He can't even hear the word without going berserk. If you think I'm going to drag the poor thing into my Olds and drive out to her place with that howling in my ears, you are wrong. We'll wait till Myles gets back."
"Nonsense," Meg said briskly. "He's your dog. He'll be fine." A pause, then she added ominously, "And you owe me."
"That's true."
"Doreen made the appointment with that woman vet."
"Laura Crest?"
"Yeah. It's at ten, I think. You'll do it?"
"I'll do it. Just don't blame me if Davy Kiddermeister arrests me for animal abuse along the way. From the way the animal carries on, you'd think I made a habit of whacking him around." She nudged Max with her toe and said in a foolish way, "Good boy."
"I was just wondering. When you take Max in to see her, ask her about the longhorn beef, okay? Anything I can find out about the difference in chemistry would be a help."
"For heaven's sake, Meg." Quill bit her lip. "No problem. She's going to think I'm crazy, but no problem."
"Hey! Who's the craziest? Who's the—"
Quill hung up, ran her fingers through her hair, called Myles to tell him she loved him, and went to bed.
"Now, Max," Quill said. "We're going for a little ride." She knelt under the prep table in the Palate's kitchen and took firm hold of his collar.
"That's a mistake," Doreen said. She dropped the breakfast dishes into the sink with a clatter. Last night's closing had slightly affected the breakfast trade, but Do reen had offered discounted dinners to those customers whose reservations she had canceled, and tonight's din ner hour was fully booked. It was nine-thirty and the sun streamed in the window like a pennant at a parade.
"What's a mistake?" Max, usually the most tractable of dogs, wriggled away from her clutch on his collar and bounded to the back door.
"Talkin' to him in that special cooey voice."
"I was not using a special cooey voice."
"You were usin' the 'this is goin' to hurt me more than it hurts you' voice, and the durn dog knows he's goin' to the vet."
Max flung himself against the back door and barked.
'Wow he knows he's going because he heard you! Max. Max! Hush. Whisper, Max, whisper."
Max rolled one eye appealingly in her direction. Then he flattened himself on the floor, rolled over to expose his belly, and whined. Quill knelt next to him to scratch his tummy.
"Don't do that," Doreen said. She banged a pot into place on its rack. As soon as Quill reached to pet him, Max rolled to his feet and dashed out the door into the dining room up front.
"That's why. That dog ain't dumb."
Quill scrambled up and went after him. She found him at the front table crouched at the feet of Royal Rossiter and a tall muscular man in a cowboy hat Quill hadn't seen before. "Max," she called, carefully keeping any cooey notes out of her voice. "Here, Max. C'mon, Max. Let's go for a walk, boy. Walk."
Max whined, thumped his tail, and barked. Two middle-aged ladies at table three frowned disapprovingly. The tall man in the Stetson bent over and snapped his fingers. "On your feet, son." Max got up. The man in the hat ran a knuckle over Max's nose. "You lookin' at a bath this morning? Got a problem?" Max panted happily, a foolish grin on his face. He wriggled blissfully under the strong fingers. Quill crossed the dining room with an apologetic smile in the direction of the ladies. They were both eating Meg's Summer Breakfast Sorbet, a raspberry-filled blini that should have put them into a much better mood. The blonde in the pink pant-suit sneezed hard twice. Quill stopped at their table. "You're allergic," she said remorsefully. "I'm so sorry. He hates the vet, although there isn't any reason to, she's very . . ."
Max reacted to the word the way bulls were reputed to react to cattle prods. He dove between Royal Rossiter's legs and out the front door. Quill let fly a four-letter word, regretted it immediately, and ran after him. Royal and the cowboy followed. Quill refused to acknowledge the grins
"Nonsense," Meg said briskly. "He's your dog. He'll be fine." A pause, then she added ominously, "And you owe me."
"That's true."
"Doreen made the appointment with that woman vet."
"Laura Crest?"
"Yeah. It's at ten, I think. You'll do it?"
"I'll do it. Just don't blame me if Davy Kiddermeister arrests me for animal abuse along the way. From the way the animal carries on, you'd think I made a habit of whacking him around." She nudged Max with her toe and said in a foolish way, "Good boy."
"I was just wondering. When you take Max in to see her, ask her about the longhorn beef, okay? Anything I can find out about the difference in chemistry would be a help."
"For heaven's sake, Meg." Quill bit her lip. "No problem. She's going to think I'm crazy, but no problem."
"Hey! Who's the craziest? Who's the—"
Quill hung up, ran her fingers through her hair, called Myles to tell him she loved him, and went to bed.
"Now, Max," Quill said. "We're going for a little ride." She knelt under the prep table in the Palate's kitchen and took firm hold of his collar.
"That's a mistake," Doreen said. She dropped the breakfast dishes into the sink with a clatter. Last night's closing had slightly affected the breakfast trade, but Do reen had offered discounted dinners to those customers whose reservations she had canceled, and tonight's din ner hour was fully booked. It was nine-thirty and the sun streamed in the window like a pennant at a parade.
"What's a mistake?" Max, usually the most tractable of dogs, wriggled away from her clutch on his collar and bounded to the back door.
"Talkin' to him in that special cooey voice."
"I was not using a special cooey voice."
"You were usin' the 'this is goin' to hurt me more than it hurts you' voice, and the durn dog knows he's goin' to the vet."
Max flung himself against the back door and barked.
'Wow he knows he's going because he heard you! Max. Max! Hush. Whisper, Max, whisper."
Max rolled one eye appealingly in her direction. Then he flattened himself on the floor, rolled over to expose his belly, and whined. Quill knelt next to him to scratch his tummy.
"Don't do that," Doreen said. She banged a pot into place on its rack. As soon as Quill reached to pet him, Max rolled to his feet and dashed out the door into the dining room up front.
"That's why. That dog ain't dumb."
Quill scrambled up and went after him. She found him at the front table crouched at the feet of Royal Rossiter and a tall muscular man in a cowboy hat Quill hadn't seen before. "Max," she called, carefully keeping any cooey notes out of her voice. "Here, Max. C'mon, Max. Let's go for a walk, boy. Walk."
Max whined, thumped his tail, and barked. Two middle-aged ladies at table three frowned disapprovingly. The tall man in the Stetson bent over and snapped his fingers. "On your feet, son." Max got up. The man in the hat ran a knuckle over Max's nose. "You lookin' at a bath this morning? Got a problem?" Max panted happily, a foolish grin on his face. He wriggled blissfully under the strong fingers. Quill crossed the dining room with an apologetic smile in the direction of the ladies. They were both eating Meg's Summer Breakfast Sorbet, a raspberry-filled blini that should have put them into a much better mood. The blonde in the pink pant-suit sneezed hard twice. Quill stopped at their table. "You're allergic," she said remorsefully. "I'm so sorry. He hates the vet, although there isn't any reason to, she's very . . ."
Max reacted to the word the way bulls were reputed to react to cattle prods. He dove between Royal Rossiter's legs and out the front door. Quill let fly a four-letter word, regretted it immediately, and ran after him. Royal and the cowboy followed. Quill refused to acknowledge the grins
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