Free Hot Dog by Laurien Berenson

a man sitting on a bar stool and trying out pickup lines by rote. “You know how much they look forward to your visits.”
    â€œThey’re wonderful dogs. I look forward to seeing them, too.”
    So why was I suddenly feeling so uncomfortable? Looking for distraction, I grabbed a couple of paper towels off the roll and began to mop the floor. Puddle gone, I threw the towels in the garbage, then picked up the water bowl and refilled it in the sink.
    Phil had gone over and sat down on the blanket between Mutt and Maisie. He had an arm curled around each. Usually I would take some time to play with the dogs now, maybe brush through their coats or clip their nails. But not unexpectedly, both seemed content to sit with their owner.
    â€œI guess I’m done, then,” I said.
    â€œUntil Thursday,” Phil agreed. “Thanks. From all of us.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    I could feel his eyes on me as I walked all the way to the front door. Or maybe it was my imagination again. Jill’s power of suggestion seemed to be working on me, big time.
    On the other hand, I supposed I could look on the bright side.
    At least I hadn’t found any dead bodies yet.

7
    P am’s pony farm turned out to be a delightful piece of property tucked away in a private location just off Old Long Ridge Road. The unpaved driveway slowed my speed, giving me plenty of time to appreciate the pastoral setting. Fields, bound by post-and-rail fencing, flanked the long driveway. Each held a small band of grazing Welsh ponies. The ponies lifted their heads curiously as I drove by, then went back to munching contentedly on the abundant spring grass.
    At the end of the driveway, I came to a barn that was long and low. Two rows of stalls opened off a wide, covered center aisle. Painted white with green trim, the stable matched a modest, tree-shaded clapboard house on the other side of a turnaround.
    Two tricolor Jack Russell Terriers came zooming outside to bark at my arrival. They raced twice around the driveway, their short legs pumping like pistons, then disappeared back inside the barn. I guessed I’d been officially greeted.
    Pulling over to park next to Bob’s Trans Am in the shade of a large maple tree, I saw a riding ring out behind the barn. Davey was in the ring on Willow. Bob and Pam were leaning against the rail watching. I got out and went to join them.
    â€œGreat,” said Bob. “You made it. The lesson was supposed to be over ten minutes ago, but I asked Pam to hang on a little longer so you could see Davey ride.”
    Pam flashed me a grin. “Bobby can be very persuasive.”
    â€œThanks for waiting,” I said. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you too much.”
    â€œNot at all. Davey’s a great kid.”
    I found myself warming to Pam. All right, what mother wouldn’t?
    Coming around the turn at a sedate walk, Davey lifted his reins and steered the palomino pony over to the rail. “Look Mom! I’m riding.”
    â€œI can see that. Is it fun?”
    â€œIt’s great. I can even trot. Want to see me? Pam says someday I’ll be able to gallop. Willow knows how to jump, too.”
    â€œNot so fast.” Pam laughed. “We’re going to take things one step at a time.” She reached out and corrected the position of Davey’s leg. “Heels down, remember?”
    â€œYup.” Davey nodded seriously. “Heels down. Eyes ahead. If I begin to slip, grab hold of the mane.”
    â€œWhat’d I tell you?” said Bob. “He’s a natural.”
    All right, let’s give some credit where it’s due. Davey did look good on the pony. Happy, too. Hard as it was for me to admit, there were definite pluses to having Bob back in his son’s life. Not just for Davey, but for me as well.
    For years I’d wrestled with the pressures of being a single parent. I’d driven myself crazy trying to get everything