Klutzy Love by Sharon Kleve Page A

rang, I couldn’t have been more surprised to hear from Mr. Kettle, my seventh grade teacher and my parent’s next-door neighbor. After all the ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s’ were over, he got down to why he had called. “Corny, are you still real good with animals?”
    “Yes, I’m opening a pet detective business in a couple months.” He knew about my pet psychic skills because one day in middle school I brought in Fred for Show and Tell. I wrote in my report how I had rescued Fred from my neighbor. I’m not sure if Mr. Kettle believed me at first, but the class laughed and I got an ‘A’ on my report. After class he asked me, “Can you truly communicate with animals?”
    “Yes, but my family doesn’t like me to talk about it—they think it’s a curse.”
    “Corny, can you stop by and talk to ‘Legs’, my Schnauzer? I want to make sure he’s happy with me.”
    I did and my conversation with his dog was hilarious. Legs told me, “I love my owner’s cigar smoke and I want a cigar of my own.”
    When I told Mr. Kettle he shook his head while saying, “Sorry, that’s probably not a good idea, but I’ll let him sniff the smoke occasionally. I won’t be responsible for being the first owner of  a dog  with emphysema.” That was the last time I’d spoken to him, until now.
    He explained why he was calling after all this time. “Legs passed away last year and I haven’t been able to think about getting another pet until recently. I decided to go visit the local pet store and see if they had a pet who would love and appreciate an old man. At first, all I saw were puppies and kittens and I didn’t think I had the energy or lifespan for that kind of commitment. As I was leaving the pet store, I heard the saddest whimper from behind the counter. It was a shivering, skinny, hairless dog. The little dog was wrapped in a checkered fleece blanket and tucked away in a small metal cage. What could I do but take the sweet thing home with me?”
    Mr. Kettle was such a sucker—I mean, he had a big heart.
    “Corny, I’ve grown extremely attached to Simon and want to make sure he’s happy. He has a few peculiar habits that I want to discuss with you. I would prefer that we talk in person. Your mom says you usually came over for Sunday dinner. Can you stop by my house when you’re done there?”
    “Sure. I’ll see you Sunday. Do you still bake those awesome chocolate chip cookies?”
    “I do and I’ll make sure there’s a fresh batch for you.”
    “Yum!”

    ***

    It was strange, Kari should have been home from her honeymoon and I hadn’t heard from her. I bet Pete was right and she thought I’d keep him. She was right—he had grown on me. If she changed her mind later, tough luck—she wouldn’t get him back.
    Steve didn’t seem to mind if I brought Pete over for extended periods of time. We spent the whole weekend in and out of bed and I thought I caught a glimpse of Pete in the bedroom a few times. But I couldn’t be sure. I left Steve’s on Sunday afternoon and dropped Pete off at my place. I had a family dinner to attend and Steve had to work.

    ***

    Sunday dinner at my parent’s house was always a big production. After a wonderful pork chop, mashed potatoes, and gravy dinner, with a few green beans thrown in for color, I waddled over to Mr. Kettle’s house. He promised me chocolate chip cookies so I refrained from a slice of my mom’s oh-so-creamy coconut cream pie. If he hadn’t baked the cookies, I still could go back and eat pie. Life was good.
    Everyone in the neighborhood wondered why he hadn’t married and there were lots of rumors. I didn’t care; he was always nice to me. He always kept a meticulous yard and it hadn’t changed in all these years. It was strange, but I hadn’t heard a dog bark when I knocked on his door. He answered in a red, silk Kimono and I wouldn’t have recognized him if I had run into him in the store. He had the most spectacular head of curly