’t think obedience would help,” I said.

  “Maybe agility,” Sam mused.

  The thought made me laugh. “I’ve seen Tar get lost coming down the stairs. And twice so far, I’ve had to untangle him from Davey’s swing set. Something as fast-paced as agility would probably send him into shock.”

  “You’re probably right,” Sam admitted. “I bet Faith would be good at it, though.”

  “Don’t even start,” I said. “I just had this conversation with Aunt Peg—”

  Abruptly, Tar leapt to his feet. He crossed the kitchen in a single, athletic bound, barking ferociously as his front paws slammed against the back door hard enough to make the glass rattle. Immediately, the other Poodles were up and on alert. Their outraged voices joined his. I spun in my seat and looked to see what had caught their attention.

  The Poodles had all been out in the fenced backyard earlier; the outside lights were still on. Silhouetted in their glow, a large orange cat was clearly visible through the window above the sink. He must have been standing balanced on the windowsill; his yellow eyes calmly scanned the room.

  Tar was a mere few feet away, barking so hard now that the effort bounced him up and down on his hind feet. The cat cocked his head in Tar’s direction but didn’t retreat. The Poodles’ raucous ire at his invasion of their space didn’t seem to faze him one bit. His fluffy tail lifted high in the air and swung slowly from side to side. A gesture of disdain if ever I’d seen one.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat,” said Sam.

  “I don’t. He must belong to one of the neighbors, though I’ve never seen him around here before.”

  “You’d think a cat would have more sense than to come here,” said Davey. “This place is like Dog Central.”

  “Maybe he’s lost,” Sam said.

  I looked again and the cat was gone. Now that he’d removed himself from their sight, the Poodles quieted. They were beginning to look rather sheepish about their outburst. I stood up, walked over, and peered out the window. The cat had disappeared.

  “Wherever he came from, he’s gone now,” I said. “And speaking of which, Faith and I have to go, too.”

  “Go ahead,” said Sam. “Davey and I will clean up. Then after that, we’ll hit the books.”

  He made it all seem so simple, I thought as I dug out Faith’s choke chain and leather leash. No need to arrange for a babysitter. Or worry that if I took Davey to class with me, his homework wouldn’t get done. Marriage might not be the easiest thing I’d ever done, but it definitely had its perks.

  2

  According to the brochure I’d picked up at the New Canaan YMCA, Steve Barton had started the South Avenue Obedience Club in his backyard. A longtime competitor in obedience trials, he’d become frustrated and ultimately outraged by the number of pet dogs that routinely ran free through his suburban neighborhood. Eventually, he’d come up with the idea of holding beginner obedience lessons once a week for anyone on his block who cared to attend.

  Over time, the classes’ popularity had grown, and as of the previous year, Steve’s lessons were offered under the guise of adult education and held in the basement of the YMCA. Beginners went on Tuesday nights. The advanced sessions, in which Faith and I were to take part, were held on Thursdays.

  For seven o’clock on a weekday night, the parking lot of the Y was surprisingly full. Faith was sitting beside me on the front seat as I pulled in and parked. The big Poodle was accustomed to going places with me, but Eve usually came with us, too. I could tell that Faith was excited by the prospect of an outing where she would have my undivided attention.

  I twisted in my seat and slipped the choke collar over her head, placing it so that when Faith was on my left side, as she’d be for most of the obedience lessons, it would release quickly and correctly. Faith stood up on the seat and shook her head experimentally. The collar rattled around her neck, then settled back into place, nestled into the thick hair beneath her ears.

  Poodles that are being shown never wear collars except when they’re in the ring, because the constant friction causes the oh-so-important mane hair to mat and rub away. Faith had been retired for more than a year, and I’d long since clipped off the elaborate continental trim she’d worn to attain her championship. But somehow I’d never gotten around to putting a collar on her. As the Poodle dipped, then raised her head, flipping the choke chain into place once more, I knew she was wondering what was up.

  The parking lot was well lit, and I could see several people taking their dogs for one last walk on the stretch of grass that wrapped around three sides of the building. A Doberman Pinscher, a Cairn Terrier, and a Papillon all walked sedately at the ends of their leashes, sniffing the ground as they looked for a likely spot, but still keeping one eye trained on their owners. Each ignored the distraction caused by the other dogs. I snapped the six-foot leather leash to the ring on the end of Faith’s collar and got out to join them.

  The three dog owners, two women and a man, had been talking among themselves. As we approached, their gazes shifted in our direction. Being dog people, they looked at Faith first, appraising her quickly before lifting their eyes to me.

  “You must be the newbie,” said the woman holding the black-and-tan Doberman. She looked every bit as sleek and strong as her dog. Leash already in her left hand, she extended her right for me to shake. “I’m Julie Hyland. Jack, sit.”

  Immediately, the Doberman’s hindquarter sank to the ground. He stared at Faith curiously. She stared right back. I placed myself between them and shook Julie’s hand.

  “Melanie Travis,” I said. “And this is Faith. How did you know I was new?”

  “Steve told us we’d be adding a Poodle to the group,” said the man with the Cairn. His smile revealed a small gap between his front teeth. “And your girl certainly fits the bill. I’m Mark Terry. Nice to meet you.” His terrier sauntered over to touch noses with Faith. We all watched until both dogs wagged their tails.

  “Don’t forget us,” said the third member of the group. She was fortyish, plump, and had blond hair that was fading to gray. Despite her words, she didn’t look like the kind of person who would allow herself to be overlooked for long. “I’m Stacey. I won’t even bother giving you my last name. You’ll meet so many new people tonight you’ll never remember them all anyway. And this is Bubbles.”

  I almost laughed but caught mysel
f just in time.

  Stacey nodded at my reaction as if she’d seen it before. “I know, the name’s entirely lacking in dignity, even for a small dog. But Bubbles was a rescue, and that’s what she came with. After all she’d been through, I figured the least I could do was let her keep her own name.”

  The Papillon cocked her head to one side and gazed up at us. Her ears, large for her size and covered in long, silky hair, flicked back and forth. “You hear your name, don’t you?” Stacey cooed, pursing her lips and making kissing sounds. “What a little sweetheart you are. How anyone could have been so cruel as to abandon you by the side of the road—”

  “Maybe you’ll have time to tell Melanie the story later,” Julie broke in, sounding exasperated. “But now, if we don’t get moving, we’re going to be late for class.”

  “Oh, right. Of course. Wouldn’t want to be late, would we?” Stacey leaned over and scooped Bubbles up into her arms, then hurried toward the back door of the Y.

  “She means well,” Mark said as the three of us followed more slowly. “And Stacey couldn’t be nicer to her dogs. But she does tend to talk.”

  “A lot,” Julie added. I saw that Jack had automatically taken up a heeling position beside her left leg. “In fact, if there’s anything you want to know about our little group, just ask Stacey. I’m sure she’ll be happy to tell you everything.”

  Julie, I noticed, didn’t sound entirely pleased about that.

  “Maybe you can tell me one thing. When I signed up for these classes, I was told that the first session was going to be held tonight. Yet now I get the impression that all of you already know each other and have been doing this together for a while. Am I starting in the middle?”

  “That’s the thing about Steve’s obedience club,” said Mark. “Once you’ve graduated from the beginner session, the classes just sort of run continuously. There’s no real beginning.”

  “And no end either,” Julie said with a smile. “We tease Steve about that all the time. There’s a core group of us—diehards, I guess you might say. Or maybe fanatics. We just keep coming back week after week. Nobody even keeps track of whether we’re starting another session or not. It’s all the same to us. All I know is, if it’s Thursday night, Jack and I are at class.”

  “But…” I sputtered, glancing down at the impeccably behaved Doberman. “What happens when you run out of things to teach him?”

  “Hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it never will. Jack got his C.D. last year, and his C.D.X. six months ago. He won all three of his Open classes and was High in Trial twice. Now we’re training toward his Utility Dog degree. I won’t compete him, though, until he’s perfect. In the meantime, we come here every week and sharpen up his skills.”

  “And to make the rest of us insanely jealous,” said Mark.

  In contrast to Jack, Mark’s short-legged Cairn wasn’t practicing his obedience at all. Instead, the smaller dog’s nose was still to the ground, his thoughts clearly centered on the enticing smells in the yard. Every so often he’d stop walking to sniff at something, and Mark would have to snap the leash to get his attention.

  “Reggie, behave!” he said with exasperation on the third such occasion. Unrepentant, the little terrier simply lifted his head and scurried to catch up.

  “How long have you been coming to class?” I asked.

  “At least as long as those two.” Mark nodded toward Julie and Jack. “Quite possibly longer. Actually, I think I’m in denial about the whole thing. I’ve simply blocked the timetable from memory.”

  “And is Reggie progressing?”

  “In a manner of speaking. At least he has his C.D. now, though it took us nearly a dozen tries and we just squeaked through by the skin of our teeth.” Mark lowered his voice and added confidentially, “Training a terrier is different, you know. It’s not anything like working with a Dobie or a Poodle.”

  “That’s what Mark would like you to believe anyway,” said Julie. She’d reached the door and pulled it open. “Another way of looking at things is that some of us are more dedicated trainers than others.”

  “True.” Mark’s tone suddenly had a sharper edge. “Because some of us have lives and jobs and families to attend to. Our entire existence doesn’t revolve around our dogs.”

  I’d expected Julie to be offended by the comment, possibly even insulted. I hadn’t expected her to laugh.

  But that’s exactly what she did as she held the heavy door and ushered us in ahead of her. “Welcome to obedience class,” she said.

  Faith and I followed Mark and Reggie down the narrow hallway, with Jack and Julie bringing up the rear. A door at the end of the hall stood open and I could hear the babble of conversation from within. As we passed through the doorway into a large, brightly lit room, Mark and Julie were already shrugging out of their jackets. A row of metal chairs lined the wall nearest the door. When the other two threw their coats onto a pile that had already been started there, I pulled mine off and followed suit.

  Julie immediately headed for a group of people and dogs clustered on the mats in the middle of the room. I hung back for a minute. I supposed I ought to find Steve Barton and check in, but while I’d been expecting an introductory session that would explain the goals of the course and what would be expected from us, everyone else already seemed to know what they were doing.

  I jumped slightly as Mark came up behind me and placed a hand on my elbow. “That’s Steve over there,” he said, pointing to a man standing off in a corner, talking to a woman who was unpacking a set of scent articles from a canvas bag. I was too far away to hear what the two of them were discussing, but the Standard Schnauzer sitting at the woman’s side was watching their conversation with rapt attention. His ears were pricked, and his head swiveled back and forth between them as they spoke.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll go introduce myself.”

  Faith followed me across the room, her feet padding softly on the rubber mats that had been spread across the floor to give the dogs traction. The Poodle had been to numerous dog shows and knew how to conduct herself in company. But although she kept one eye on me at all times, I could tell she was fascinated by all the new and different dogs, many of which were romping together at the end of their leashes as their owners waited for class to begin.

  We were still a good ten feet from the pair in the corner when the sound of Steve’s raised voice reached me. Faith, I imagined, had heard him even sooner. “I said no, Minerva, and that’s final,” he was saying. “This is my class and my decision. I’ll run things the way I see fit.”

  “Then maybe I should think about finding a different class—” the woman retorted. But when the Schnauzer pressed up against her leg turned to watch Faith approach, she looked around as well. Her features were attractive, but the sour expression on her face lessened their appeal. Her mouth snapped shut in an angry line. She glared at Steve as he left her side and came to greet me.

  “You must be Melanie.” Steve held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  I offered my hand and it was shaken firmly and released. Everything about Steve Barton, from his close-cropped brown hair to his stiffly erect bearing to the fine crease in his khaki pants, made me think of the military. All at once, I found myself wondering if I’d signed Faith up for the canine equivalent of boot camp. I knew that obedience was an exacting discipline, made up of exercises where seconds and inches counted, but I’d joined the class hoping that Faith and I would have fun learning something new. If Steve’s discussion with the Schnauzer woman was indicative of the way he ran things in general, we might not last any longer than the first session.

  “Don’t mind Minerva,” Steve said. “She tends to get a little pissy when things aren’t going exactly her way.”

  The woman dropped the canvas bag onto one of the chairs and brushed past us. My eyes followed her as she joined the group in the middle of the room.

  “I hope there isn’t a problem?”

  Steve barked out a laugh. �
��Where she’s concerned, there’s always a problem. But, please, don’t let that ruin things for you. Other than Minerva, we’re a generally happy bunch. The rest of us, including Coach, have learned to cope with her little tantrums, I’m sure you will, too.”

  “Coach?”

  “Sorry, I forgot you weren’t introduced. Coach is the Schnauzer, Minerva’s near constant companion, and the soul of patience if you ask me.”

  “I met some of the other participants on my way in,” I said. “Stacey, Mark, and Julie?”

  “Good people. They’ve all been with me a while.”

  “So I gathered. I hadn’t expected that. I thought everyone else would be just starting out like I am.”

  Steve shook his head. “Maybe I should have explained things better when we spoke on the phone. For most people who are into dog training, it’s a real avocation. A hobby, of course, but also much more. You’ll see, it can be almost kind of addictive. You start out thinking maybe you’ll put a C.D. on a dog, and next thing you know that’s done and you had some fun, so a C.D.X. begins to look like a workable goal. Many of the people you’ll meet tonight have been coming to my classes for several years. Some aim for higher degrees and better scores. Others just keep starting new dogs and working them through the system.”

  The more he spoke, the more out of place I began to feel. I’d never put an obedience degree on any dog. As a matter of fact, I’d never even devoted much time to watching the obedience dogs at the shows. And what little training Faith had had couldn’t begin to compare with the structured discipline her classmates would have been expected to adhere to.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” I said. “Faith and I don’t know any of this stuff. We’re just starting out. I’m sure we must be in the wrong place.”