Gone to the Dogs Read Online Free Page A

on anything! He’s a perfect fiend.”
    “Well, he’s awfully cute,” I said truthfully.
    “Don’t let his looks fool you,” she corrected me. In case I doubted her word, she added: “I’ve taken him to everyone! We saw Dickie Brenner once, and then we saw Lila Goldstein!” In case I still wasn’t convinced, she pursed her lips and said in a deep, chilling tone: “Twice!” Gazing down happily at Willie and evidently speaking as one with him, she added: “We didn’t like Mr. Brenner, did we? We’re nevergoing back to him. And Mrs. Goldstein didn’t understand us. But that’s all right! Because now we’re going to the Monks of New Skete!”
    I know when I’ve been effectively demolished. You know who the Monks are, don’t you? Besides breeding German shepherds and writing first-rate dog-rearing books, they train dogs and give workshops. Any dog dreadful enough to have outdone his fellow couch destroyers, ankle nippers, rug soilers, lawn excavators, garbage stealers, and leash lungers to the extent of requiring three local consultations
and
the Monks of New Skete? Well, that dog had singled himself out as a world-class monster. I eyed Willie with respect.
    “Holly,” Steve said, “I’d like you to meet Jackie Miner. This is Holly Winter.” Steve’s an immigrant. He grew up in Minneapolis.
    Before Jackie and I had had a chance to say that we were happy to meet each other, Lee Miner, her husband and Steve’s new assistant veterinarian, appeared from the back of the clinic, and I’ll have to admit that my first thought about Lee was that Jackie would never need to take
him
to the Monks. Lee Miner was a tidy, compact, pale man who held his elbows close to his sides and kept blinking his hazel eyes.
    “Pleased to meet you,” Lee said when Steve had introduced us. Even his enunciation was precise. He immediately sealed his thin beige lips. Then all three Miners—Jackie, Lee, and Willie—performed what I took to be a family ritual: Jackie yanked on Willie’s leash. When she’d positioned Willie at her left side, she tightened the leash, leaned down, and rested her weight on his hindquarters until he sat. As soon as she was standing upright again, she gave Lee an almostimperceptible nod. On signal, Lee took small, careful steps forward until he stood directly in front of Jackie and Willie. Bending from the waist, Lee then reached down and tenderly scratched the top of Willie’s head. As Lee straightened up, Jackie tilted her head toward him as if inviting him to scratch her head, too. At the last second, though, she puckered her lips and gave Lee’s proffered cheek a noisy kiss.
    Except for having been raised in only slightly divergent sects of the same faith—Steve’s family had English setters, whereas mine believed in golden retrievers—he and I had very different childhoods, but we both loved Red Rover. Remember? In case you don’t, two teams of kids link arms and face each other. To make a solid link, you clamp your hands around the forearms of the kids next to you, who get the same hard grip on your forearms. It hurts already, right? Then the leader of one team calls out the name of a kid on the other team, who has to charge across and try to break through whatever pair of locked arms he wants. Get it? The leader says, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Sally right over.” If Sally decides that you and Jim are little runts who make a weak link, she runs like hell at your locked arms, and while she’s trying to break through, you’re trying to stop her. A kid with dog-handler’s wrists has a big advantage at Red Rover, but what the game really requires is wild ferocity. That’s what compensates for the red, aching forearms.
    The point is that although Steve is a really gentle guy, he’s the first person you’d pick for Red Rover. Lee Miner, though, looked as if his game hadn’t been Red Rover at all. I was willing to bet it had been Quaker Meeting.

3
    If you’ve ever taken an untrained