Puppy Love Page 7

  He turned away and fiddled with the paperwork on his chair. Jamal clipped on Ozzy’s leash, then leaned toward me. “That dog park sounds pretty cool, huh?” he said.

  “Definitely,” Rachel said, looking up from adjusting Gizi’s harness. “Maybe we should all take a field trip sometime.”

  Jamal grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Yeah.” I was too distracted to focus much on the chitchat. Excusing myself, I hurried over to Adam.

  He glanced up at my approach. “Hey, Lauren. Good work today.” He smiled and ruffled Muckle’s ears. “Your pup made a perfect demo dog.”

  “Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “That’s, um, what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to thank you for showing me how good he can be. I guess I just assumed he’d always be too hyper to really learn much.”

  Adam chuckled. “Spoken like a first-time puppy owner,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t fret, Lauren. Muckle is a terrific puppy. He’s supersmart and trainable, with a very sweet temperament. With the right guidance, he could go far in dog sports.”

  “You mean like we were talking about the other day?” I said. “Um, agility and stuff?”

  “Exactly.” Adam picked up his papers and tucked them under his arm, then turned to face me. “You really should consider getting him started in that, Lauren. Try some beginner lessons, see how he likes it.”

  “Sounds good.” My heart was pounding. Was it my imagination, or was he gazing at me super intently? “Um, but I’m not sure where to start.”

  His smile broadened. “Well then, it’s lucky you know me. I’d be happy to help you out. Like I was saying the other day, I teach lots of beginners to love agility just as much as I do.” He winked. “Dogs and owners.”

  I was pretty sure I was blushing. Somehow, though, I didn’t mind. Adam and I were connecting. I could feel it. The feeling made me bold.

  “That sounds amazing,” I said, tilting my head in what I hoped was a flirty way. “I’d love it. So when can we get started?”

  “As soon as Muckle graduates from puppy K,” Adam replied. “But hey, there’s no reason you can’t start getting him used to the equipment, maybe testing his interest a little. Like I was just telling the class, the Springdale dog park has everything you need. My dogs and I practice there a lot, and I teach some private clients there who don’t have their own equipment. It’s great.”

  I held my breath, suddenly sure he was about to invite me to go to the dog park with him. For a dog-crazy guy, that would totally count as a date, right?

  “Adam?” The pug’s owner barged over, dragging her puppy behind her. “I have a question. Puggsly still jumps up on me, and I can’t figure out how to get him to stop. . . .”

  I could have killed her. But the damage was done. The magical moment was gone, shattered into a zillion pieces. All I could do was smile once more at Adam, give a tug on Muckle’s leash to pull him away from the pug, and head out to find Robert.

  Chapter Nine

  TGIF

  When the final bell rang on Friday, I was out of my seat like a shot. I hurried to my locker, then to Robert’s. He was peering into the small mirror he’d taped inside the door, fiddling with his hair. He was still doing the eighties-angst-rocker thing with it, though the exact style seemed to evolve slightly each day.

  “Ready to go?” I asked.

  He continued to stare at himself. “Go where?”

  “The dog park. I told you about it at lunch, remember? I figured we could swing by and pick up Muckle, maybe stop off for a snack at that taco place on the way to Springdale. . . .”

  “Sorry, no can do.” Robert finally tore his gaze away from his own reflection, glancing at me and then swinging the locker door shut. “I told my dad I’d play tennis with him this afternoon.”

  “What?” That stopped me in my tracks. The only thing that had helped me survive the boring day at school was imagining today’s trip to the dog park. Including the strong possibility of running into Adam. Thanks to my Internet stalking, I knew he didn’t teach any classes at PetzBiz on Friday afternoons. And the way he’d been talking the other day, it had sounded as if he spent every spare moment at the dog park with his dogs. It didn’t seem like foolish optimism to hope I might run into him there.

  I tried to explain some of that to Robert. But he just kept shaking his head.

  “Look, you know I’d rather hang with you than the fuddy-duddies at the country club,” he said. “But Dad is demanding some face time, and I don’t want to be cut out of the will.”

  “Fine.” I wanted to argue, or maybe just throw a tantrum. But what good would that do? “Maybe we can go another time.”

  “Sure, maybe. Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way home.”

  When I let myself into the house a little while later, I found my mother in the front hall rifling through the mail. Muckle was nowhere in sight when I entered, but he came running a few seconds later, flinging himself at me as eagerly as if we’d been parted for seven years instead of seven hours.

  “That beast has been incorrigible all day,” Mom informed me, glaring at Muckle over the tops of her rhinestone-encrusted reading glasses. “He never sits still.”

  “Yeah, about that.” I wasn’t ready to give up on my afternoon plans yet. “I was going to take him to the dog park in Springdale to run off some energy, but Robert’s busy. Can you drop me off?”

  Mom checked her watch. “Actually, I’m leaving for a meeting over in Madison in ten minutes. I suppose I could swing through Springdale on the way. You’d have to find your own way home, though.”

  “That’s okay. I can take the bus.” I tried not to grimace at the thought. Our local suburban bus line wasn’t exactly state of the art. There were only a handful of buses, all of them old, smelly, and slow. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do, right? Besides, riding the bus would be another good socialization exercise for Muckle. At least that was what I told myself.

  I felt a shiver of nerves as Mom pulled her Lexus to the curb half an hour later. “Is this it?” she asked, peering at the tall iron gate.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said with a straight face, even though the gate had foot-high letters spelling out community dog park on it. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I checked to make sure Muckle’s leash was attached to his collar, then got out of the car. Muckle jumped out after me, spinning around in circles like he always did in a new place.

  As my mom pulled back into traffic, Muckle and I headed into the park through the big iron gate. It was a beautiful autumn day, warm and sunny with a slight breeze, and it seemed everyone in the tri-county area was out enjoying the weather. That definitely included the dog park. There had to be at least two dozen dogs in there of all shapes and sizes.

  “Come on, Muckie,” I said, tightening my grip on the leash. I could already tell Muckle was revved up by all the new sights and sounds. “Let’s check it out.”

  We wandered around, getting the lay of the land. Well, I wandered—Muckle dashed back and forth in front of me, growing more excited by the second.

  No wonder. There was a lot going on. We started by checking out the huge central lawn, which took up about two-thirds of the place. It was vast, flat, and grassy, with only a couple of large shade trees breaking things up. Tons of dogs were running around out there. Some were wrestling in groups of two or three, while others focused on the owners tossing Frisbees or tennis balls.

  Muckle was getting overstimulated just watching all that action. I wasn’t about to let him loose—I’d probably never be able to catch him again. Or at least not before the buses stopped running at midnight. So we headed over to the shadier area along the perimeter. It was divided into different sections. There were a bunch of smallish pens where little dogs were playing, along with a couple of slow-moving large dogs that I guessed were too elderly to handle the rough-and-tumble of the main park. The area also contained water stations, poop deposit cans with plastic bags for anyone who’d
forgotten to bring some, and even a couple of crates where people could temporarily stow their dogs.

  “Oh, look,” I told Muckle as we passed the last of the small pens. “This must be the agility stuff.”

  We’d come to another separate pen, this one much larger than the small-dog playpens. It was dotted with colorful equipment, only some of which I knew the names of. There were jumps, ramps, weave poles, a seesaw, and more. At the moment a cute mixed breed was practicing running through a fabric tunnel, his eyes focused on the twentysomething woman directing his movements. Both owner and dog seemed to be having fun. On the sidelines, an older woman was leaning against a tree trunk and watching while her dog—a tiny, delicate-looking papillon—chewed busily on a toy bone.

  I glanced at the gate, which had shut behind us after Muckle and I entered. “I guess it would be okay to let you off your leash for a while,” I told Muckle. “You can’t do much damage in here, right?”

  Muckle sat relatively quietly as I clicked the leash off. Then he immediately dashed off, smelling along the fence line.

  After a moment he spotted the papillon. Muckle’s tail went straight up, and his ears pricked. Letting out several sharp barks, he bounded toward the tiny dog.

  The papillon’s owner looked over, her eyes widening in alarm. “Stop!” she yelled at Muckle, waving her arms. “Stay away!”

  The way she was acting, you would have thought there was a giant hungry lion charging toward her instead of a friendly sheltie puppy only slightly larger than her own dog. Still, I didn’t want to cause trouble on our first visit, so I decided to humor her.

  “Muckle!” I called. “Come back here!”

  But the dog park was clearly way too much for Muckle’s tiny brain. He barked again—his hyper bark, the one that meant his brain had pretty much switched off—and started chasing the papillon around and around its owner’s legs. The woman shrieked, trying to grab her dog. For some reason the papillon seemed to regard both its owner and the crazy-eyed larger dog as equal threats. It dodged the woman’s flailing arms, then raced off toward the big A-frame obstacle, heading up and over with surprising speed and, well, agility. Muckle followed, his claws scrabbling on the brightly painted wood.

  “Sorry!” I cried as I ran past the woman. I tried to catch Muckle as he leaped down the last few feet of the A-frame, but he dodged me easily. “I’m really sorry,” I called over my shoulder. “He’s friendly, he just gets too excited sometimes.”

  “You have to stop him! He’s going to hurt Midgie!” The woman sounded frantic.

  Once again, I nearly rolled my eyes. But people were starting to stare. The young woman with the mixed breed had stopped her dog atop one of the pieces of agility equipment, and on the other side of the fence a sporty-looking girl with short blond hair had also stopped to watch. Beside her was a pretty red-and-white-spotted dog—I was pretty sure it was a Brittany, though I wasn’t focused on playing Name That Breed at the moment.

  “Don’t chase them,” the blond girl called out. “You’re just egging them on.”

  Easy for her to say. I gulped, not sure what to do. The papillon was still managing to keep at least a yard or two ahead of Muckle. Not for lack of trying on Muck’s part.

  “Lauren? Everything okay?”

  It was Jamal. He was standing outside the gate with Ozzy. I’d never been so glad to see a friendly face.

  “I can’t catch him,” I blurted out, my eyes filling with tears. “He’s not listening to me at all, and this lady’s worried about her dog, and . . .”

  Jamal was already letting himself in. “Here. Hold Ozzy’s leash,” he said, shoving the loop into my hand.

  Then he reached into the pocket of his letterman jacket and pulled out a tennis ball. He let out a sharp whistle, then wound up and threw the ball. It bounced off the grass—just inches in front of Muckle’s nose.

  Muckle skidded to a stop, his eyes following the ball as it bounced again. With a short bark, he turned and chased after it.

  “Midgie! Come here, baby!” The woman hurried forward and grabbed her dog as it slowed down, cradling it to her chest. With a glare at me, she hurried out of the ring.

  Meanwhile the woman with the mixed breed grabbed Muckle as he pounced on the tennis ball. I hurried over to retrieve him, thanking her profusely as she handed him over.

  “Maybe we should get Muckle and Ozzy into a pen of their own,” Jamal suggested.

  “Good idea.” I held my puppy tightly as we let ourselves out of the agility ring. Muckle was still pretty worked up, and I didn’t want to take any chances of him getting loose in the larger area of the dog park.

  The blond girl, who was probably around my age or a little older, was still watching from outside. “Everything okay?” she asked. “Cute sheltie, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not slowing down as I followed Jamal toward an empty pen nearby. The girl seemed friendly, but I wasn’t in the mood for socializing at the moment.

  Once all four of us were safely in the pen, Jamal shut the gate firmly behind him and then unsnapped his dog’s leash. I set Muckle down on the grass, and the two puppies joyfully greeted each other.

  “Thanks,” I told Jamal as we watched them play. “You totally saved us—I think that woman was about to call the cops on Muckle. How’d you know what to do to stop him chasing that dog?”

  Jamal shrugged. “Ozzy will stop anything to chase a ball,” he said. “He loves it more than anything. I was hoping Muckle might be the same way.”

  Sure enough, Ozzy’s ears pricked at the word “ball,” and he stopped what he was doing and raced up to his owner, panting eagerly. I smiled and patted him.

  “I’m not sure Muckle’s as obsessed as that,” I said. “But he is easily distracted. The important thing is, it worked.”

  “Yeah.” Jamal pulled the tennis ball out of his pocket again and tossed it across the pen. Ozzy raced off after it with Muckle in hot pursuit. Jamal shot me a sidelong grin and flexed his arm playfully. “I gave up baseball back in middle school when I discovered running, but I guess I’ve still got it.”

  I laughed. “Definitely. If I’d tried to throw the ball like you did back there, it probably would’ve hit Muckle in the head. Or no—with my luck it would’ve hit the lady with the pap!”

  He chuckled, then cocked his head. “Pap?” he echoed.

  “Papillon. That’s the breed of that little dog Muck was chasing. You can recognize them by the big ears—they look sort of like butterfly wings, which is how the breed got its name.”

  “Gotcha. And wow. You sure know a lot about dogs.” Jamal leaned back against the iron fence and grinned. “Or maybe you just know a lot about everything. Like that obscure Scottish island you named Muckle after, for instance. Do they teach you stuff like that at County Day or what?”

  “Not really. And I definitely don’t know that much about dogs, either.” I smiled back ruefully. “It’s easy to research breeds and stuff online, but this training stuff is another thing.”

  I glanced at Muckle, who was running in circles around Ozzy as the larger puppy trotted back toward us with the ball in his mouth. Then I shot a look toward the agility pen across the way. The lady with the papillon had disappeared, but the blond girl was in there now, calling out instructions to her dog. Meanwhile the woman with the mixed breed had gone back to work too. Neither dog was paying the least bit of attention to the other, keeping their attention on their owners as they jumped over stuff and zipped through tunnels or whatever like pros. Would Muckle ever be like that? For that matter, would he ever learn to walk on a leash without trying to pull my arm out of its socket?

  I sighed. Jamal glanced at me. “What? You look worried. I latched the gate, I swear.”

  “It’s not that. I was feeling pretty good about Muck’s progress after Tuesday’s class,” I told him. “But now I’m back to wondering if he’ll ever turn into a good dog.”

  Jamal looked sympathetic. “I hear you. Ozzy ate one of my mom’s m
agazines last night.” Ozzy dropped the ball at his feet, and he threw it again. “Mom was furious. Mostly because he left scraps of slobbery paper all over the house.”

  “Bummer.” I shook my head. “Adam keeps saying they’re just puppies, and puppies don’t know what to do until we teach them. I don’t know why our parents can’t seem to understand that and maybe cut us some slack, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jamal said. “But in my case, I know why. My folks didn’t really want to get another dog after our old dachshund passed away. I had to talk them into letting me get a puppy.”

  “Sounds like my parents.”

  “Yeah. Rex was really old when he died, and he was pretty cranky the last few years.” He shrugged. “Actually, he was always pretty cranky. We started calling him T. Rex because he was always trying to bite people. Looking back, I realize it’s probably because we never taught him any better.”

  “Sounds like something Adam would say.” I tried not to look too lovesick at the mention of his name.

  “Right,” Jamal agreed. “Anyway, Rex was pretty much untrained. But I want to do it right this time. I had it all figured out—I’d go to the shelter and find some tall, lean dog that could keep up with me whether I was doing a long run or a sprint.”

  I watched Ozzy as he grabbed the tennis ball in his mouth and tossed it up, leaping after it. He was definitely athletic, but the words “tall” and “lean” weren’t the first to spring to mind.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Well, first my friends tried to change my mind about what to get,” he said. “My girl-crazy cousin Reggie thought I should pick out something small and fluffy and cute. He says that kind of dog is a girl magnet.” He grinned at me. “So what do you think? Is it true?”