“Now,” Wade interrupted. “You’re already late submitting, let’s get this train moving. The clip is done. The photos are done. We’re sending it off. Today.”
Rachel popped the memory card into her oversize computer and the photos filled the screen. They quickly narrowed their choices down to two favorites, one of the images of the dogs sitting next to Cora, each with a tilted head and happy expression, and one of the final images of the day with the dogs dozing around her.
“They’re both so different. How can we choose?” Cora asked.
“I have a favorite. Wade, what about you?” He walked over to the screen and stood next to Rachel.
“I have a favorite, too. No question.”
Cora stared at the images. One looked professional and typical—she had seen similar shots on other trainers’ websites. The other looked like art.
“It might be risky, but I like the sleepy one. I love it because it’s not all about me ... it’s about ... relationship.”
“Me, too!” Rachel and Wade said simultaneously. Wade offered Cora a high-five.
“This photo alone should at least get you an audition.”
“Is the mutual admiration society done with the meeting? Let’s get this bad boy submitted,” Wade said, ever the taskmaster. “Log in to your e-mail on my computer.”
Cora sat down at his desk. “I’m so nervous!”
She looked at Rachel and Wade, and they nodded encouragingly at her. Fritz made his way over to where she sat and rested his head on her knee, offering his support as well.
“Wish me luck, everybody.”
She held her breath, closed her eyes, and pushed send.
TWENTY
Fritz walked slowly through Rock Creek Park, seeking out the shady stretches and panting, as if he’d just run a few miles. Springtime in DC was unpredictable, with typical temperate days intermixed with sweltering hints of the summer to come. The sun was warmer than Cora expected, and she worried that she and Fritz might have overdone it during their Sunday meditation stroll. Sometimes his gait showed his age, and even though her vet told her that he was in great shape for a senior, Cora still worried about him constantly.
Cora tried to be fully present during their Sunday walks, but when she found a shady patch and sat down next to Fritz, she couldn’t resist checking her phone just once. An e-mail from the Rescue League highlighting the at-risk dogs in the shelter in need of foster homes tugged at her heartstrings.
She hadn’t fostered a dog since she and Aaron broke up. She missed it, though, and guessed that Fritz did as well. He was always a gracious host to the dogs passing through their home, welcoming the new dogs with the finesse of an ambassador and helping build their confidence through gentle play and companionship. She looked over at him and asked, “Want to save a life, Fritzy?”
Cora scrolled through the dogs’ photos in the e-mail. Every single one looked adorable, and her heart broke that she couldn’t take them all in. She wrote post after post on ChienParfait about how wonderful shelter dogs were, and that they weren’t broken or damaged. Now she felt like she had to work overtime to undo the Ershovich damage. She wrote about how easy fostering was, and how rewarding. She followed up with her fosters once they were in their forever homes and told their new stories of happiness, easy living, and friendship, always including heart-tugging before-and-after photos. But she was blogging into the abyss; each post received only a few hits.
She kept scrolling through the e-mail until a face stopped her in her tracks. The dog had short light blond fur with a subtle white mask, a liver-colored nose, and a light brown spot on the top of her head nestled in her impressive worry wrinkles. Her origami ears were pointy with the tips folded down, as if they never quite made it to a full point during her puppy growth spurt. Her muzzle was puffy, which made her look like she had a little shar-pei in her. Her head was tilted to the side in the picture, as if the photographer had just asked her a question she couldn’t answer. There was something in her face that Cora couldn’t resist.
The dog’s description was all too familiar. “Josie is an owner surrender. She’s an adorable young pocket pit mix, weighing in at only forty-three pounds. She’s a snugglebug and she loves everyone she meets, including other dogs, children, and cats. She knows how to sit, and she takes treats very gently. Josie isn’t doing well in the shelter environment. The shelter is almost at capacity, and we’re in desperate need of foster homes. Please consider helping Josie.”
Fritz nuzzled Cora’s hand, as if giving his approval. “Should we?” she asked him. Finding a foster was almost like falling in love at first sight, and Cora was powerless when it happened. She dashed off a quick text to her friend Abby, who volunteered at the League, to get the behind-the-scenes scoop, and discovered that Josie would be a perfect fit.
Cora texted Maggie, knowing what her answer would be but asking anyway as a courtesy. Maggie was always a doting Auntie to Cora’s temporary lodgers.
Cora put her phone down and rubbed Fritz’s shoulders. She hoped that a part-time new buddy would put the pep back in his step. He had slowed down suddenly since their last foster, and she hoped that bringing a dog like Josie in would liven him up again.
She leaned over and kissed him. “Off we go, bud. Let’s walk.” He stood up and shook his body off, and they headed back to the main path. They spotted a dog in the distance, and Fritz’s tail immediately started wagging in anticipation. Cora nodded. “Yup, I think Josie is just what you need, boy.”
TWENTY-ONE
Cora had only been in the Feretti household for ten minutes and already things were going to hell.
“What do you mean by ‘they need more exercise’?” Simone Feretti asked, sounding incredulous and defensive at the same time.
Cora watched the two sleek German shorthaired pointers chase each other through the spacious living room, trying to figure out a way to gently express her concerns without further angering her new client.
“I’m sure you know that these dogs are bred to hunt and retrieve for hours,” she began. “If they don’t get a ton of brain and body exercise every day, you end up with ... this.” Cora gestured to the canine scrum at her feet, which was grappling close to an end table crowded with candlesticks. The dogs’ dark brown heads and chocolate chip–spotted coats blended seamlessly into the Feretti décor, their streamlined elegance a fine complement to the calming tans and creams in the room. Their temperament, however, was anything but.
