She turned to Simone and shrugged. “One down...”
Felisa rushed over to take the dog away without even being asked, whispering calmly to him in rapid Spanish.
Cora reached into her pocket and scattered a few more treats on the ground. Blade assessed her nonthreatening body language and approached her slowly, then began hoovering the treats near her feet.
“There’s a boy,” Cora cooed. “Nice work,chouchou.” She ran her hand along his smooth fur and then took hold of his collar. Blade trembled as Simone walked over to grab him. She handed the dog off to Felisa and turned back to Cora.
“Felisa will see you out.” Simone walked out of the room without another word.
Cora waited in the kitchen for Felisa to return, unsure if it would be rude to go back to the family room unchaperoned. She was sweating, and her stomach hurt. She’d had her share of challenging clients, but none could compare to what had just happened. Even Beth Ann was more neglectful than cruel! She was angry at herself for letting the session get so out of hand, and depressed that she wouldn’t be able to help the dogs. It felt like Cooper all over again, but in a much grander setting.
Felisa came back in the kitchen through the back door, shaking her head. “Thoseperros.”
“I wish I could help,” Cora said, shrugging her shoulders, hoping her body language could convey her powerlessness.
“They want to come in. Sometimes, I go outside and...” She pantomimed petting.
“I bet they like that.”
Cora followed Felisa back into the family room and packed her bag. She glanced out the large picture window and saw Blade and Hunter standing in the middle of the yard, staring in as fat raindrops began to fall.
TWENTY-TWO
Cora’s new foster, Josie, sat in the cramped backseat of Cora’s Volvo calmly looking out the window, as if she made this trip every day. Cora never knew what kind of passenger she’d get when she brought home a foster, and she’d dealt with everything from terrified droolers to maniacal barkers over the years. Josie’s face in the rearview mirror looked relaxed, and she surveyed the world outside the window with interest but not obsession. Her tail moved in wide circular wags. Josie’s serenity was a good sign. Fritz peered back from the front seat every so often to confirm that the pretty blonde was indeed still with them. He had bonded to her almost immediately during their meet and greet at the shelter.
Everything changed the minute the car stopped in front of Cora’s building. The cessation of movement jarred Josie into consciousness, much like a baby wakes when Mom stops rocking. She whined loudly and scratched at the windows, and Fritz looked at Cora with an expression that said, “Whois that?”
Cora struggled to unload Josie from the car. She wasn’t sure if the suddenly nervous dog would dart because of the unfamiliar environment, so she took her time, triple wrapping the leash around her hand while Fritz watched from the sidewalk.
A middle-aged woman walked toward them, staring down at her phone. She didn’t look up until she was almost on top of the trio, and when she saw Fritz blocking her path and Josie panting a few steps away she stopped short and shrieked.
“Don’t worry,” Cora assured the woman. “They’re super friendly.” Fritz took a step toward the stranger and wagged his entire hind end, as if to prove his ambassador skills.
“Get it away from me!” the woman yelled. She remained frozen with her hands out in front of her. Fritz sat down a few paces away from her, seemingly amused by the woman’s misplaced distress. Josie remained glued by Cora.
“Fritz,flanchet.”Flanchetwas the one French word Cora used with Fritz, a bastardization of the wordflank, and he knew it was serious business when he heard it. He immediately came to her side, pressed his shoulder against her leg and looked directly up at Cora’s face, as if nothing existed but her. Cora was so used to people freaking out when they encountered him that she worked on the cue until it was flawless. Fritz wasn’t achien parfait, but when he didflanchethe certainly looked like one.
The woman shuddered and speed-walked away. Cora felt sure that Ershovich’s anti-pit influence was seeping into public consciousness.
She walked them to the top-secret grassy pee patch hidden in an alley up the block and waited until Josie stopped sniffing and calmed down enough to go. Fritz then led the way to their apartment and Josie ice-skated along behind them on the tips of her nails. She seemed disconnected from both Cora and Fritz.
Even though Cora preached proper foster dog acclimation protocols to her clients and on her blog, she didn’t practice them. She knew she was supposed to employ baby gates, enforced separation, and careful delineation of resources until the dogs were comfortable with each other. But she flouted the rules because she knew Fritz could handle whatever rolled his way, and so could she. Cora unclipped their leashes once safely inside and watched the Fritz house tour begin. He walked directly in front of Josie on his way to the kitchen and took a drink from his bowl. He peeked around the corner to where she stood anchored by the door and then took another drink. “This is where our water is located,” he seemed to say.
He passed by Josie again, walked over to his toy basket and gave her a look that said, “When you’re ready to play, this is where the fun stuff lives.” Cora made a mental note to watch for toy guarding behavior.
Finally he walked over to one of his many beds and stood in it, glancing her way. “This is pretty comfy, we can sleep here if you feel like it.”
“You’re such a good host, Fritzie,” Cora said admiringly. She squatted down next to Josie, who remained glued to her side, and gave her a few shoulder rubs. “It’s going to be okay, don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of this place.” Cora walked to the couch, hoping the nervous dog would follow her.
“C’mon over. Come sit by us,” Cora said to Josie, patting the dog bed in front of the couch, where she’d settled to check her e-mail. Josie walked toward them slowly, with her head lowered. “Good girl! There you go! Come rest.”
Josie climbed in the bed and turned in four tight circles on the cushion, the genetically encoded ritual of tamping down the earth emerging from deep within her doggy DNA. She curled in a tight ball and sighed. Cora put her hand on Josie’s back, and the dog barely stirred. “Take all the time you need, sweetie.”
Cora texted Maggie a photo of sleeping Josie and then checked her e-mail. She sifted through the new client inquiries, junk mail from various dog supply outlets, and saw an unfamiliar address with a subject line that stopped her in her tracks.
“Your submission.”
She opened the e-mail, but held her phone to her chest and took deep breaths before she read it.
