Arabella doesn’t bend over to acknowledge Buddy’s existence like everyone else who meets him has done. In fact, she stands quite deliberately away from him, but Alice sees that her eyes are glancing at him, assessing him.

“He’s pretty. How old?”

Alice has prepared a story. “He’s a rescue, an abandoned dog. We just adopted him, and the vet thinks he’s no more than four. He’s very smart.”

“Any behavioral problems? Biting, chewing, peeing in the house?”

“No. He’s very well behaved. Not one mistake.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“My friend Sally thought he should become a therapy dog.”

“What do you think?”

When Buddy so clearly asked her to do something today, he was being a therapy dog, but she doesn’t say that. “I think he’s perfect for that. He’s also got a lot of tricks.”

“Maybe he could become a circus dog.”

“He’s certainly that. Watch.” Alice flips her hand over, but the dog sits looking at her as if he’s never seen that hand signal before. “Buddy, you know that that means.” Alice tries again, adjusting the plane of her hand. Buddy doesn’t rise to his back legs. He just shakes his head and sneezes. “Really, he does this little spin on his back legs.” Alice tries again, and again the dog just sits there.

“Maybe he’s being shy.”

“Maybe.” If he’d been a child, she would have given him the evil eye to let him know they’d be having a little discussion in the car. But he’s a dog. There’s nothing to discuss.

“Well, here’s what I can do for you.” Arabella outlines her program for developing therapy dogs, ending her spiel with her substantial fee, the amount of which drives Alice into a noncommittal “We’ll see.” That’s a lot of money for a hobby; Ed will blow a gasket. She gets into the minivan, snaps her seat belt into place. Forget Ed; if she wants to do this, she will. Ed has no right to an opinion.

*   *   *

Ed has spent the day making up errands. He stopped by Toolie’s to see about a tune-up for the minivan. He never drives Alice’s car and it’s always last on his list of things with motors to tend to, but he thought of it this morning and pulled in to get an appointment. Afterward, he and Toolie, who has been his auto mechanic almost since the day Ed moved to Moodyville, shot the shit for a while. Then Ed lingered at Lil’s long enough that she asked him if he wanted a lunch menu. He did.