“All I want for Christmas,” she whispered, stopping at the window to look out at the snow, “is…the truth.”
She sighed. Cindy was right. There was a place for optimism and the benefit of the doubt, but that gift was over the top and she hoped she could find out why.
And really hoped that she liked the answer.
The morning after Christmas, the snow had finally stopped, leaving Park City skiers happy and tourists able to enjoy a blindingly sunny day in town. Snow stacked on fence rails and pine boughs, the sky glistened like a blue dome, and all the roads along the outskirts had been plowed into neat corridors as Gracie drove to Canine Canyon Refuge.
She eased her van into the turn lane, the heater purring high enough to fog the edges of the windshield. In the rearview mirror she caught Benny’s profile—serious as a scientist—his knit hat pulled low over shaggy brown hair, his gloved hand absently stroking the silky ears of Sir Isaac Newton.
The puppy wore a tiny harness clipped to the seatbelt so he couldn’t lunge face-first into the front seat, which they’d learned the hard way he liked to do.
He was six months of Cavapoo exuberance, equal parts curl and curiosity, and a whole lot of love. Gracie didn’t think Benny had let go of the dog in twenty-four hours except to bathe, eat, and sleep.
“You excited?” she asked. “Paws & Pals, Day One.”
“Excited about the curriculum,” he said without looking up, the use of a word like “curriculum” not even fazing Gracie. Sheknew when Benny was about six months old that he was smart. The word “genius” started getting used at two.
Now, at ten, she was long used to his high IQ and slightly quirky personality.
She didn’t know where he got the brains—Sam Sutton hadn’t exactly been a Mensa candidate, unless making and breaking promises gave a person more IQ points. Didn’t matter. She was happy her boy had that advantage in life.
Except when it worked against him.
Right now, he was reading the schedule she’d printed and folded into thirds, his finger moving line by line as if he could memorize the whole week before they hit the parking lot.
“Name recognition, sit, down, leash manners. Vet talk on Day Three. Agility play. Please.” He rolled his eyes with the skill of a teenaged girl. “We will conquer that the first morning.”
“No need to overachieve, Ben.”
“Wait. Socialization blocks.” He hesitated there, the word landing heavy and awkward in the warm car. “Socialization? With dogs or kids?”
“Dogs need friends, too.” She glanced in the mirror again. “Just like you. I bet you meet nice kids here.”
“I’m focused on Sir Isaac Newton today,” Benny said, in that practical, matter-of-fact tone he used when he wanted to get his way. “We should clarify the list of commands we want to be consistent with at home. I read that ‘sit’ versus ‘sit down’ can be confusing. Also, we need to pick a release word. ‘Okay’ is too common. The trainer in the video says ‘free.’ I like ‘release.’ It sounds official.”
“It certainly does,” she agreed, turning past a woodcut sign at the entrance of Canine Canyon Refuge.
She’d been here just before Christmas with her mother to pick up Sir Isaac Newton, and dear MJ had been so enamoredwith the doggies that Snowberry Lodge almost got one to entertain the guests.
The refuge was a multi-building campus tucked on the edge of town, a sweet place that cared for dogs and cats, despite the name. Also some insanely adorable goats.
She pulled into the lot and found a spot near the main building, eyeing the blue clapboard structure. A banner hung over the front door with bold lettering that said, “Welcome to Paws & Pals Winter Training Camp!”
To the right, a low barn hugged a paddock where a few goats nosed the snow curiously. Farther back, a small outbuilding held a cat “porch” with carpeted shelves pressed against a window. The whole place felt well-loved, painted in cheerful colors that made the day glow warmer.
“Mom,” Benny said, voice soft in the back seat. “He’s quivering.”
“Puppy shivers,” she answered, unbuckling. “It’s excitement. And a little cold.” She met Benny’s eyes. “I get it.”
He nodded, then bent to press his nose to Sir Isaac Newton’s head. “You’re going to be excellent,” he whispered to the dog. “Top of your class. Valedictorian.”
Gracie’s heart gave a small leap. How many times could you fall in love with your own child? Apparently, many. She climbed out, had a little shiver herself, then slid open the back door for Benny and…Sir Isaac Newton.
Did she really have to call him by a five-syllable name? Yes, according to his master. She hoped the other kids at camp would follow Benny’s rules. If they didn’t, she hoped he could like them anyway.
After all, this little sojourn had a bigger purpose than training the dog how to do what doggies did. As she and Nicole had discussed yesterday, this was part of Gracie’s relentless campaign for Benny to make friends.
Benny unbuckled Sir Isaac Newton with careful fingers and anchored the leash, then slid out, putting the dog on the ground and laughing when he scampered on the snow.
