who had taken me in over a year and a
half ago when I quit my accounting job and had found myself and my parakeet
homeless, had gone to San Francisco to see a play with Charlie Fallon and I
didn’t expect them back until sometime the next day. I only had myself to blame
for that and I couldn’t be happier about it—except when I could use a little of
her wonderful cooking and even more wonderful sympathy. It had been through
that disastrous Easter fete at the yacht club that she’d met Charlie. I
suspected they might marry once I was safely off her hands and firmly in
Sarkisian’s. I hoped so at least. Aunt Gerda had grown accustomed to having
someone around her home and her cats appreciated the extra lap. They’d all be
lonely when I moved out. Or at the rate I was going that might be a great big
“if”. Sarkisian was dragging his feet on the way to the altar.
After bidding Sarkisian a lingering farewell in the parking
lot I drove along the winding road that led from the fairgrounds through
farming fields, over the river and finally onto Last Gasp Hill, one of the two
main roads that intersect in Upper River Gulch. A few minutes more took me up
the steep road beneath the overhanging pines and redwoods and through the
wrought-iron gate—always open—that marked the beginning of my aunt’s driveway.
I was surprised to spot lights through the trees as I wound
my way up the gravel toward the house. Yes, lots of lights. And there was
Charlie’s car—not the van he used to transport food for the café he now owns in
Upper River Gulch but the small sporty model he uses for fun. What brought them
home a day early? Frowning, I fumbled in the sunshade for the garage door
opener, clicked it then pulled into my parking place still labeled with the wood-burned
sign reading “Annike and Freya” and switched off the ignition.
As soon as I exited the garage—thereby triggering the safety
lamp that illuminated the twenty redwood steps leading up to the house that
perched above the garage—a large body hurtled out of the darkness and slammed
into my legs. From the amount of drool now soaking my jeans I had no trouble
identifying my attacker as Boondoggle, the bloodhound mix that had adopted
Sarkisian last Halloween. He stayed with us whenever Sarkisian was away at
school which was becoming distressingly more often as he’d completed all the
course work that could be done on-line and now had to appear more often in
person. Distressing to me because he was away so much, not because we had
Boondoggle’s company all that time. The cats had managed to whip him into
shape, which I suspected was one of the reasons he liked to be outside. He also
liked to herd my aunt’s pet turkey, TediBird, which was fine by me. That Damned
Bird and I had been in a state of open warfare since we’d first met.
Fortunately she’d have gone to roost for the night in her pen that we’d decked
out with the backseat of an old car—her favorite nesting place. Life had
definitely improved in that respect. She used to nest in Freya.
As I mounted the steps I didn’t trip over a single cat. In
fact not one of the furry little beasties was anywhere to be seen. It wasn’t because
Boondoggle accompanied me up the stairs though. It might be summer but it still
gets cold and foggy here and the little monsters would be inside curled up
somewhere cozy.
I opened the door and was greeted by the wonderful aroma of
herbs and freshly baked bread. Ah, the comforts of home. From the living room I
could hear Cary Grant speaking which meant Charlie and Aunt Gerda were in there
watching a movie. I closed the door took off my coat and hung it in the closet.
As I looked in, Charlie waved. He couldn’t get up, not without dislodging the
three cats lined up along his legs which rested on a footstool. Aunt Gerda though
scattered the two who filled her lap and rose to give me a welcoming hug.
“There you are, dear. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. Please tell me
half ago when I quit my accounting job and had found myself and my parakeet
homeless, had gone to San Francisco to see a play with Charlie Fallon and I
didn’t expect them back until sometime the next day. I only had myself to blame
for that and I couldn’t be happier about it—except when I could use a little of
her wonderful cooking and even more wonderful sympathy. It had been through
that disastrous Easter fete at the yacht club that she’d met Charlie. I
suspected they might marry once I was safely off her hands and firmly in
Sarkisian’s. I hoped so at least. Aunt Gerda had grown accustomed to having
someone around her home and her cats appreciated the extra lap. They’d all be
lonely when I moved out. Or at the rate I was going that might be a great big
“if”. Sarkisian was dragging his feet on the way to the altar.
After bidding Sarkisian a lingering farewell in the parking
lot I drove along the winding road that led from the fairgrounds through
farming fields, over the river and finally onto Last Gasp Hill, one of the two
main roads that intersect in Upper River Gulch. A few minutes more took me up
the steep road beneath the overhanging pines and redwoods and through the
wrought-iron gate—always open—that marked the beginning of my aunt’s driveway.
I was surprised to spot lights through the trees as I wound
my way up the gravel toward the house. Yes, lots of lights. And there was
Charlie’s car—not the van he used to transport food for the café he now owns in
Upper River Gulch but the small sporty model he uses for fun. What brought them
home a day early? Frowning, I fumbled in the sunshade for the garage door
opener, clicked it then pulled into my parking place still labeled with the wood-burned
sign reading “Annike and Freya” and switched off the ignition.
As soon as I exited the garage—thereby triggering the safety
lamp that illuminated the twenty redwood steps leading up to the house that
perched above the garage—a large body hurtled out of the darkness and slammed
into my legs. From the amount of drool now soaking my jeans I had no trouble
identifying my attacker as Boondoggle, the bloodhound mix that had adopted
Sarkisian last Halloween. He stayed with us whenever Sarkisian was away at
school which was becoming distressingly more often as he’d completed all the
course work that could be done on-line and now had to appear more often in
person. Distressing to me because he was away so much, not because we had
Boondoggle’s company all that time. The cats had managed to whip him into
shape, which I suspected was one of the reasons he liked to be outside. He also
liked to herd my aunt’s pet turkey, TediBird, which was fine by me. That Damned
Bird and I had been in a state of open warfare since we’d first met.
Fortunately she’d have gone to roost for the night in her pen that we’d decked
out with the backseat of an old car—her favorite nesting place. Life had
definitely improved in that respect. She used to nest in Freya.
As I mounted the steps I didn’t trip over a single cat. In
fact not one of the furry little beasties was anywhere to be seen. It wasn’t because
Boondoggle accompanied me up the stairs though. It might be summer but it still
gets cold and foggy here and the little monsters would be inside curled up
somewhere cozy.
I opened the door and was greeted by the wonderful aroma of
herbs and freshly baked bread. Ah, the comforts of home. From the living room I
could hear Cary Grant speaking which meant Charlie and Aunt Gerda were in there
watching a movie. I closed the door took off my coat and hung it in the closet.
As I looked in, Charlie waved. He couldn’t get up, not without dislodging the
three cats lined up along his legs which rested on a footstool. Aunt Gerda though
scattered the two who filled her lap and rose to give me a welcoming hug.
“There you are, dear. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. Please tell me
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