“It’s a calendar featuring members of the team with their dogs… or with foster dogs.”
“That’s really a cute idea.”
“Right?” Her voice hits a note that makes Spanky pull to the side and stamp his feet excitedly.
“Keep it down. I’ve got to shape his pom poms, and I can’t do it if he’s jumping around.”
“Sorry.” She lowers her voice, and I pet Spanky for a few seconds to get him calm again.
“Almost done, buddy.” I thread my fingers through his freshly styled top knot.
Haddy exhales a quiet laugh. “He looks like he’s wearing a fur coat. I mean, of course he is, but it looks like something you’d buy at a store.”
Nodding, I’m pretty proud of my work on this one. “It’s the most popular show clip for Poodles, and we’re going for the gold this year, aren’t we Spanks?”
I’m using my soothing doggy-voice, and he starts stamping again, doing his best to lick my face. His harness is secured to the side of the grooming tub by a short leash.
“Let’s finish up now, boy!” I kiss his shaved nose, and he settles down quickly.
I’ve had Spanky since he was a puppy, and he’s well trained. Except for being a notorious towel thief, which I blame on us. We always laughed when he did it as a puppy, so now he thinks it’s a game.
He’s still a good boy.
“He looks amazing,” Haddy says softly. “You’re so good at this.”
“Years of practice.” I lift the clippers off the shelf,inhaling a calming breath before I start on the most important part. “Give me a minute so I can finish.”
She hesitates as I begin. Once I’ve made the initial pass, she quietly asks, “Do you think you can help us find some good dogs for the calendar?”
“They’re all good dogs.” My voice is level as I concentrate on the length of the hip pom.
“We can debate that later.” She laughs, and I know she’s thinking about the foster dog who barfed on her bed anytime she left her door open.
Mav later told me the dog also furiously humped my favorite throw pillow whenever he got the chance. Naturally, I punched his shoulder for not telling me sooner and bought a replacement cover on the spot.
“That poor dog had a nervous condition… and possibly a UTI. It didn’t make him bad.”
Haddy makes a snorting noise of dissent before continuing. “Anyway, Gav is putting together a list of players. We just need dogs to go with them.”
“I’m sure I can help you.” Straightening again, I inspect my work. “How does that look?”
Haddy walks around to where I’m standing to study Spanky’s behind. She knows all about competitions and judges, and I trust her opinion as much as my own.
She tilts her head to the side, squinting. “I think that one’s a little high on the outside. See there?”
Sure enough, the left side extends a bit too far into Spanky’s flank. “Yep. Thanks, Hads.”
“No problem!” She returns to her spot, and I step forward, ready to fix the line.
“How many do you need?” I’m leaning closer, laser focused.
“Well, Mav is with Spanky and Gav has Patsy…”
Patsy is her cinnamon teacup poodle, whose real name is Princess Petunia. She was our foster dog after theunfortunateone, and my cousin fell instantly in love with her—so much that she sat on the floor in her bedroom and cried when we had to give her back.
Then, after a few weeks, the owner returned the pup to us. She said Princess Petunia was as depressed about leaving my cousin as Haddy was about giving her back.
“So they don’t have to be hounds?” I pause to glance up at her. “I mean, it’s hilarious to think of six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound Gavin Knight holding the smallest dog on the planet, but Peepee isnota hound.”
