Jingle Bell Bark by Laurien Berenson

outside. While I was loading up the car, she returned Henry’s key to Betty Bowen.
    â€œBetty said to convey her thanks,” Alice said as she slid in the passenger side. Pepper and Remington, placed in the storage area in the back, had clambered forward into the back seat and were now hanging their heads into the open space between Alice and me. Any minute now, we were going to find them in the front with us. “I think she was pretty relieved to get rid of them.”
    â€œI can imagine.” I reached back and tried to shoo the two dogs away. Tongues lolling, grinning like a pair of doofuses, they refused to take the hint.
    Alice cast them a glance. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me. They do look a lot happier.”
    â€œThey must have been lonely locked up inside that house,” I said. “Not to mention, I’m sure they were wondering what happened to Henry.”
    Alice and I both fell silent. I’d been so busy dealing with the two big Goldens that I hadn’t had time to stop and absorb the news of Henry’s death. Now the loss hit me all over again.
    â€œHe was a nice man.” Alice sighed. “I guess the least we can do is make sure that his dogs are okay.”
    â€œAmen to that,” I said.

    I dropped Alice off at home so she could get her car and go pick up the kids—hers and mine both—at the arts center. Then I got on the Merritt Parkway, thankfully against rush hour traffic, and drove to Greenwich where Aunt Peg lived. Briefly, I considered calling and warning her that I was on my way, but I didn’t entertain the notion long. Much as I expected my aunt to be sympathetic to the Goldens’ plight, given time to think she would no doubt come up with an alternative plan of action that would have me driving all over the state. Much better to simply show up unannounced and plead their case on the spot.
    Aunt Peg lived in backcountry Greenwich in a farmhouse on five acres of land, most of it fenced to contain her Standard Poodles. Currently she had six living in the house with her. Five of those were retired show champions. The other, Eve’s littermate, Zeke, though still in hair, was nearing that status himself.
    As always, the herd of Poodles announced my arrival the moment I turned in the driveway. The doorbell was superfluous at Aunt Peg’s house; I didn’t even bother to knock. I simply climbed the wide front steps and waited on the porch for her to come to the door. It didn’t take long.
    â€œDidn’t I just see you day before yesterday?” Aunt Peg asked by way of a greeting. “Where’s my nephew? Have you come for dinner?”
    This last was strictly a rhetorical question. Guests who hope to be fed at Aunt Peg’s house are well advised to bring the meal with them.
    Before I could answer, my aunt’s well-honed dog radar had already zeroed in on my car where Pepper and Remington were waiting. Even though it was cool out, I’d left the windows open a crack. Now both Goldens had their noses wedged into the small opening. Streams of drool ran down the glass. Obviously they weren’t too concerned about making a good first impression.
    â€œWho on earth are they?” Aunt Peg asked. Quickly, she stepped out onto the wide porch and shut the door behind her. Her Poodles, left behind in the front hall, knew immediately that something was up. They raced around to the front window to have a look.
    â€œRemington and Pepper,” I said brightly.
    â€œDo we know them?”
    â€œWe do now. Your kennel is still empty, right?”
    Aunt Peg was no dummy. She could see where this was heading.
    My aunt’s involvement with Standard Poodles had begun decades earlier, during her marriage to my Uncle Max. For much of the latter half of the twentieth century, their Cedar Crest Kennel had been a force in the breed. Their Standard Poodle champions had been contenders at shows all up and down the