Free The Dogfather by Susan Conant Page A

morning coffee, I jotted down an intensive training plan for Frey. Rowdy and Kimi, seeing my edginess, watched me with the same trust I’d felt from them in the dream. With regard to dog training, their trust was well placed. I told them so. “When it comes to people,” I said, “I’m perfectly likely to bungle things, but I do know how to train dogs. No public places? We’ll create them here. No puppy kindergarten? We’ll do our own.” I picked up the phone and called Steve at his clinic. “How you doing?” I asked.
    Proving the point I’d made to Rita, he said, “Sammy is quite a character.” Steve went on to report that India was mothering Sammy and that Lady was afraid of him. Steve and I agreed that since Lady was afraid of everything, her reaction was normal, at least for her.
    "What’ve you been up to?” he asked with an attempt at casualness.
    “Up to?” I replied, thinking of Guarini. “Nothing! Nothing at all! Not a thing. Not one thing.” Coming to my senses, I said, “Actually, I’m training a puppy who needs socialization, and it occurred to me”—a gross understatement—“that I could do a sort of mini puppy class here with him and Sammy. Basic socialization. Puppy play. Fun stuff. Very carefully supervised. I don’t believe in leaving puppies free to practice bad behavior. You interested?”
    After making sure that Frey had been thoroughly vet checked and was free of contagious diseases and up to date on his shots, Steve eagerly accepted the invitation.
    Next I called Guarini, who again told me what good work I’d done with Carla’s coffin-dancing little fiend, Anthony.
    “Elementary,” I said modestly. “I have a new plan for Frey. The story is that a friend of mine has a malamute puppy, younger than Frey, and I want to get the puppies together here. It’s a great opportunity to socialize Frey.” Guarini agreed. The plan was that on prescheduled weekday mornings, Steve or one of his assistants would drop Sammy off here. At ten, Frey would arrive. He’d stay for two hours of puppy play and training before being limoed home. I’d then return Sammy to Steve’s, or keep him with me. Steve would never run into Guarini’s men. In the two hours Frey was with me, I could do multiple brief training sessions with him. And, of course, I’d get to spend time with Rowdy’s little son. Perfect! For the rest of the day, I puppy-proofed the house, set up crates, and assembled supplies. While I was at it, I put together a puppy-training lesson plan for Guarini to use with Frey.
    Holly’s Puppy School opened its door the next morning when Sammy the malamute barged into my kitchen right on schedule. Rowdy and Kimi were in their crates in my bedroom. Why? Because when it comes to malamutes, true love means deep understanding, which means profound mistrust; I intended to introduce Rowdy and Kimi to Sammy one grown-up dog at a time, very gradually and very carefully. First, the big dogs would get used to the scent of Sammy in their house, as they were doing this morning.
    Sammy busied himself distributing that scent. His baby tail waving in the air, Sammy bounded and bounced from room to room, corner to corner, lingering to sniff and paw, then eagerly returning to the adventure of puppy-mapping this brand new territory. Every puppy is Neil Armstrong, and the planet Earth is every puppy’s moon.
    Sammy’s partner in exploration, Frey, arrived on schedule at ten, delivered by Zap, who failed to recognize Sammy as the puppy he’d seen at Logan and asked how much I wanted for him. When I’d sent Zap on his way, my little pupils got a ten-minute recess in the fenced yard, during which time I sat on the steps and watched the boys play. At first, Frey hid under a bush, but Sammy lured him out and before long, the two were the picture of busyness as they engaged in hide-and-go-seek without the hide, in other words, tearing around for the joy of tearing around. Except to work on housebreaking by