When Day Breaks (2 page)

H
ere’s a real treasure.” The animal-shelter attendant pointed at the small, sad-eyed beagle who peered out of the cage. “She’s a sweet little thing, but she still doesn’t know what hit her. Her elderly owner died, and nobody in the family wanted to take her.”

“Actually, I was thinking of something larger.”

“Well, we have a nice collie–German shepherd mix over here.”

The animal sat on the floor of his pen, his head resting on his outstretched paws. As the attendant approached, the dog rose to his feet, wagged his tail, and eagerly pressed his nose against the metal screen.

“Why is he here?”

“The owner said the dog shed too much. Can you imagine? This dog is highly intelligent, loyal, and dependable. But it wasn’t worth brushing every day.”

“What about that one?”

The attendant turned to the large pen against the wall.

“Ah, the Great Dane. He’s our gentle giant, but he’s not going to be an easy one to place. He’ll eat somebody out of house and home.”

“What do you think he weighs?”

“I can tell you right now.”

The attendant opened the cage and led the black dog to the scale at the rear of the room.

“One hundred and twelve pounds,” he announced, petting the dog’s short, shiny coat.

“How hard is he to handle?”

“He’s a sweetheart, very affectionate and playful. He was well trained when he was a puppy. Too bad, his owner had to move across the country, and he couldn’t take the dog with him.”

The dog licked the attendant’s hand.

“What’s his name?”

“Marco.”

“As in Polo?”

The attendant shrugged and smiled. “What can I tell you?”

“Does he like the water?”

“He should. Danes usually do.”

“I think he’s the one for me.”

“Are you sure?” asked the attendant. “A Dane should really have a large yard and plenty of exercise room. He’ll require very long walks regularly.”

“I promise. That won’t be a problem.”

After the nominal adoption fee was paid in cash and the licensing application filled out, the attendant slid a piece of paper across the counter.

“Here’s a list of care instructions and suggested dog food.”

“Thank you very much.”

When Marco was led out onto the city sidewalk, his new owner dropped the instructions into a trash can.

As the vehicle traveled farther and farther away from Manhattan, the trees lining the highway grew more plentiful, covered in the fresh green leaves of spring. An unusually warm, sweet May breeze blew in through the open windows. The dog stuck his nose into the whipping air as the car sped up the Hutchinson River Parkway, while his new owner removed a baseball cap and the thick-lensed eyeglasses that had been purchased at a drugstore.

With no traffic it was only about an hour’s drive to Constance Young’s country home. There were still several hours until the evening rush hour would begin, when too many cars would funnel into roads and highways that were now too narrow to accommodate an ever-expanding population’s travel needs. There should be plenty of time for the practice run and the drive back down to the city.

The car merged onto Interstate 684 before getting off at the exit for Bedford. Passing stone farmhouses and blooming gardens, the vehicle traveled deeper into the countryside. Acres of rolling pastures provided a place for well-groomed horses to graze, exercise, and rest.

Success had many rewards. Having a place up here was definitely one of them. The real estate in this area provided privacy, insulation, and a sense of well-being. Constance must feel quite protected here when she came up on the weekends.

Forced to take a turn at the end of the road, the car crossed over a short bridge and climbed a hill. At the top, an easily opened wooden gate and a gravel driveway led to a multilevel house hidden by trees. As the engine was turned off, the dog pawed excitedly at the window. The driver leaned over and opened the car door. The animal sprang out and headed to a nearby bush to relieve himself.

“Good boy, Marco. Good boy.”

The Great Dane wagged his tail, watching as his new owner went to the rear of the car and took out a coil of orange electrical cord and a box from the trunk.

“Come on, boy.”

The dog did as he was told, following the path that ran around the side of the house and down to the pool. He watched his new owner enter one of the cabanas that flanked the pool but lost interest as the plug at one end of the orange cord was inserted into the wall socket. While the coil was unwound, Marco chased a gray squirrel that scampered into the trees.

“Marco. Marco. Come back. Come back here right now.”

The dog came trotting out of the woods. He was panting and muddy.

“Oh, Marco. Look at you. What have you done?”

The dog sensed the displeasure in his new owner’s voice.

“Over here, Marco. Go ahead. Get into that pool and wash off.”

The dog stared at the finger pointing to the pool.

“Go ahead. Go into the water, boy.”

The rubber ball was tossed toward the shallow end of the pool. Marco went in after it, his head held proudly out of the water as his legs paddled beneath the surface, his paws scraping the bottom. He reached the ball and wrapped his jaws around it, turning to bring it back to his owner. But then Marco saw his owner throw something else toward the pool, something big and shiny and attached to the orange cord.

As the toaster hit the water, the electricity ran through the dog. His lungs struggled to breathe, his heart stopped pumping, and his head slipped below the surface.

The new owner watched closely.

Yeah. That was going to be enough current.