Free Underdog by Laurien Berenson Page A

bin at the supermarket, it was a game I was hoping he’d soon outgrow.
    â€œDo you want to get him or shall I?” asked Peg.
    â€œI’ll go.” I slipped down off the stool and zipped my jacket. “You keep drying.”
    I pushed open the kennel door and found Beau outside, waiting to come in. At least that’s what I thought he was doing. He was whining urgently and dancing in place with impatience. But when I opened the door wide, he didn’t slip past me. Instead he turned and trotted off in the other direction.
    â€œHere, Beau,” I said, calling him back. “Go on in. Peg’s in here.”
    He stopped and turned around to look at me. I’m not one of those people who ascribes human characteristics to dogs. At best you might call me a recent convert to the joys of dog ownership. But I could swear Beau was trying to tell me something. Not only that, but he seemed to be baffled by my apparent stupidity in not understanding.
    I looked around, scanning the large yard. Davey and Faith were nowhere to be seen.
    â€œDo you know where they are?” I asked.
    Beau wagged his tail.
    So it had come to this. I was not only talking to dogs, but also expecting them to answer. Thank God Aunt Peg wasn’t outside to see it.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
    Beau trotted across the lawn and around the side of the house. A wide veranda started in front and wrapped around both sides. In summer, Aunt Peg had filled up some of the space with a grouping of white wicker tables and chairs. Now, with the leaves already coming down from the trees and winter not far behind, she’d pushed the chairs to one side, piled them in a heap and covered them with a tarp for storage.
    Barking triumphantly, Beau scrambled up the steps. As he jumped up and placed his front paws against the pile of furniture, there was an answering bark from within.
    â€œShhh,” whispered Davey, his voice clearly audible. “They’ll find us.”
    â€œThey already have,” I said, drawing back the tarp. Faith and Davey were snuggled together in the seat of an upturned chair. “Beau led me straight to you.”
    â€œNo fair!” cried Davey.
    â€œSays who? If you can have a Poodle on your team, so can I.”
    By the time I’d gotten both child and puppy extracted, Aunt Peg was finished in the kennel. She joined us on the porch and we went inside to be greeted noisily by the herd of house Poodles. Aunt Peg offered hugs and biscuits all around, then shooed them affectionately out of the way.
    The dogs draped themselves around the kitchen, Beau sitting in the place of honor beside her chair as she put the kettle on the stove to make tea. I loathe tea, not that that’s ever mattered to Aunt Peg. She serves refreshments the same way she does everything else, with the belief that anyone who thinks they have a better idea can make their own. I’d spent enough time in Aunt Peg’s house recently to have stashed a jar of instant coffee in the freezer. We got down two mugs and went to work.
    Davey boosted himself up on the counter, munching his way happily through what was doubtless not his first doughnut. He broke off a piece and fed it to Faith. I pretended not to notice. Aunt Peg, who is apparently a stricter parent to her Poodles than I am to my child, interceded immediately.
    â€œDon’t do that,” she told Davey. “The sugar’s bad for her teeth. Besides, you’ll spoil her appetite.”
    Bad for her teeth? Spoil her appetite? This from a woman who’d been feeding my son doughnuts all afternoon?
    â€œWhat about Davey’s teeth?” I asked mildly.
    Aunt Peg gave me a look. “I assume he brushes.”
    â€œI do,” Davey chimed in.
    â€œWell, there you are. Are you brushing Faith’s teeth?”
    I smiled, thinking she was joking. Slowly the smile faded. I was almost afraid to ask. “Should I be?”
    Aunt Peg