called a groom’s cake. Usually it’s something the groom likes, you know, like a football, or Star Wars movies characters. The exact opposite of a frilly wedding cake.”
Juniper poked at her turkey stuffing. “This was out for hours. How do I know I won’t get food poisoning?”
Glory ignored that, having seen by now it was just Juniper’s way to complain. “I’d love to hear your thoughts. If I do start having weddings here—”
Juniper let the fork clatter onto her plate. The noise startled Glory, and she sat up straight, the icepack falling from her grip. She reached down to pick it up and her head throbbed. “What’s the matter?”
“Stop making conversation, okay? You don’t care what I think. In twelve hours I’ll be gone and you can do whatever you want with your stupid cakes and the—weddings.”
The pause felt worse than the omitted curse word. “You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom,” Glory said, standing up, suddenly weary of this girl’s hormones or history that made her so prickly. “Will you be all right by yourself for a while? I have to see to the dogs.”
Glory let Dodge and Cadillac out for a quick run around the property and hoped the night air would clear her pounding head. The dogs were trained to relieve themselves in a corner of yard nearest the trash cans, and they headed to that patch of dirt first. Glory gave them a few minutes, then followed with the shovel to clean up. The dogs ran down the driveway, past the empty mailbox and the grazing goats behind the fence. On their return circuit, Dodge leaped for attention and hit Glory in the back of the knees so squarely that she almost fell down. “Off,” she said, wondering if he had the slightest idea what the command meant. When Dodge barked at Nathan and Nanny, who Glory hoped would soon get pregnant, Cadillac went into gear, nipping at Dodge’s heels and herding him away from the fence. Caddy had the poor dog spinning in circles in no time. Since Dan’s death, the border collie seemed to live with one eye open, desperate to keep everything in line. It made Glory tired just to think of it. One day off from their usual schedule—training at three, walk at four, dinner at five—and Dodge was jumping up on humans and barking that horrible, supersonic cattle-dog bark of his that had landed him at the animal shelter in the first place.
Glory caught his collar and gave him a quick, reassuring neck rub before letting him go. “You know,” she told him, “I prefer the comfort of a schedule, too.”
Some of her past rescues had separation anxiety, a difficult behavior to correct. Others, like Dodge, were so desperate for affection they’d dig under fences just to be near you. They destroyed doors and patio furniture. Some took longer to tell you their stories. Cadillac was a mystery sewn inside a silky black-and-white coat that felt wonderful to brush. The collie needed two walks a day. He guarded the horses when they went into the barn looking for dinner. He had his not-so-shining moments, too. He nipped the mailman. When he tried to herd a UPS driver, Glory had to haul him away on leash. On bad days it took an hour of playing Frisbee and the agility-course training obstacles she had set up in the pasture to wear him out. If she shut him in his kennel, he sat on top of his Craftsman-style (Dan did nothing halfway) doghouse, but never actually went inside it.
Cadillac’s favorite activity was moving the goats around. He climbed trees like a cat. All gates had to have top and bottom latches because it never took him longer than a day to figure them out. He loved learning new tricks and remembered a new voice command after only hearing it once. Glory had listened to an animal behaviorist on NPR say that you could buy your border collie a squeaky toy or you could buy him a herd of sheep. When Cadillac got that look in his eye that signaled “I’m bored,” she understood why he’d been left at the shelter. The
Juniper poked at her turkey stuffing. “This was out for hours. How do I know I won’t get food poisoning?”
Glory ignored that, having seen by now it was just Juniper’s way to complain. “I’d love to hear your thoughts. If I do start having weddings here—”
Juniper let the fork clatter onto her plate. The noise startled Glory, and she sat up straight, the icepack falling from her grip. She reached down to pick it up and her head throbbed. “What’s the matter?”
“Stop making conversation, okay? You don’t care what I think. In twelve hours I’ll be gone and you can do whatever you want with your stupid cakes and the—weddings.”
The pause felt worse than the omitted curse word. “You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom,” Glory said, standing up, suddenly weary of this girl’s hormones or history that made her so prickly. “Will you be all right by yourself for a while? I have to see to the dogs.”
Glory let Dodge and Cadillac out for a quick run around the property and hoped the night air would clear her pounding head. The dogs were trained to relieve themselves in a corner of yard nearest the trash cans, and they headed to that patch of dirt first. Glory gave them a few minutes, then followed with the shovel to clean up. The dogs ran down the driveway, past the empty mailbox and the grazing goats behind the fence. On their return circuit, Dodge leaped for attention and hit Glory in the back of the knees so squarely that she almost fell down. “Off,” she said, wondering if he had the slightest idea what the command meant. When Dodge barked at Nathan and Nanny, who Glory hoped would soon get pregnant, Cadillac went into gear, nipping at Dodge’s heels and herding him away from the fence. Caddy had the poor dog spinning in circles in no time. Since Dan’s death, the border collie seemed to live with one eye open, desperate to keep everything in line. It made Glory tired just to think of it. One day off from their usual schedule—training at three, walk at four, dinner at five—and Dodge was jumping up on humans and barking that horrible, supersonic cattle-dog bark of his that had landed him at the animal shelter in the first place.
Glory caught his collar and gave him a quick, reassuring neck rub before letting him go. “You know,” she told him, “I prefer the comfort of a schedule, too.”
Some of her past rescues had separation anxiety, a difficult behavior to correct. Others, like Dodge, were so desperate for affection they’d dig under fences just to be near you. They destroyed doors and patio furniture. Some took longer to tell you their stories. Cadillac was a mystery sewn inside a silky black-and-white coat that felt wonderful to brush. The collie needed two walks a day. He guarded the horses when they went into the barn looking for dinner. He had his not-so-shining moments, too. He nipped the mailman. When he tried to herd a UPS driver, Glory had to haul him away on leash. On bad days it took an hour of playing Frisbee and the agility-course training obstacles she had set up in the pasture to wear him out. If she shut him in his kennel, he sat on top of his Craftsman-style (Dan did nothing halfway) doghouse, but never actually went inside it.
Cadillac’s favorite activity was moving the goats around. He climbed trees like a cat. All gates had to have top and bottom latches because it never took him longer than a day to figure them out. He loved learning new tricks and remembered a new voice command after only hearing it once. Glory had listened to an animal behaviorist on NPR say that you could buy your border collie a squeaky toy or you could buy him a herd of sheep. When Cadillac got that look in his eye that signaled “I’m bored,” she understood why he’d been left at the shelter. The
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