Free Whom Dog Hath Joined by Neil S. Plakcy Page B

to get him to sit so I
could hook it up.
    No matter how strict I made my voice, Rochester was too
intent on playing to obey. I finally had to grab the fur behind his neck and
immobilize him with my body. As soon as I let him go he raced for the front
door, dragging me behind him.
    He dashed for my next-door-neighbor’s oak tree and peed
copiously. Then he darted ahead, continuing to pull me along. When I finally
got him back home, he was eager to jump in the car. I loaded him into the front
seat and he stuck his head out the window all the way up along the River Road
to the turn off to Friar Lake.
    My office was in a small stone building that had once been
the abbey gatehouse. The college’s director of physical plant, Joe Capodilupo,
was in charge of the renovations to the buildings and grounds, and his first
project had been renovating the gatehouse to serve not only as a construction
field office, but eventually as the office for the conference center.
    The architects had designed a warm, welcoming lobby with a
desk and comfortable chairs. Hunter green walls, dark brown leather sofas,
crown molding and pointed arches over the windows completed the look, which was
masculine, academic, and ecclesiastical. A scale model of the project was on
the low table by the front door, along with a stack of glossy brochures. Lili
had taken the photos and I’d written the text.
    There were two offices off the lobby and a large conference
room where we kept the full-sized plans of the property. As Rochester and I
walked in, Joe stepped out of his office. He was a gruff, heavyset guy with
white hair and a white beard, and he looked like he’d have been at home with
the Benedictines if you slapped one of those black robes on him. He was
accompanied by a tall, good-looking guy in his early thirties. Though he was
nearly a head taller than Joe and his hair was dark, I spotted a family
resemblance immediately.
     “Morning, Steve. Let me introduce you to my boy, Joe
Junior. He just started as the superintendent of the construction crew here.”
    “Call me Joey,” he said, as I reached out to shake his hand,
which was large and calloused. He had a faint tracing of five o’clock shadow, hipster
sideburns, and a diamond stud in one ear.
    “Good to meet you.” I introduced Rochester, who slobbered
all over the knee of Joey’s faded but neatly pressed jeans. He reached down to
ruffle the dog’s ears, and Rochester had a new friend.
    “When the decorator fella gets here, we’ll take a walk
around,” Joe said. “In the meantime, Joey’s got a lot to learn.”
    “My dad’s been saying that since I was about five,” Joey
said. “See you later.”
    I went into my office, put down my messenger bag, and turned
on my computer. The office was a change from the one I’d had at Fields Hall on
campus, with its high ceilings, ornate moldings, and French doors out to a
garden where I could take Rochester for quick walks. At Friar Lake, I had a
picture window view of the abbey chapel, a Gothic pile that needed serious
rehabbing. The property sat atop a low tree-covered mountain, and there were
plenty of places where I could let Rochester off his leash to run.
    I began to go through my emails, deleting all those that had
no importance to me, including what was probably the fifteenth message from a
textbook rep inviting me to sign up for the digital lab for freshman comp. I’d
tried writing back to let her know that I wasn’t teaching that term, but the
message came from one of those “do not reply” addresses, and I’d long since
lost her business card.
    I’d just finished when Mark walked in. He was in his
mid-thirties, exceedingly tall and skinny, wearing a tight black T-shirt and
close-fitting black jeans.
    “Sorry I had to push things back,” I said, standing up to
shake his hand. “I hope it didn’t wreck your schedule.”
    “No problem.” Rochester lunged for him, but Mark
intercepted. “Black pants, puppy! I don’t want