“Give it your best linebacker look behind me, will you?”

“Why do I feel like you and I are both about to get bowled over?”

“He’s a sweetie. I bet he just can’t stand to be stuck in a crate.” Olivia pinched open the release and opened the door just enough to slip her hand through. After a gentle pat on his smooth, lean shoulder, she clipped the leash to his so-new-it-was-stiff blue nylon collar. Locking her other hand inside the hand grip of the leash, she opened the door and popped up to her feet.

Much like the thoroughbred Rhonda had compared him to, he leaped out of the crate with a force that nearly swept Olivia off her feet. She winced at the jolt to her shoulder. Under no delusions about who was leading whom, she hung on as he dragged her outside and over to a short, stubby tree. He peed a long stream at hip level, then trotted off immediately toward a couple shrubs on the opposite side of the driveway.

He glanced her way as if he was a bit unsure why he was being followed but then dismissed her as he became absorbed in sniffing and scent marking the shrubs. Olivia scanned the gravel, grass, and bushes as he did, but her phone was nowhere in sight.

Halfway to one of the nearby big trees, he stopped short and stared off into the grass with such intensity that Olivia stiffened. His tail stuck out straight behind him, one front paw curled in against his chest, and he became as still as a statue.

Olivia followed his gaze till she spotted a robin hopping about on the hunt for worms or insects. She giggled and turned to Ava. “He seems full pointer, doesn’t he?”

Ava nodded. “Yep. Brace yourself in case he bolts for it. He shouldn’t, but you never know.”

Seconds ticked away, and the dog did nothing but stare at the robin. Olivia kept her legs braced and her hands wrapped tight around the leash, but after half a minute passed, all he did was take another step and curl his other paw into his chest.

After watching a bit longer, Ava whispered. “Looks to me like you’ve got this. You good if I go see a woman about a cat?”

“Sure. We’re good. But he’s a doll, isn’t he?”

“He is. For a hunting dog. Though I’m pretty sure they’re bred to be useful more than they are cute. Cute’s a hammy-legged corgi or pug or even a boxer.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Beautiful, then, if you’re going to be a stickler. I think he’s as beautiful as a dog gets. Especially when he puts another ten or so pounds back on.”

Ava shook her head as she took off. “And which of us needs a reminder about Aunt Becky’s place being ruled by a parrot?”