Blame It On The Dog

“Okay,” Andy said quietly. “Stop and look around.”

What a letdown. Most of the dogs had wandered off to resume their previous activities. “What just happened?” she asked. “Or didn’t.”

“I’m assuming you have a dog who greets you differently.”

“And how!” Drew said.

“They’ve acknowledged you as calm, assertive leaders,” Andy explained. “Now they’re just hanging out.”

“But we don’t want a dog that ignores us,” Selena protested.

“Of course not.” Andy whistled, and several dogs, tails wagging, responded quickly—still not jumping. He petted each in turn and urged Drew and Selena to do the same. “But you need to learn when to give affection. Always when a dog is calm. Giving it when the dog is overly excited just reinforces the unacceptable behavior.”

Selena didn’t know if she was buying in to this behavioristic rigmarole, but Drew seemed enamored of the circling dogs.

Andy glanced at his watch. “Jack should be about finished. Let’s wind up the tour.” He led them to yet another gate.

For the first time Selena noticed beyond the fenced-in dog area an outer walkway that connected the earlier holding area for humans to an area in the back where several people were bathing animals, while others worked with owners and their leashed pets. There was plenty of room left over for what looked like an agility training course and a semipermanent trailer with an Office sign hung by the door.

“You mean to tell me,” she said, “we didn’t have to walk through that sea of dogs?”

“Jack’s orders.”

Was the guy trying to intimidate her?

“Why is he in there?” Drew asked, pointing to a row of large cages at the far end of the property, each housing a single dog. Jack was in one of the pens with what looked like a spitz mix that had been muzzled.

Andy led them to stand a distance from the cages, then stopped. He spoke in hushed tones. “He’s working with an abandoned dog. Very aggressive. The original rescuing shelter recommended he be put down as dangerous. But Jack rarely gives up on a dog. He thinks this one can be rehabilitated into our pack. The dog’s accepted Jack’s presence. Now Jack needs to show him who’s leader.”

Drew took a step forward, but Andy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “We can watch from here. But you’re going to have to be very still. Radiate calm energy. Dogs can definitely sense otherwise. And you have to understand the struggle going on inside the pen involves no physical hurt to the animal. Jack’s trying to put him on the ground. The ultimate submissive position for a dog.”

Quinn controlled the large dog with what looked like an insubstantial leash looped high on the dog’s neck behind the ears. Without speaking, Quinn slowly lowered the shortened leash to the ground, forcing the dog to lower its head. If Quinn was trying to get the dog to put its entire body on the ground in submission, however, the spitz was having none of it. After a few seconds with its head lowered, it would growl and thrash and manage to get to its feet. Quietly, Quinn would begin the procedure over again. At one point, he seemed to see an opportunity to bring the dog farther down. With the spitz’s head on the ground and its eyes momentarily averted, Quinn encircled its chest and attempted to roll the dog on its back, all in a slow and silent, yet forceful, way that reminded Selena of a martial arts exercise.

Despite herself, she was now transfixed by the battle of wills between man and dog, fascinated by Quinn’s patient strength.

Not Drew.

An appalled look on his face, he suddenly hurtled toward the cage. “Stop it!” he shouted, running forward and banging on the chain link. “You’re hurting him! Stop!”

Startled, Quinn released the dog, who charged the fence, teeth bared inside the muzzle. As Andy pulled Drew back, Selena noticed that in the struggle to regain his footing, the spitz had sliced Quinn’s nostril with one of its nails. Blood flowed from the trainer’s nose onto his shirt as he slipped out of the pen, a barely restrained fury etched on his features. The spitz set up an unholy howling that reverberated throughout the compound and set the rest of the dogs barking in response. Handlers and owners could be heard, snapping commands to regain control of their animals.

Without a word, Quinn led Selena and Drew to the nearby trailer office as Andy trotted off toward the dog pack area.

Inside Quinn grabbed a bunch of tissues, pressed them to his nose, then turned to Drew. “What you did was extremely dangerous.” Although he didn’t raise his voice, his words came out clipped and careful.

Selena could see by the blood soaking the tissue that her son’s interruption had proven dangerous enough. “Here, let me look at your nose,” she said, stepping forward, her nurturing instincts aroused.

“I’ll be fine,” Quinn replied and brushed her aside to focus on Drew. “Do you hear the rest of the dogs in the compound?” The barking had yet to stop. “Distress, fear, aggression can run through a pack like wildfire. You set off the spitz. He set off the rest. Even in a stable pack if an alarm is sounded, if members are unsure, they often lash out instinctively. Hurt before getting hurt. The dogs could hurt each other. Or their handlers. One false move, and I could have hurt the spitz.”

“You were hurting him!” Shaking, Drew was close to tears.

“No. It was a natural struggle for dominance. For that dog to live with my pack—for him to live—he can’t be the pack leader. Not in his aggressive state. There’s no question he’d eventually kill another member of the pack. He needs to submit to me as leader. Then there’s no jockeying with the dogs. Then he can co-exist with the others. That’s how it works in the dog world.”

“You’re making that up!” Drew spit back, unrepentant. “You’re nothing but a bully, but you’re not the boss of me! And I’m not letting you near my dog!” Before Selena could react, her son ran from the trailer.

When she attempted to follow, Quinn grasped her wrist. “Andy will take care of him.”

Through the window she could see the assistant already with Drew, leading him along the outer walkway to the waiting area at the front of the compound.

“Do you think I was bullying the dog?” he asked, genuine concern showing in his dark eyes, making his chiseled features appear, if not softer, then at least less granite like.

She shook off his hand that still encircled her wrist. “No, I don’t think you were bullying him.” Although at this particular moment, with her son so upset, it was a hard admission for her to make. “Andy explained it’s a very difficult case…but that you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“I’ll help you with Axel. From what I saw, he won’t require the technique you just observed. But you have to deal with Drew’s issues as well.”

“My son’s issues?”

“He didn’t just react. He overreacted. And the use of the word bully…maybe he feels picked on at school or in the neighborhood. Is that the case?”

“No!” At least she didn’t think so. Besides, it wasn’t any of this guy’s business.

“Learning to be a good pack leader to Axel might make Drew feel more self-assured.”

“Now you’re saying my son’s not sel-fassured?”

“I know the age. I’ve been there myself. One foot in boyhood, one in adulthood. Not sure where you belong. Not sure whether you can live up to the macho expectations of your peers and pop culture. I’m saying something set your son off just now. It might be wise to find out what.”

Selena felt her maternal hackles rising. “Look, buddy, you might think of yourself as Dog Yoda—though I’m not convinced I even want to put my dog under your control—but keep your pet psychobabble away from us humans. Nobody tells me how to raise my kid.” In a self-righteous huff, she stormed out of the trailer in search of her son.

Jack watched her go, not so much surprised at her outburst, but at his own reaction to it. He should be angry at the challenge to his expertise. Or, at the very least, turned off by her arrogant behavior. He wasn’t.

The smart course of action would be to write the Milanos off. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration as he realized the opportunity to follow that very sensible path had passed. In his tumbling thoughts only one thing was clear. Now that he’d met her, it was impossible to disregard, dismiss or forget a woman like Selena.

CHAPTER THREE

SUNDAY MORNING, Selena stood outside Drew’s closed bedroom door about to make yet another attempt at talking with her son. Yesterday when they’d come home, he’d given her the silent treatment. All afternoon and evening. He’d even refused a visit to Margo’s Bistro, and, with his adolescent hollow leg, he never passed up a chance to eat one of Margo’s magnificent creations. This morning he hadn’t come out of his room. And, although she’d told Quinn to butt out of her business, she couldn’t stop thinking about his words, couldn’t help worrying there might be some truth to them.

“Drew, may I come in?”

When silence met her request, she cracked the door in case her son wore headphones and hadn’t heard her. He lay across his bed, drawing, a cereal box tipped precariously on the edge of the nightstand, headphones nowhere in sight. Axel, ignoring his dog bed on the floor, lay across Drew’s pillows, four enormous paws in the air.

She took a step into the room. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Anything you want.” Sitting on the corner of the bed, she noticed an Axel-like superdog, complete with cape, dominated her son’s drawing. Action-hero Axel vanquished a legion of robots who all bore a remarkable resemblance to Jack Quinn.

“I don’t want to talk about anything,” Drew said.

“Not even yesterday?”

He shook his head.

“What about school? We’ve been so busy lately we haven’t had a chance to catch up. Anything I should know?”

He gave her a scathing look, one that told her in no uncertain terms he saw right through her nosy ploy, but he refused to answer.

Okay. About now, she could use some advice from her friends with kids on finessing words out of a reluctant twelve-year-old. Without that advice, she’d have to resort to her usual, not always successful candor. “When you walk Axel alone…does anyone give you a hard time?”

“You think?” Over his shoulder Drew glanced at his dog taking up most of the bed.

Even asleep, snoring peacefully, the beast looked like…well, a beast. Knowing what he was like in motion, Selena honestly doubted anyone messed with Drew in Axel’s company. But something was bugging her kid.

Where did the child who shared everything with her go?

The doorbell rang, waking Axel. It was probably Maxine. They were supposed to work on logistics for the SFSU installation. Maybe in a grandmotherly role, Maxine could get something out of Drew. When Selena got up, so did Axel, who knocked the box of cereal on the floor, spilling its contents amidst the other preteen disorder.

The doorbell rang again, sending the dog into paroxysms of barking on his way to the door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She pushed Axel out of the way. “If you’d remembered your key, we wouldn’t have to go through—”

She opened the door not to Maxine, but to Jack Quinn.

As Axel barked and reared up on his hind feet, Quinn took a half step forward. Chest high, broad shoulders back, with a lock of dark hair falling over one eye, he looked more than a little intimidating. Axel must have felt the same because, amazingly, he stopped barking, put all fours on the ground and turned to leave. Quinn didn’t let him. Before either Selena or Axel knew what was happening, the man reached out and secured the dog’s collar, placed a firm hand on his rump, then put him in a sitting position. When Axel attempted to stand, Quinn merely put out his hand and uttered a quick, quiet, but commanding, “Hut!” Axel stayed. Moreover, his look went from stunned to adoring.

“How did you do that?” Selena asked, rather stunned herself.

“I’ve been trying to tell you it’s not rocket science.” He held out a DVD. “Maybe if Drew looked at this—”

“I’m willing to talk, but not in the apartment.” She looked over her shoulder to see if Drew had come out of his room. In his present state of mind, who knew how he’d react to Quinn’s unexpected visit? She took the DVD, put it on top of the tall bookshelf next to the door where Axel couldn’t get it, then pushed Quinn out onto the landing. She followed, shutting the door behind her.

Axel, on the other side, snuffled at the crack under the door. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before he started to howl, Selena grabbed Quinn’s arm and propelled him down the stairs, no easy feat as he was a tall, solidly built man. On the way down, they met Maxine coming up.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Selena said before she had to make introductions.

Even so, in passing, Maxine gave Quinn the once-over as she did with all Selena’s dates, then flashed a thumbs-up.

As if.

How could Maxine see this man as anything but the thorn-in-her-side he’d become?

She pushed Quinn through the downstairs doorway onto the sidewalk. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The chill morning fog had yet to lift, and she wore nothing but a long-sleeved tee. To keep warm, she’d either have to jump up and down in front of Quinn like a woman gone mad or walk. “Let’s walk,” she said.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

“No!” She didn’t want to sit down anywhere with this guy. It would appear too normal. Dare she say too much like a first date? She wanted to hang onto the idea that he was, at most, a necessary evil. “A short walk’s all we’ll need.”

“If you say so.” Without asking, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

She didn’t want him to be thoughtful. And she certainly didn’t want him to smell good. As his jacket did. Of leather and sandalwood. She tried to shrink from the lining which still held the heat of his body.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” After Maxine’s appraisal, Selena was now all too conscious of Quinn’s looks. He was handsome in a brooding, tortured-hero sort of way. What the hell was going on? This guy had already reduced Axel to a tail-wagging zombie. Now he’d reduced her to a blithering idiot. She nearly ran into a busker setting up his boombox, laying down plywood and a tip jar, getting ready to dance for the Sunday morning brunch crowd.

Jack observed Selena trotting erratically beside him and wondered what had her so on edge. “I know I should have called,” he said, “but I thought the DVD was important. It’s a documentary on the psychology of dogs. It shows the natural order of things in canine packs. I thought if you watched it with your son—if he got the information in a nonthreatening way—maybe he’d be willing to see what I have to offer.”

When she didn’t speak, he added, “Axel isn’t a difficult case. We could take care of most of his issues with one session in the park. You saw how he responded just now in your apartment.”

“Ah, yes, about that…what planet did you say you were from?”

He felt a laugh begin in his chest. A strange sensation. “You need to watch the DVD, then I’ll answer all your questions at our next session.”

“You seem certain there will be a next session.”

He wasn’t certain. He was making it up as he went. To prolong the walk. With her. “It depends on Drew. Kids his age are usually fascinated with animals. Use the DVD to draw him into the process.”

“So now you’re an expert on kids as well as dogs. Do you have any of your own? Kids, that is.”

“No.” He didn’t want to get into the fact that he wasn’t sure he should have kids. He hadn’t had the best of father models. “Let’s just say I think both Drew and you really want what’s best for Axel…but neither of you wants to admit what you’ve been doing hasn’t worked out the way you’d like.”

“Are you always so sure of yourself?”

He could have asked her if she was always so defensive, but he didn’t want to risk driving her away. “I know dogs. And I’ve worked with enough dog owners to understand their reservations.”

“Their reservations until they discover the ‘truth’?” She stopped and faced him, defiance making her eyes sparkle. “The ‘truth’ according to Jack Quinn?”

Refusing to be baited, he stood his ground. “Watch the DVD. Then we’ll set up an appointment. I know Drew’s in school, but what’s your schedule like? Late afternoons or early evenings good for you?”

She turned and headed back in the direction they’d just come. “My work schedule’s flexible.”

“What do you do? If I know what my client does, I can often find a more relevant way to explain what I’m trying to accomplish.”

“I’m an installation artist.” She said it as if she didn’t expect him to understand what that was.

“Installations. Temporary works? Like those prayer cairns that appeared for a few weeks last summer on Baker Beach?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. The fog had formed minute droplets in her hair and on her eyelashes, making him think of a land of fairies and sprites and impish spells. She took his breath away.

“D-did you have anything to do with them?” he asked, trying to regain his composure. “The cairns, I mean.”

“Yes.” For the first time she looked at him with real interest. “You knew what they were?”

“Sure. I’ve lived in Asia.” Though he’d been surprised to see the dozen or so piles of rocks at intervals along the San Francisco coast. They’d appeared as if by magic. Sticks anchored in the rocks bore pennants—scraps of cloth really—on which were written prayers, poems, quotations. There was nothing to explain them, but many people who saw them added to them. “I even tied on a few thoughts of my own. I liked the idea of good vibrations being swept across the entire country on the wind.”

Her expression was nothing short of dumbfounded.

“Although I work with animals,” he said, “I don’t live in a cave.”

For a fleeting moment, she seemed embarrassed. Or guilty. “Most people’s first thought when they hear installation art is dying a river green on St. Patrick’s day.”

“What do you tell people like that?”

“I tell them, no, it’s more like getting the sea lions to lounge in the sun on Pier 39,” she said, her tone biting.

“I would think that’s performance art,” he replied, unable to resist the urge to needle her a little.

“You know the difference?”

“It’s not a hard distinction to make. But I do have an aunt who’s an art historian. You need to cut most people more slack, though. It’s not as if your occupation’s an easy one to grasp at first.”

She stared hard at him as if she didn’t quite know how to take him.

“Do you have anything around the city now?” he asked.

“Actually, I do. The owner of Tryst, the new restaurant in SOMA, asked me for a sidewalk installation. He wanted someone dining inside a Plexiglas cubicle, twenty-four/seven. I told him with a name like Tryst, his restaurant deserved something more subtle. More mysterious.”

“So what did you come up with?”

“A visual novella, so to speak. I used the cubicle and put a table and two chairs inside.” As she spoke, an unabashed enthusiasm lit her features, clearing away all wariness. “The next day a glass of wine and a woman’s handbag appeared at one place. The day after that, a second glass of wine and a man’s umbrella hooked over the other chair. Yesterday some grainy photos appeared thrown on the table. Looked like a private eye might have taken them with a telephoto lens. A man and woman caught in the act. Tomorrow the butt of a revolver will appear from the woman’s handbag. The man’s chair will be tipped over. Tuesday police tape will appear around the cubicle. And by Wednesday, the whole thing will have disappeared.”

He laughed aloud.

“I am having fun with that one although I have to make the changes in the dead of night.”

“Alone?” He suddenly felt protective.

“No. There’s no shortage of art students in the area who help me on a project by project basis.” She suddenly grew distant, as if she’d shared too much. “So…now you know something about what I do, how do you propose to translate what you do into my language?” Challenge underlined her every word.

“I don’t know. Yet.” He took a chance with a smile. “You might be my toughest case.”

“Tougher than the spitz?”

“Yeah. I can’t muzzle you.”

Her mouth dropped open, then she walloped him on the arm as his brother had many times when they were kids fooling around. Amazingly, the tension between them eased.

“So you’ll watch the DVD with Drew?” he asked.

“We’ll see.” She started back toward her apartment.

What did it take to get her to promise—or even agree—to anything?

When he caught up to her, she seemed to make an effort to stay a half step ahead. Heaven forbid he should lead in any way. Headstrong woman. But there was a slight upturn to her mouth, a relaxation in her shoulders. He sensed she didn’t dislike him quite as much as she had before.

Progress.

As he followed her back to her apartment and his truck, he thought that, in the brief discussion of her work, he might have discovered a chink in that fortress wall she’d built around herself. The glimpse of the interior didn’t reveal dark neuroses or unclaimed baggage, but a clear, strong light that highlighted this woman’s need for self-expression and the pride she took in the results. He liked what he saw. A lot.

AFTER A DISCONCERTING Monday morning meeting with Drew’s teachers—apparently the mention of bullying got you a school interview as quickly as the mention of chest pains put you at the head of the line in the emergency room—Selena needed a dose of Margo’s Bistro. And lunch. She was starving. As was everyone else in SOMA it seemed. There wasn’t an empty table in the café. It was so busy Margo and Robert were trapped behind the counter, and their two servers were set on fast-forward.

Resigning herself to take-out, Selena suddenly heard her name called. “Over here!” Derrick waved from a corner table where he sat with Bailey. “Join us!”

“Oh, yes!” The comfort of friends.

Derrick was a contract lawyer and former single dad. He was the only male regular in their inner circle, but he’d been man enough to admit he didn’t have a clue about how to raise his two daughters. Until Bailey.

Having made her way through the crowded room, Selena plopped into the chair Derrick pulled out. “Why don’t we ever see you anymore?” he asked. Directness had always been one of Derrick’s many admirable traits.

“You’re seeing me right now. That’s one of the reasons I love Margo’s Bistro. It provides a public service in reuniting lost friends.”

“You know what I mean.” He and she had been friends before he hooked up with Bailey. “You haven’t come around our place since the wedding.”

“Geez, I thought I’d give you guys some privacy.” That wasn’t it, however. Things had changed. Derrick’s priorities—his focus—had changed, and rightfully so. Bailey and the girls were his world. Selena felt uncomfortable intruding. “So, how come you’re both here in the middle of a Monday?” she asked.

“Oh, I had errands in the city,” Bailey replied, a twinkle in her eyes, “and I thought I’d meet my hubby for…lunch.”

Selena didn’t know why they were at Margo’s. By the glow on both their faces, they looked as if they’d already had “lunch” at the Marriott.

A server appeared, a new one Selena didn’t recognize. The café was such a revolving door of part-time and temporary college help Margo should apply for intern program status. “The special of the day—”

“I’ll take it,” Selena cut in. “I’m ravenous and whatever Margo makes is terrific. How about you two?”

“We already ordered,” Derrick said as the server disappeared. “So why are you here?”

“I don’t want to take up your time with my kid problems.”

“Excuse me?” Bailey feigned disbelief. “When we’re at Margo’s the official language is Kid. Spill it.”