Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“It’s what my research told me to do, quarantine her so she can—”
“After I read your application, I put those two together and there were no issues. If you’re worried about Tonks, put her in her crate.”
Uh-oh.
“I didn’t get her a crate.”
This time, his brows shot up. “You didn’t get her a crate?”
I squared my shoulders and stated, “I’m not putting her in another cage.”
“Mabel—”
I raised a hand, palm out his way. “No. No discussion.” I dropped my hand. “Yes, I’ve read about it. Yes, I know they say it’s actually a good thing and makes them feel safe. I just…” I swallowed. “Can’t do it.”
His voice had gentled, for the first time (outside of bed) reminding me of how he sang, when he said, “They’re your animals, Mabel.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Though, I urge you to reconsider down the road,” he said carefully. “It actually is a safe place, and it’s not the same when they’re home. They can see and smell home, and you, which is another home for them. You with me?”
I nodded.
“Go let Moxie out,” he ordered. “We’ll get to work.”
“Right.”
“C’mon, girl,” he murmured to Tonks as he turned to walk down the steps.
My dog looked back at me, but she went with Hutch.
I went into the house, right up the stairs, opened the bathroom door, and Moxie, who had decided my bathmat was more comfortable than her cat bed, something, as far as I knew, she hadn’t even sniffed, was curled on the mat.
Her head came up.
“How about some explore time?” I asked.
Her head tipped with curiosity.
But I left the door open and retreated to sit cross legged on my bed.
It took a few minutes, but she came out sniffing.
Then, for the next fifty-five minutes, I trailed her all around the house, trying not to hover, as she explored upstairs and down. During this time, the bread finished baking, and I took it out to cool.
I’d scooped Moxie up, and with a lot of cuddles, scratches and apologies from Mommy, I put her back in the bathroom before Hutch knocked on the door.
I opened it.
Tonks yodeled at me.
I crouched and gave her head a good rub.
“How’d it go? Were you good for Hutch? Did you show him how smart you are?”
Dancing in my hold, Tonks howled her answer to each question.
“I knew you’d do awesome,” I replied.
“She did,” Hutch confirmed. I looked up at him. “She’s sharp and alert.”
I straightened.
When I did, he said, “We need to discuss schedule.”
“Right. Come in,” I invited, getting out of his way.
I closed the door behind him and unclipped Tonks’s lead. She danced some more, did a few whirls, howled a couple of times, then headed to her water bowl and very noisily slurped some up.
I was hanging her leash on the hook by the door when Hutch asked, “Are you baking bread?”
“Baked. Sourdough,” I replied as I walked to the writing desk. I opened one of the drawers at the back, pulled out my checkbook, nabbed a pen, bent over it, and clicking my pen, I asked my checkbook, “Do I make the check out to Hutch Hutchison or Double H Dog Training?”
“You aren’t paying me.”
I lifted up to turn to him. “Do you prefer Venmo or PayPal or something?”
“You aren’t paying me.”
“Sorry?”
And a repeat, but this time with strained patience, “You aren’t paying me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I—”
He interrupted me. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time. I’ll work with her for forty-five minutes, then I want you out with me for the last fifteen so I can show you how you should work with her on the days I’m not here. I’ll be back Wednesday and Friday, same thing, her and me for forty-five, all three of us for that last fifteen.”
“Okay, but about pay—”
“She’s got basic training, but not all of it. We’ll start with ‘stay’ then move to ‘heel.’ But I don’t want to confuse her with too many new commands at once. I want to see how long it takes her to master one before we get complicated.”
“You’re the expert, but—”
“And that’s it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And maybe tomorrow, you might let me finish a damned sentence,” I snapped.
He was making a move to leave, but my snap brought him back to me.
“You wanna waste the time and effort to write me a check, be my guest,” he stated. “I’ll just rip it up.”
I threw an arm toward the front yard. “This isn’t only your time. It’s your expertise. You should be compensated for it.”
“Yeah, it’s my time, my expertise, and I should be able to say how I spend it.”
This was, regrettably, true.
“Fine,” I bit off, and stomped to the kitchen island to grab a loaf of bread I’d already wrapped tightly in cling film. I walked back and offered it to him. “So here, make me feel better. That’s my payment.”