Free The Children by Ann Leary Page A

killjoy?”
    â€œEurasian milfoil,” Spin said. “And I don’t know that I’d call it one of the cleanest lakes in America.”
    â€œHe sees anything green at the bottom of the lake and he’s like a hypochondriac who finds a new mole,” Joan told Laurel.
    â€œGo ahead and laugh,” Spin said, “but the reason this lake is so healthy is because we’re so proactive. Anyway, this is boring to Laurel.”
    â€œBoring to Laurel?” I said. “It’s boring to everyone, Spinny.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s boring,” Laurel said. So Spin proceeded to enchant her with facts regarding acidity levels, nitrogen ratios, and all the wonderful microorganisms that he serves and protects in our Lake Marinac.
    Everett pulled up, mercifully, in the middle of this speech. He parked in front of his house and then wandered over to our porch.
    â€œHey, Joanie, Spin. Hey, Lottie,” Everett said. Then he grinned at Laurel and said, “I’m Everett, you know, from last night.”
    â€œYes, hi, I know! I was able to recognize you even with your pants on,” Laurel said. Everett stammered as he explained to Spin about her arrival.
    â€œOh,” Spin said. “You and Lottie were out there all nakie? Wasn’t it freezing?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œWell, I guess all your phosphorus or blue-green algae isn’t doing its job, Philip,” Laurel said.
    Everett had just dropped the Australian shepherds back at their home and had picked up another young dog from Ridgefield.
    â€œThis new guy’s huge,” Everett said. “He’s a Leonberger.”
    â€œA limburger?” Joan asked.
    â€œA Le-on-ber-ger,” Everett said, pronouncing each syllable.
    â€œI’ve never heard of such a thing. Let’s see him,” she said.
    â€œOkay, but let’s put Riley inside. The people who own this guy are clueless. He’s nine months old and they haven’t neutered him. He seems pretty mellow, but I don’t want to take any risks.”
    We put Riley in the house and then Everett opened the passenger door of the truck. Snacks leaped out, then turned to bark at the enormous dog, who sort of tumbled out behind him.
    â€œJesus, that is a big dog,” Spin said.
    â€œHe’s beautiful,” I said. I wandered over to meet him. He was the size of a Saint Bernard but had the coloring of a German shepherd. Snacks was circling him in an assertive way, his legs stiff and straight, his tail rigid. Snacks is like a little drill sergeant whenever a new dog arrives, snarling and barking rules at the new recruit. He just needs them to know that this is his place—he demands respect. He’s aware that he’s the size of a football with stubby legs, so he always shows the newcomer his teeth. I think he wants new dogs to visualize their jugular betwixt them. They all seem to do that, as they become very cowed in his presence. Everett says that Snacks does the bulk of his job for him. Now the big Leonberger flopped over and rolled onto his back, his mouth grinning, his tongue lolling out to the side.
    Snacks trotted over to a nearby shrub and lifted his leg, and that was that. The Leonberger got up and lumbered over to me.
    â€œOh my God, I’m in love,” I said.
    â€œYou say that about every dog I bring here,” Everett said. He gave me a little hug, but I wiggled out of his arms; I didn’t want the others to see. Everett called out to Joanie that she could let Riley out. Within minutes, the three dogs had established a friendly rapport. Spin offered Everett a beer and he sat on the porch with us.
    â€œDid you guys hear what happened over at Mildred’s yesterday?” Everett asked. Mildred Swan is our closest neighbor. She’s widowed now, but her husband had been one of Whit’s oldest friends.
    None of us had heard a thing.
    â€œOh,” Everett said. He squinted at the