Canine Christmas (4 page)

“Your dog sure likes your wife's present.”

Jarrod chuckled. “No kidding. I don't know what the story is with him. He's been like this ever since I got the necklace. Maybe he thinks it's a new dog collar.”

“Do you keep doggie treats in that pocket? If so, the scent could have rubbed off onto the box.”

“I never keep treats in this coat.”

With Patch yipping and trying to snatch the box, Jarrod snapped open the lid and held out the case to me. “Tell me what you think.”

I found myself holding one of the prettiest necklaces I had ever seen. It was yellow gold in a serpentine chain that widened to a triangular shape at the center, where a series of diamonds and emeralds were set into the gold. I'm not usually drawn to such flamboyant jewelry, but this piece had an undeniable elegance. “It's absolutely beautiful,” I said honestly.

“Thanks. Joan had better flip. It's worth ten grand.” He smiled proudly. “Decided it was high time to splurge on my wife.”

“This is quite a splurge.” Apparently he had a large amount of disposable cash. Too bad for my sake that his dog's problem was likely only going to require this one session.

He shrugged and said proudly, “Ah, she has a different interpretation of marital fidelity than I do. If it'll get her off my back for a while, it's worth it. Besides, Ben gave it to me for half price. That's my neighbor. Kudos's dad. Owner, I should say.”

Get her off my back?
I thought sourly. What a lousy sentiment behind such a nice gift. I handed him back the necklace, which, as he'd said regarding his tree, had “lost its luster” for me. Patch, however, was still whining and sniffing at the necklace. “Maybe this has been scented with Eau de Pork Chop.”

“I hope not. It'll be around my wife's neck in six days.”

“I'm sure she'll feel like a million bucks wearing such beautiful jewelry.” So long as Patch wasn't dangling from it, jaws clamped on the emeralds, at the time.

Jarrod grinned and slipped the box back into its wrapping and then into his pocket. “Thanks.” He looked at me expectantly, and I realized we needed to bring this session to a close.

“Does Patch have any other behavioral problems you'd like me to work on with him? Besides the tinkling on the tinsel, I mean?”

“Ah, no. He's a good boy, aren't you, Patch. Just this tree thing, which seemed to … come out of nowhere. Didn't seem to be anything I could do to get him to stop. And it never occurred to me that the tree might have come pre-dog-owned. But what's strange is, he didn't start lifting his leg on it till last week. We'd already had it in the house for a week by then.”

“Really? Frankly, that weakens my theory that your just getting an artificial tree will do the trick. You haven't had any other dogs in the house lately, competing with Patch for turf?”

He was already shaking his head, so I quickly added, “Or how about a new kitten or cat?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“What would you like to do, then, Jarrod? Do you want to try to keep this tree and see—”

He held up his palms, cutting me off. “No matter what, it's got to be replaced. Trust me. Nobody would want a Christmas tree that their dog treats like a fire hydrant. I'll go ahead and get an artificial tree, right now, even, and we'll take it from there.”

He rose, and I stood up as well. We hadn't taken close to the full hour, but there was little left to discuss. Patch's tail wagged in excitement at the departure that he sensed was imminent, and he rushed over to me for a pat, which I happily obliged. “What a good dog Patch is,” I assured the little dog as I scratched his ear. There had never been a time in my thirty-three years when a dog or two or three hadn't played a significant role in my life.

Jarrod asked how much he owed me and then wrote out a check. “Let's hope this plastic tree does the trick.”

“We'll see if a second session is required or not. We can keep our fingers crossed. In any case, it's less than a week till Christmas, so you won't need to be protecting your tree from Patch much longer.”

“Okay. I'll keep you posted.”

Two days later, Jarrod was on the phone with me, very upset. “It didn't work. Patch is still peeing on the stupid tree. Only now, since the trunk is plastic, it's splattering more.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Isn't there some way you can block off that room from Patch?”

“No. It's in the family room. That's where we like it. Joan suggested we try moving it to a smaller room that we can close off, but that just doesn't feel like Christmas. I want you to teach him not to do this.”

“Jarrod, I don't think that there's any way I can get those kind of results in the four days between now and Christmas. I would almost have to catch him in the act, and I'm assuming that you already stop him from running up to the tree when you're there in the room with him.”

“Yeah, and know what else? We've had to lock the dog door. Yesterday, all of a sudden, I'm minding my business, and in rushes Kudos from next door. He grabs a present from under our tree and tries to rush outside with it. It was that five-thousand-dollar necklace I showed you the other day. If it had been a yo-yo or something, sure, that's cute. But not when it costs half a used car.”

“What happened? Did you get it back from him before he got back outside?”

“Yeah. I had to chase him around the Christmas tree, though. And when I got it back from him, know what he did? He lifted his leg on the tree! Like, what? It's not bad enough that our own dog does this? Now it's half the neighborhood's dogs?”

“That's … terrible.” And extremely unusual. This was not something that had been covered in any of the behavioral courses I'd taken at the veterinarian school at Fort Collins.

“Can you do something? Please? Patch is really used to having access to the open dog door. I'm afraid this … peeing business is just going to get worse.”

“Maybe I could make a home visit today and see if I can make some suggestions.”

“Good. And maybe you can talk to Ben Richards for me, too. He went ballistic when I told him about what his dog had done. Said that that wasn't possible and that I was slandering his dog.”

We set an appointment for later that day, said our goodbyes, and hung up. How could I work in a friendly conversation with Ben Richards in the meantime, whom I hadn't seen in months? I still needed a gift for my mother. Jewelry from Ben's shop might be just the answer. Meanwhile, if he would talk about his dog and Patch, maybe I'd get some clue as to what was going on.

The bell over the door to Richards Jewelry Store jingled merrily when I entered. Ben was doing a brisk business, which was nice to see. As is often the case, I liked his dog considerably more than I liked Ben himself, but I always rooted for small independent businesses to succeed. Too many in Boulder had given way to chain stores.

Ben nodded in greeting, and I scanned the various items in the glass-enclosed displays. To my considerable curiosity, there was an emerald necklace on sale for $5,000 that looked identical to the one Jarrod had shown me. I studied it, but saw no differences.

Ben made his way over to me behind the counter. “Looking for a high-end gift, I hope?” he asked, giving me a toothy grin.

“Not unless you're willing to divide the price by a hundred. I was just surprised to see this here. Did Jarrod return this for some reason?”

“No, I made two of them. I do that with some of my favorite designs. There are slight differences between the two necklaces though, because, as my advertising says, the personal touch is that every item I sell is one of a kind. Rest assured, Allie, that if you purchase this necklace, no one else will be wearing a carbon copy.”

“That would be comforting, I suppose, but do you have any two-of-a-kind fifty-dollar items?”

“No, but I've got some nice earrings for around a hundred.”

“That's still twice what I was hoping to spend. If Mom had only one earlobe we'd be in business.”

Again, Ben flashed his toothy, salesman smile. “Why don't I show you what I've got, and let me see what we can do for you.”

He returned with such a beautiful pair of earrings that I didn't bat an eye at doubling my budget, knowing even my non-jewelry-wearing mother would be delighted. Ben started to ring up the purchase on the cash register for me, then stopped and peered at me. “You mentioned Jarrod a minute ago. I take it he showed you the necklace?”

I nodded. “Yes. It's lovely.”

“Thanks.” He sighed. “You know, I try to be neighborly. That's why I recommended you to him, after all. But, between you and me, the guy's losing it. Despite what he says, my dog does not go into other people's homes uninvited. Kudos was home in our fenced yard.”

“Maybe he dug under the fence, or squeezed between a loose slat.”

Ben shook his head and said adamantly, “Not on his own, he didn't. Jarrod's trying to frame Kudos. I inspected every inch of that fence the day before this alleged incident. I was stringing up Christmas lights along the top and sides of the fence, you see. No holes. I go out after he calls, and guess what?”

Ben was speaking with such intensity that the couple of potential customers who'd recently entered shifted their attention to us.

“A hole?” I suggested with a shrug.

He nodded, his eyes flashing in anger. “Right underneath the center of the fence. Despite the fact that the ground's frozen. Who does he think he's fooling? Does he think my Kudos rented himself a jackhammer?”

The image and accompanying wordplay of a Jack Russell operating a jackhammer distracted me. Ben leaned closer. “I'm telling you, Allida. Ida and I both know something is going on. Jarrod Miller has never done a decent thing for his wife in the ten years they've lived next door to us. Now he buys her a fabulous necklace. And suddenly he accuses my dog of breaking and entering!”

The jingling bell behind me indicated that the door was being opened. I gave a quick glance and noted that his wife was entering and that the other customers were leaving. “Nobody's making any such accusations,” I said. “Entering and peeing, maybe, but there was no breaking.”

“This isn't funny, Allida. Something happens to that necklace now, and I'm going to be the first suspect! Me and Kudos are, that is.”

Ben's wife, a thin, pleasant-looking woman who, like her husband, appeared to be in her mid-forties, put on a plastic smile and all but raced behind the counter to stand beside her husband and pacify the situation. “Oh. Allie. Hello. Doing some last minute shopping?”

“Yes, for my mom. How are you, Ida?”

“Fine. Great, even,” Ida answered with a smile.

“Allie's working with Patch now,” Ben grumbled, giving his wife some sort of significant look—widening his eyes.

Her smile faded only slightly as she shifted her vision to me again. “Oh, that's right. Joan told me. Jarrod's wife, I mean. We're good friends. Or at least, I hope we still are. Honestly. You'd think Kudos should have been named Bandit, to hear them tell it.”

“Them?”
Ben repeated, his eyes once again flashing in anger. “You were talking to Jarrod?”

“Joan was there the whole time,” Ida said through her forced smile. She blushed a little as she returned her gaze to me. “My husband doesn't trust Jarrod. He's something of a compulsive ladies' man. I hope you didn't have any trouble with him.”

“No, he wasn't acting compulsive toward me at all.”

“Here you go, Allida,” Ben said, handing me a nicely wrapped small package. The wrapping paper was identical to the one that had been on the box that Jarrod had shown me, though this box was smaller.

“Thanks. I'm sure this will all blow over, once the stress of the season is gone.”

“Oh, I'm sure you're right,” Ida said with a big smile. She glanced over, noted Ben's glum expression, and elbowed him in the ribs. “Isn't she right, dear?”

“Women always are,” Ben said through the toothy smile he'd once again donned.

They wished me a Merry Christmas and waved goodbye to me. It felt uncomfortable when I turned and saw them watching me cross the street. There were some strange vibrations between those two. Could Jarrod and Ida have had an affair? That might explain why Jarrod had built a dog-sized tunnel under the fence. Jarrod could have wanted to lure Kudos into his yard as an excuse to see Ida.

On second thought, Patch had been oddly obsessed with the necklace box. Then later, Kudos had rushed in through the dog door and grabbed the same box. It would have been possible for the Richardses to treat their wrapping paper with some sort of scent that their dog was trained to recognize. That would make for an interesting scam operation; the Richardses could sell highend items and train their dog to bring them back. Then they could either resell them or remake them into a new bauble.

Or, more likely, this was the by-product of my overtaxed mind. I'd been working too hard lately and was subject to the same kind of holiday stress as everyone else. I stuck Mom's earrings in the pocket of my coat and vowed not to think about Jarrod and Patch or Ben and Kudos again until I could judge for myself how serious the situation was.

A couple of hours later, having worked with a fearful schnauzer given to biting the nearest ankle if there were any sudden noises—not the kind of dog you'd want at your New Year's Eve party—I parked on Fourth Avenue alongside Jarrod Miller's house.

The neighborhood featured small older homes without garages, though nowadays the homes were often bought up by young professionals who rebuilt and expanded as much as their property lines would allow. This is what Ben and Ida Richards had done. The Millers' house was much smaller.

The woman who answered the Millers' door said she was expecting me and introduced herself as Jarrod's wife, Joan. She also explained that the kids were on sleep-overs and that Jarrod had called to say that he was going to be a little late.

We discussed Patch's “bladder problem” while she showed me the tree. They had blocked it off, to an extent, having built a low, makeshift wall out of the Christmas packages. Joan said that though she hadn't actually “caught Patch in the act,” Jarrod had, and she showed me the physical evidence on the various gifts that she hadn't “gotten a chance to rewrap yet.” Strangely, I wasn't detecting any odor whatsoever, but then, sniffing out such things was not within my typical job description. Fortunately.