his eyes snapped shut.
Then she noticed the faucet. A steady trickle of water dripped from the kitchen sink, almost as if someone had nudged the handle. And there were fresh nose prints on the window behind the sink. And wet paw prints on the countertop.
“Aha!” she cried, pointing at the sink. “You are so busted.”
Linus remained immobile, but started to snore in a very dramatic and unconvincing fashion.
“Give it up. You’re not fooling anyone. You’re totally hale and hearty, and I have the blood work to prove it. On your feet, private. We’re going for a walk.”
She gated the other dogs in the kitchen, put Linus on a leash, and led him out the front door. At first, he dragged along behind her with his head hung low and his tail curled under, but by the time they’d circled the block, he started to show signs of life. His gait picked up, he turned to look at the kids playing in driveways, and he began sniffing signposts and mailboxes.
Once he’d cheered up enough to snatch a stick lying by the curb and wave it around in his jaws, Lara decided to hold a mini training session, just to gauge his potential and intellect.
Ten minutes later, Linus could sit on command and was well on his way to staying. Evan had been right—Linus was kind of dumb, which could actually be an asset, from a trainer’s point of view. He didn’t try to defy her or anticipate her next move. He just stared at her, his brow furrowed and his black eyes bright with concentration as he devoted all his brainpower to figuring out what she wanted. Lara felt the kind of high she imagined a shopaholic might get upon discovering the very last designer dress in her size tucked away at the back of the clearance rack.
This dog was a treasure. This dog was a bargain. This dog was going to be the type of companion that would forever set the benchmark for some lucky family. All their future pets would be compared to Linus—and would probably come up lacking.
“Good boy.” She patted his head and broke into a slow jog. “Ready to go home? You can take another five-hour nap if you want.”
Halfway home, her cell phone rang and her father’s name flashed across the screen.
“Hey, La-la.” She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “How’s my girl?”
Lara hesitated for a moment, gathering her defenses. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her father; the problem was that she always did want to talk to him, no matter how long it had been since their last conversation, or how much had happened. She never, ever learned. “Fine,” she answered. “Thanks for the vacuum.”
“It’s the least I could do. The sales guy said it’s the top of the line, the best for picking up pet hair.” He sounded sheepish. “And I had a year or two to make up for, right?”
“I’m a grown woman, Dad. I don’t expect anyone to make a big deal about my birthday.”
“Hang on. You’re telling me you don’t want me to buy you a pony?”
They both laughed, remembering the summer that Justine had signed Lara up for equestrian camp, despite Lara’s protests. Justine had insisted that girls “of a certain background” needed to be comfortable with the English style of riding, while twelve-year-old Lara had maintained that horses were boring and the girls at horse camp would haze her mercilessly. Gil had stepped in at the last minute, allowing Lara to spend the weekend before camp at his house. On Sunday evening, he convinced Justine that Lara had come down with a stomach bug and needed to rest and recover. Father and daughter spent the entire week playing video games and splashing in the pool. That had been one of the happiest times of Lara’s childhood—unstructured, uninterrupted time with a parent who didn’t constantly demand that she look and behave like someone better than her true self.
She assured her father, “I love the vacuum, and I was really surprised.”
“I’ve got another surprise for you.” He
Then she noticed the faucet. A steady trickle of water dripped from the kitchen sink, almost as if someone had nudged the handle. And there were fresh nose prints on the window behind the sink. And wet paw prints on the countertop.
“Aha!” she cried, pointing at the sink. “You are so busted.”
Linus remained immobile, but started to snore in a very dramatic and unconvincing fashion.
“Give it up. You’re not fooling anyone. You’re totally hale and hearty, and I have the blood work to prove it. On your feet, private. We’re going for a walk.”
She gated the other dogs in the kitchen, put Linus on a leash, and led him out the front door. At first, he dragged along behind her with his head hung low and his tail curled under, but by the time they’d circled the block, he started to show signs of life. His gait picked up, he turned to look at the kids playing in driveways, and he began sniffing signposts and mailboxes.
Once he’d cheered up enough to snatch a stick lying by the curb and wave it around in his jaws, Lara decided to hold a mini training session, just to gauge his potential and intellect.
Ten minutes later, Linus could sit on command and was well on his way to staying. Evan had been right—Linus was kind of dumb, which could actually be an asset, from a trainer’s point of view. He didn’t try to defy her or anticipate her next move. He just stared at her, his brow furrowed and his black eyes bright with concentration as he devoted all his brainpower to figuring out what she wanted. Lara felt the kind of high she imagined a shopaholic might get upon discovering the very last designer dress in her size tucked away at the back of the clearance rack.
This dog was a treasure. This dog was a bargain. This dog was going to be the type of companion that would forever set the benchmark for some lucky family. All their future pets would be compared to Linus—and would probably come up lacking.
“Good boy.” She patted his head and broke into a slow jog. “Ready to go home? You can take another five-hour nap if you want.”
Halfway home, her cell phone rang and her father’s name flashed across the screen.
“Hey, La-la.” She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “How’s my girl?”
Lara hesitated for a moment, gathering her defenses. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her father; the problem was that she always did want to talk to him, no matter how long it had been since their last conversation, or how much had happened. She never, ever learned. “Fine,” she answered. “Thanks for the vacuum.”
“It’s the least I could do. The sales guy said it’s the top of the line, the best for picking up pet hair.” He sounded sheepish. “And I had a year or two to make up for, right?”
“I’m a grown woman, Dad. I don’t expect anyone to make a big deal about my birthday.”
“Hang on. You’re telling me you don’t want me to buy you a pony?”
They both laughed, remembering the summer that Justine had signed Lara up for equestrian camp, despite Lara’s protests. Justine had insisted that girls “of a certain background” needed to be comfortable with the English style of riding, while twelve-year-old Lara had maintained that horses were boring and the girls at horse camp would haze her mercilessly. Gil had stepped in at the last minute, allowing Lara to spend the weekend before camp at his house. On Sunday evening, he convinced Justine that Lara had come down with a stomach bug and needed to rest and recover. Father and daughter spent the entire week playing video games and splashing in the pool. That had been one of the happiest times of Lara’s childhood—unstructured, uninterrupted time with a parent who didn’t constantly demand that she look and behave like someone better than her true self.
She assured her father, “I love the vacuum, and I was really surprised.”
“I’ve got another surprise for you.” He
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