The Art of Wag
The Art of Wag
An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy
Book 3
Published by Magic Fur Press
An imprint of Logical Expressions, Inc.
P.O. Box 383, Ponderay, Idaho 83852, USA
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business organizations, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Susan C. Daffron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.
ISBN:
978-1-61038-025-6 (paperback)
978-1-61038-026-3 (EPUB)
Digital Edition 1.0 – October 13, 2014
Table of Contents
Cover
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Chapter 1 - Sweet Nothings
Chapter 2 - Exit Stage Right
Chapter 3 - Black Berets
Chapter 4 - Nothing to Hide
Chapter 5 - Plans & Arrivals
Chapter 6 - Performances
Chapter 7 - Cooties & Hunters
Chapter 8 - Trout
Chapter 9 - Scientific Experiments
Chapter 10 - Lost & Found
Chapter 11 - Not a Mushroom
Chapter 12 - The Mood of the Room
Chapter 13 - Friends & Robots
Chapter 14 - Revivals
Chapter 15 - Epilogue
Thanks for Reading
Dedication
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The Art of Wag
An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy
Book 3
by Susan C. Daffron
Synopsis
With the exception of a few failed forays into higher education, Tracy Sullivan has lived her entire life in the small town of Alpine Grove. When she is fired from her hostess job, Tracy hits a new all-time career low. Now she’s officially a repeat underachiever and almost completely broke. The income from her second job as a veterinary assistant is barely enough to pay her rent and keep her temperamental dachshund Roxy in dog food.
Desperate for a change of scene, Tracy splurges on a digital art class in the city where she meets Rob Thompson, a geeky computer networking guy who wants a new career as much as she does. After seeing her illustrations, he offers Tracy a temporary job, but adding “starving artist” to her dubious list of achievements doesn’t seem wise. Against her better judgment, Tracy takes on the project. But then everything goes haywire and Tracy may never look at her ancient car, fungi, or Rob the same way again.
The Art of Wag is a romantic comedy novel of approximately 80,000 words.
Chapter 1
Sweet Nothings
Even though she was wearing heavy leather welding gloves, Tracy Sullivan could feel the 17-pound gray tabby’s muscles twitch under her grasp. She was holding the cat by the scruff of the neck while her other hand rested on his back. Although she was cooing sweet nothings to the feline, he didn’t seem to appreciate the sentiments. A low growl from deep within the chest cavity of the cat rose to a high-pitched squall as he tensed all of his muscles at once and launched straight up off the examination table.
“Get back! Don’t let him bite you!” the veterinarian, Dr. Karen Cassidy, shouted as the two women jumped back from the shiny stainless steel table.
The cat landed with a thud back on the table, made a horrific screeching noise, and jumped down to the floor, scurrying around the room looking for an exit.
Fortunately, Tracy had closed the doors before the exam, so the cat had nowhere to go after his bout of kitty performance art. The large feline continued to circle the room and then settled in a corner, growling menacingly. Squiggy was a beautiful cat with the type of swirled, contoured tabby markings that reminded Tracy of van Gogh’s famous “Starry Night” painting. At the moment though, the cat seemed to have discarded the peace and tranquility of the impressionists in favor of a more expressionist work like Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”
Tracy looked over at the tall, slim veterinarian in the room with her. “Should we bag him?”
Karen Cassidy ran her fingers through her curly brown hair, pushing it back off her forehead. “Yes. I guess we’ll have to. Could you grab the net, too?”
Tracy reached for the fishing net hanging on the wall and then grabbed a bright blue zippered nylon bag off a hook. “Were you able to figure out what’s wrong with him? This smell is really starting to get to me.”
“He just seems to have a case of, ah, extreme flatulence.”
Tracy’s straight blonde hair brushed her chin as she shook her head. “I hate Mondays. Why is it that we always get patients like Squiggy, the gigantic farting cat, on Mondays? What do people do to their animals when the clinic is closed on Sunday? It’s like there’s a full moon every weekend and people sprinkle their critters with wacko dust so they can drop them off here bright and early.”
Dr. Cassidy smiled. “I don’t know, but it does seem to be a trend, doesn’t it? We need to catch this guy, so I can get to surgery. I have all those strays to neuter today.”
“We’re going to give those ferals some happy, sleepy drugs, right? Because after Squiggy’s meltdown, my hands are shaking.” Tracy held up a quavering hand horizontally in front of her face to demonstrate. “At this point, I’m not up for dealing with semi-nuclear wild kitties.”
The vet crouched down in front of the cat. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to sedate Squiggy, since his owner said he’s a big ‘love bug,’ but it looks like we’ll have to, after all.”
Squiggy growled more loudly from his corner to emphasize his displeasure and readiness to leave the room.
Tracy looked down at the cat’s scowling face. “Yeah, sure. You’re a real love bug.”
The two woman worked together to catch Squiggy and put him into the “cat bag,” a zippered bag uniquely designed to confine a feline, so the animal isn’t able to easily scratch large swaths of skin off a veterinary professional.
Tracy held onto the cat again while Dr. Cassidy gave Squiggy a shot “to take the edge off,” as she liked to say. After the injection, Squiggy was significantly less cranky. Tracy looked up at the vet.”This smell is starting to make me feel a little ill. Are you almost done?”
The veterinarian looked up from her ministrations. “Yes. In addition to his flatulence, he does seem a little dehydrated. I’d like to give him some fluids and see if the owners would be willing to let us keep him for a few hours so we can keep an eye on him.”
Tracy nodded. For suffering through eau d’Squiggy, she was being paid six whole dollars an hour, the going rate for veterinary assistants in Alpine Grove. Given that she was the only assistant at the only vet clinic in town, it must be the going rate. Becoming a certified vet tech would pay more, but taking all the required courses was far beyond her means. On the Chinese Zodiac, 1995 was the year of the pig, but that clearly had nothing to do with bringing home lots of bacon for her extremely lean piggy bank.
Although Tracy loved animals, working two jobs was starting to get to her. She worked as a veterinary assistant from seven thirty in the morning until three in the afternoon, ran home, took her dachshund Roxy for a walk, grabbed a shower, changed into the required idiotic outfit, and worked from four to ten in the evening as a hostess at the local Italian restaurant.
Being clawed and shed upon during the day by dogs and cats and then groped in the evenings by drunken male tourists meant she could aff
ord her rent. And food. Most of the time. But job opportunities in Alpine Grove were scarce. On her best days, Tracy was grateful to have any job. But this wasn’t one of her best days. Today, all she felt was exhausted and annoyed.
Cradling the large stinky and now sleepy cat in her arms, Tracy carried him back to the row of stainless steel cages. She closed the cage door firmly and mentally acknowledged the metal clang, indicating the lock was in place and the cat was securely confined. With any luck, Squiggy would still be feeling a little sleepy when his owner arrived later that afternoon.
Dr. Cassidy had wasted no time and already had a small feral cat anesthetized and on the surgery table for his neutering. It was amazing how quickly the veterinarian worked. None of her movements were wasted and she could neuter a cat in minutes.
Tracy stood next to the table and monitored the anesthesia machine while the vet worked. “I’d like to take a couple of days off. Is that okay? I got a free pass to an art class. It’s a weekend class about a computer program called Photoshop. My friend Shelby got some special deal and gave it to me. The price is right. Free works for me.”
Dr. Cassidy looked up from the cat. “Sure. No problem. Gail can cover your shifts. She’s always wanting more hours, anyway.”
“Don’t we all? I agonized about going, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. Plus Shelby is going to let me stay with her at her place in the city. It could be fun. I could use a weekend away from here.” Noting the movement of the anesthesia machine’s reservoir bag, which inflated and deflated like a balloon, she gave it a squeeze. What would it feel like to go up in a brightly colored hot-air balloon and soar through the sky like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz? She’d never been on a plane, much less a balloon.
Dr. Cassidy finished up and passed the little orange tabby to Tracy. “This one is done. Could you put him in a cage and grab the next one?”
Tracy snuggled the sleeping cat to her chest and looked down at his striped face. “Okay, little fella, let’s go. Your opportunity to be a daddy is over now.”
The sound of furious barking came from within the tiny studio apartment as Tracy walked up the stairs and opened the door. The scuffed hardwood floor was littered with clothes and art supplies. Tracy’s long-haired dachshund Roxy ran up to her, deftly dodging an empty laundry basket, a half-painted canvas, and a box filled with crumpled tubes of acrylic paint.
“I guess it’s laundry day, huh? Even I am starting to think it’s a little messy in here.”
Seeming to agree with the assessment and delighted to see Tracy, Roxy continued yipping happily. Tracy picked up the dog, sat on the couch, and placed Roxy next to her. “How was your day, little dog? Mine has been a pain so far. Are you ready for your walk?” She stroked the dog’s silky fur as Roxy danced around her on the sofa pillow. “Okay, okay. I just need to change my shoes.” She reached for her sneakers and bent down to tie the laces.
Tracy grabbed the leash, clipped it onto the dog’s collar, and picked her up. “I think I want to make it a short one today Rox, so I can fit in a tiny nap before work. Squiggy really wore me out.”
They went down the stairs to the street and Tracy placed the dog on the ground. Roxy wagged her feathered tail like a flag behind her as she checked out her favorite sniff spots. Even though the dog had only three legs, she motored along quickly down the sidewalk.
When Tracy had started work at the vet clinic, Dr. Cassidy had cautioned her that sometimes animals would come in that were injured and their owners wouldn’t want the vet to treat the animal. Tracy didn’t realize what that warning meant until the day a woman dropped off a young dachshund with a terribly mangled back leg. The story of how the dog’s leg was hurt wasn’t clear, and the owner didn’t stick around for the exam to provide details. In the end, the damage to the leg was too extensive to repair. When Dr. Cassidy called the owner and suggested amputation to save the dog’s life, the owner wanted nothing to do with that idea. She had proclaimed that she didn’t want a “defective dog,” and said they could put Roxy to sleep or find her another home.
Tracy normally tried to think the best of people; in fact, her mother called her a “total softie.” But when Elise Palmer walked out on her injured dog, a little part of Tracy’s heart hardened. She hoped there was a special fiery place in the afterlife for people who didn’t care for their animals. Maybe karma would take care of Elise. In her next life, the woman might come back as something small and disgusting. Like a fat slug creeping around a garden, eating defenseless seedlings, until it was consumed by a hungry robin for breakfast. Whenever Tracy saw Elise in the grocery store, she imagined a little slime trail following the woman through the aisles indicating where she’d been.
After caring for Roxy at the clinic during her convalescence, Tracy fell in love with the little dog’s independent personality, so she adopted her. Once Roxy was restored to health, the dachshund was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but Tracy never regretted her decision.
As she followed Roxy to a small grassy spot, Tracy marveled at how well Roxy had healed. The dog didn’t know or care that she had only three legs. Tracy glanced through the storefront window and waved at her mother, who was standing behind the counter helping a customer. Tracy’s apartment was located above her mother’s gift store. Bea Haven Gifts had been a prime stop for Alpine Grove tourists for years. Tracy’s mom Bea loved everything about running a store—meeting the people who were traveling through town, ordering touristy tchotchkes, talking to sales people, and setting up all her pretty seasonal displays. Her enthusiasm was infectious and past customers always made a point of stopping by whenever they were in town.
Roxy led the way as they wandered down the main street of town, passing a number of real estate offices with enticing photos scattered across the windows. Tracy sighed. The odds of her ever owning a house or even a falling-down shack out in the sticks were slim to none, unless she figured out another way to earn a living that paid a lot better.
After spending so much time in her mother’s shop while she was growing up, Tracy discovered that she had no passion for retail. Playing with the merchandise in Mom’s store had been fun when she was a kid, but actually working at the store was a different story. Mom found the tourists interesting and funny. Tracy found them tiresome and exhausting. She had spent a lot of time in the back room hiding out, pretending to price merchandise.
Although she clearly had no future in retail, Tracy’s short-lived attempt at insurance had been even worse. Her father owned an insurance agency in town, and after Tracy dropped out of college the second time, she had tried working there. During her stint at the office, she discovered a deep loathing for the insurance industry, forms, filing, and the depressing gray cubicles in the dreary old brick office building on the outskirts of town.
Tracy’s mother waved off Tracy’s failed experiments into gainful employment, saying that Tracy just hadn’t “found her bliss” yet and that it would come in time. Her father was markedly less sympathetic, particularly after her failed forays into higher education. Tracy had tried college more than once. Her dream since she was a little girl had always been to become a veterinarian. She loved animals and it seemed like a natural fit. And she tried really hard to like biology, chemistry, and math. She really did. But her brain just couldn’t do numbers. It didn’t work that way and it never had. Who was she kidding? All that math was just too much. She tried different classes and switching majors, but nothing really panned out. Discouraged and depressed, she returned to Alpine Grove. Tracy’s former college roommate Shelby had a theory that Alpine Grove had some bizarre elastic pull. Once you had lived there, the “rubber-band effect” kept bringing you back.
After dropping out yet again and then a demoralizing few months of unemployment living at home with Mom and Dad, Tracy finally got the job at the vet clinic. Dr. Cassidy was a fantastic vet. The only bad thing was that working up-close-and-personal with a veterinarian was a real dream killer. If Tracy ha
d actually possessed the math skills to get into vet school and make it through the program, she knew she would have relegated herself to a lifetime of stress.
As the only veterinarian in town, Dr. Karen Cassidy was on call all the time. Tracy felt bad for the woman sometimes, because she seemed perpetually exhausted. Although the vet evidently didn’t mind all the charged, high-stress moments, Tracy knew that personally, she was too soft-hearted and emotionally wimpy to handle the day-to-day life of a veterinarian. Going out in the middle of the night and having to make life-and-death decisions related to someone’s cherished pet would have made her miserable. Sometimes those little-girl dreams weren’t quite what they were cracked up to be.
Even though she lived an economical and somewhat Spartan existence, Tracy liked her tiny apartment above the store. Mom had used it as a storage area for years and stuffed it full of extra merchandise and supplies, but after a particularly unpleasant argument with her father, everyone in the family agreed that Tracy needed to move out of the house.
Yes, Tracy was a slob. No one disputed that. But when Dad put the contents of her bedroom on the front lawn next to a “free” sign, he really crossed a line. He was a pretty mellow person when it came to most things. Sure he had a habit of getting angry once in a while about things Tracy had done, but that incident hit a new level of parental reprimand.
If she hadn’t had the store, Bea would have made a fantastic mediator. She always said that Tracy and her father were just too much alike. Tracy didn’t buy that explanation, but obviously it had been time for her to move out. Plus, after you reached a certain age, continuing to live with your parents was just pathetic, anyway. When her mom had suggested Tracy could live in the apartment, she jumped at the idea.
After Tracy cleaned out the space above her Mom’s store, she discovered that the tiny bathroom and kitchen were workable and even sort of cute in a vintage, shabby-chic kind of way. She had painted the apartment with cheap, brightly colored paint from the “oops” bin at the hardware store. Most of the walls were done, except for the one near the kitchen. She’d get to that eventually. Although it was basically just a single room with the kitchen and the bathroom on the far end, the space worked, and now it was her home. And Roxy’s home too. In an effort to meet his criteria for being a responsible adult, Tracy dutifully paid her father the small rent he requested every month. Well, most months, anyway.