his neck but continued to hug him, pressing him to her like a cuddly toy until he growled at her.
She cut her eyes at him, but loosened her grip only enough to let him breathe.
The groupâs leader, Bonnie Dorriss, stood above them on the steps, smiling down as if she were a schoolteacher waiting for a gaggle of five-year-olds to gather. Her short sandy hair was the same color as the freckles which spattered her nose and cheeks. Her stocky figure was encased in tight, ragged jeans and a faded green sweatshirt. But she wore a good stout pair of Rockports.
Joe looked around him at their motley group of four-legged recruits, the little lap-dogs fluffy and shivering and as useless as whiskers on a toad. But there were two big dogs as well; and the sappy-faced golden retriever looked so much like Barney, with that big silly smile, that Joe felt a lump in his belly the size of a basketball.
Clyde had brought Barney home that morning, had got him settled on his blanket on the bottom bunk of the two-tier dog and cat bed in the laundry room. Barney had seemed glad to be home, but the outlook wasnât good. The problem was his liver. He was onmedication; Clyde had come home again at noon to give him his pills and try to get him to drink; all morning, Barney hadnât moved from the bunk.
Joe had hated to leave him all alone in there except for the other animals, because what could they do? Rube and the cats would be no help if he took a turn for the worse. Clyde said heâd run home a couple of times during the afternoon. He and Dr. Firreti were waiting to see if the pills would snap Barney out of it. It was midafternoon now, and he wondered if Clyde was at home. Worrying, he said a little cat prayer for Barney.
And he turned on Dillonâs shoulder so he wouldnât have to look at the golden retriever; the dog made him feel too sad.
The other big dog was the brown poodle that belonged to Bonnie Dorriss. The poodle appeared totally aloof, paid no attention to any of the animals. Either he was extremely dignified or bored out of his skull. He must have felt Joe staring, because he glanced up, gave him a completely innocent lookâas if to say he never, never chased cats.
Oh sure. Turn your tail, and youâd have poodle teeth in your backside before you could bare a claw.
Their little group consisted of eight dogs and six cats, including a black-and-white cat who could use some advice on the principles of a slimming diet. The longhaired white cat had one yellow eye and one blue, but she was totally color-coordinated: blue collar and a natty yellow name tag. Cute enough to make you retch.
The big yellow tom glowered threateningly at him, as a tomcat is expected to do. But beneath the show of testosterone he looked both sleepy and bored.
Joe could see into the plastic cat carrier now, where a scruffy-looking tortoiseshell huddled, her blue eyes not angry now, but only painfully shy. This was the Pet-a-Pet group? These scruffy cats and puny little lap-dogs were expected to play skilled therapist to a bunch of needful humans? And, of course, among the mixedparticipants, Joe and Dulcie were the only nonhuman members who could have carried on a conversation with the old people.
That would generate some excitement.
Led by Bonnie Dorriss, their group moved on through the wide doors into the entry, the golden retriever gawking and stumbling over its own feet. The big poodle stepped lightly beside Bonnie into the spacious reception area and sat down at her heel. Impressive, Joe had to admit.
The entry was even more elegant than the carved double doors had implied, the blue tile floor gleaming, the small potted trees in hand-painted containers fingering their delicate leaves against the white walls. The heavy ceiling beams looked hand-carved, and to his right hung an old, antique oil painting of the Molena Point hills as they must have looked before any house marred the wild sweeps of grass and young
She cut her eyes at him, but loosened her grip only enough to let him breathe.
The groupâs leader, Bonnie Dorriss, stood above them on the steps, smiling down as if she were a schoolteacher waiting for a gaggle of five-year-olds to gather. Her short sandy hair was the same color as the freckles which spattered her nose and cheeks. Her stocky figure was encased in tight, ragged jeans and a faded green sweatshirt. But she wore a good stout pair of Rockports.
Joe looked around him at their motley group of four-legged recruits, the little lap-dogs fluffy and shivering and as useless as whiskers on a toad. But there were two big dogs as well; and the sappy-faced golden retriever looked so much like Barney, with that big silly smile, that Joe felt a lump in his belly the size of a basketball.
Clyde had brought Barney home that morning, had got him settled on his blanket on the bottom bunk of the two-tier dog and cat bed in the laundry room. Barney had seemed glad to be home, but the outlook wasnât good. The problem was his liver. He was onmedication; Clyde had come home again at noon to give him his pills and try to get him to drink; all morning, Barney hadnât moved from the bunk.
Joe had hated to leave him all alone in there except for the other animals, because what could they do? Rube and the cats would be no help if he took a turn for the worse. Clyde said heâd run home a couple of times during the afternoon. He and Dr. Firreti were waiting to see if the pills would snap Barney out of it. It was midafternoon now, and he wondered if Clyde was at home. Worrying, he said a little cat prayer for Barney.
And he turned on Dillonâs shoulder so he wouldnât have to look at the golden retriever; the dog made him feel too sad.
The other big dog was the brown poodle that belonged to Bonnie Dorriss. The poodle appeared totally aloof, paid no attention to any of the animals. Either he was extremely dignified or bored out of his skull. He must have felt Joe staring, because he glanced up, gave him a completely innocent lookâas if to say he never, never chased cats.
Oh sure. Turn your tail, and youâd have poodle teeth in your backside before you could bare a claw.
Their little group consisted of eight dogs and six cats, including a black-and-white cat who could use some advice on the principles of a slimming diet. The longhaired white cat had one yellow eye and one blue, but she was totally color-coordinated: blue collar and a natty yellow name tag. Cute enough to make you retch.
The big yellow tom glowered threateningly at him, as a tomcat is expected to do. But beneath the show of testosterone he looked both sleepy and bored.
Joe could see into the plastic cat carrier now, where a scruffy-looking tortoiseshell huddled, her blue eyes not angry now, but only painfully shy. This was the Pet-a-Pet group? These scruffy cats and puny little lap-dogs were expected to play skilled therapist to a bunch of needful humans? And, of course, among the mixedparticipants, Joe and Dulcie were the only nonhuman members who could have carried on a conversation with the old people.
That would generate some excitement.
Led by Bonnie Dorriss, their group moved on through the wide doors into the entry, the golden retriever gawking and stumbling over its own feet. The big poodle stepped lightly beside Bonnie into the spacious reception area and sat down at her heel. Impressive, Joe had to admit.
The entry was even more elegant than the carved double doors had implied, the blue tile floor gleaming, the small potted trees in hand-painted containers fingering their delicate leaves against the white walls. The heavy ceiling beams looked hand-carved, and to his right hung an old, antique oil painting of the Molena Point hills as they must have looked before any house marred the wild sweeps of grass and young
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