grinned. "His breeder says he's giving rottweilers a bad name. Artie would rather have broccoli than beef any day. And a bowl of salad is his idea of heaven."
"I think if people knew just how much dogs like vegetables, they'd give them more. Which reminds me—you mentioned that Barry Enders was bringing his shepherd in today. How's she doing?"
Matt leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. "Well, she's developed a pretty serious arthritic condition. She doesn't get around so well anymore."
Doc Espey nodded. "I whelped that bitch … and her mother, and her mother, back about six genera tions. Every one of them developed hip dysplasia after they hit about ten or so. What did you give her?"
"I gave her two weeks' worth of PSGAG and told Barry to give me a call at the end of the week and let me know how's she's doing."
Doc Espey nodded in agreement. "Good choice. But I'd like to see her on fifteen hundred milligrams of vitamin C a day, as well."
"I'll give Barry a call first thing in the morning."
"Tell him to divide the dosage in half and give it twice a day. If she's no better at the end of two weeks, maybe we should send her to see Line Milner."
Matt smiled. "How do you think Barry would feel about taking his dog to a chiropractor?"
"If he thought it would help his dog, he'd do it. Did wonders for that collie we sent down to Milner last year."
"I'll mention it to him."
"Dinner's almost ready, Matt." Eva poked her head into the doorway. "Are you staying?"
"He's staying." Tim turned to her. "He needs a good meal and a few hours out. The boy has no social life to speak of, and can't make a decent meal for himself unless it comes frozen, out of a box, and fits into the microwave. Of course he's staying. Go home and get Artie, Matt, and we'll let him try Dr. Tim's new doggie formula. And a fter dinner I'll let you read the letter I got today from my old student Hank Stevens. He's developed a very interesting homeopathic approach to treating behavioral problems in d ogs using flower essences… "
I t was well after nine p . m . when Matt returned to his small rented bungalow just off the main street of Shawsburg, Maryland. He checked the messages on his answering machine—a call from his sister, one from a woman, Beth, he'd met at a party a few weeks earlier and thought he might be interested in seeing again, and a call from one of his old fraternity brothers, wondering where he'd been hiding. He played the messages a second time, debating on whether or not it was too late to call Laura and whether or not he wanted to call Beth at all. He dialed the number of the inn and listened as the recorded greeting began.
"Thank you for calling the Bishop's Inn. For general information, please press—"
"Hello?" Laura had picked up.
"Your dutiful brother promptly returning your call."
"Oh, hi, Matt."
"Is everything all right? Mom? Ally? Laura?"
"We're all fine, Matt. Mom is the same—"
"Which is not fine," he interjected.
"No. That's not fine, but at least she's still relatively healthy and has some lucid moments and she can still carry on a conversation ," Laura reminded him. "That's about as good as it gets at this stage of her disease, Matt."
"I know that. I just hate it," Matt told her bluntly.
"I hate it, too. But I can't change it." Laura sighed wearily. "I just wanted you to know that I'll be going up to the farm tomorrow, and I was wondering if there was anything in particular I should be looking at."
"Check the attic ceiling to make sure that the new roof is holding." He thought for a minute, then added, "And check the basement to make sure there's no water down there. We've had a lot of rain these past few weeks."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing else I can think of. How's Ally?"
"She's fine."
"Well, tell her that her favorite guy is on the phone and wants to talk to her." The thought of his little niece brought a smile to Matt's face. He loved Ally dearly and spoiled her every chance he
"I think if people knew just how much dogs like vegetables, they'd give them more. Which reminds me—you mentioned that Barry Enders was bringing his shepherd in today. How's she doing?"
Matt leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. "Well, she's developed a pretty serious arthritic condition. She doesn't get around so well anymore."
Doc Espey nodded. "I whelped that bitch … and her mother, and her mother, back about six genera tions. Every one of them developed hip dysplasia after they hit about ten or so. What did you give her?"
"I gave her two weeks' worth of PSGAG and told Barry to give me a call at the end of the week and let me know how's she's doing."
Doc Espey nodded in agreement. "Good choice. But I'd like to see her on fifteen hundred milligrams of vitamin C a day, as well."
"I'll give Barry a call first thing in the morning."
"Tell him to divide the dosage in half and give it twice a day. If she's no better at the end of two weeks, maybe we should send her to see Line Milner."
Matt smiled. "How do you think Barry would feel about taking his dog to a chiropractor?"
"If he thought it would help his dog, he'd do it. Did wonders for that collie we sent down to Milner last year."
"I'll mention it to him."
"Dinner's almost ready, Matt." Eva poked her head into the doorway. "Are you staying?"
"He's staying." Tim turned to her. "He needs a good meal and a few hours out. The boy has no social life to speak of, and can't make a decent meal for himself unless it comes frozen, out of a box, and fits into the microwave. Of course he's staying. Go home and get Artie, Matt, and we'll let him try Dr. Tim's new doggie formula. And a fter dinner I'll let you read the letter I got today from my old student Hank Stevens. He's developed a very interesting homeopathic approach to treating behavioral problems in d ogs using flower essences… "
I t was well after nine p . m . when Matt returned to his small rented bungalow just off the main street of Shawsburg, Maryland. He checked the messages on his answering machine—a call from his sister, one from a woman, Beth, he'd met at a party a few weeks earlier and thought he might be interested in seeing again, and a call from one of his old fraternity brothers, wondering where he'd been hiding. He played the messages a second time, debating on whether or not it was too late to call Laura and whether or not he wanted to call Beth at all. He dialed the number of the inn and listened as the recorded greeting began.
"Thank you for calling the Bishop's Inn. For general information, please press—"
"Hello?" Laura had picked up.
"Your dutiful brother promptly returning your call."
"Oh, hi, Matt."
"Is everything all right? Mom? Ally? Laura?"
"We're all fine, Matt. Mom is the same—"
"Which is not fine," he interjected.
"No. That's not fine, but at least she's still relatively healthy and has some lucid moments and she can still carry on a conversation ," Laura reminded him. "That's about as good as it gets at this stage of her disease, Matt."
"I know that. I just hate it," Matt told her bluntly.
"I hate it, too. But I can't change it." Laura sighed wearily. "I just wanted you to know that I'll be going up to the farm tomorrow, and I was wondering if there was anything in particular I should be looking at."
"Check the attic ceiling to make sure that the new roof is holding." He thought for a minute, then added, "And check the basement to make sure there's no water down there. We've had a lot of rain these past few weeks."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing else I can think of. How's Ally?"
"She's fine."
"Well, tell her that her favorite guy is on the phone and wants to talk to her." The thought of his little niece brought a smile to Matt's face. He loved Ally dearly and spoiled her every chance he
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