48. Salinger
48
SALINGER
“ G reat,” the animal control employee says. “We accept!”
“But you didn’t even look at the judge’s order.” My lawyer frowns.
“If we can get rid of Princess Whines-a-lot, then I’ve seen enough.” The worker smiles. “Come back this way, and you can identify the dog.”
I walk back through the cages of sad-looking animals. Over the sound of barking comes forlorn howling. There, at the end of the row, is Pepper, huddled in a cage. She’s sitting in her food dish, her water bowl is on her head, and she’s bawling pitifully.
“All weekend,” the woman says as she unlocks the cage. “It’s been like this all weekend.” She pulls on heavy gloves, bracing herself.
Pepper snarls then wags her tail when she realizes I’m there. She rushes into my arms.
“Oh! That was easy.” The worker beams at me. “You really must be her dad.”
“Sure,” I lie.
The corgi pants and shakes in my arms as I carry her back out.
The worker types rapidly as she processes Pepper’s release paperwork. “That’s going to be three hundred dollars for the boarding fee.”
“You took the dog,” I argue. “Why are you charging me?”
“Seriously, Salinger?” Crawford snaps. “Just pay the fucking fee. Do you all take credit cards?” My brother grabs my wallet from my pocket and swipes the credit card over the card reader.
The screen asks if I would like to make a donation. I think about all the dogs in the cages. Then I shift Pepper to my side and punch in ten thousand dollars.
The worker’s eyes bug out. “Did you mean to…”
“Just take it before I change my mind,” I grumble.
“I see that you, sir, are a pet lover.”
“Not really.”
“Wouldn’t you all like to adopt a few more dogs?” she offers. “Your corgi could use a friend.”
Pepper doesn’t look like she wants a friend.
“We’re fine.”
The worker looks me up and down .
“You breeze in here with expensive cars, a suit, and several thousand dollars’ worth of lawyers for a purebred corgi. I think you all have room in your hearts for some more furry family members.” She races to the back.
“Let’s get out of here while we still can,” I whisper to Crawford.
“Too late,” Sarah mutters as the worker runs back out, her arms full of animals.
Crawford is handed two guinea pigs.
“They do better with friends!”
A mangy-looking cat is shoved in Sarah’s arms, and her fellow lawyer is given a neurotic-looking Dalmatian on a leash.
Amir smirks at Sarah, who is holding the one-eyed cat out in front of her.
“Photos!” the worker chirps.
Pepper’s ears flatten on her head as the lady snaps a Polaroid of us.
“She’s been through a lot and has separation anxiety,” I explain.
“We can tell. Your daddy came back for you!” The worker reaches out to pet Pepper, who burrows against my suit. “And since you made such a generous donation, I think we can waive the adoption fees. Congratulations on your new friends. Bye!”
We all walk out and stand blinking in the parking lot.
“Did I just adopt a cat?” Sarah asks.
“Mazel tov. ”
Pepper doesn’t want to sit in the back seat of the car and instead wedges herself on my lap, between my chest and the steering wheel.
“That dog,” Crawford says, rolling down the windows, “smells disgusting.”
Pepper is way too interested in the guinea pigs that are tumbling around the center console of my car.
“When the kids all come for Fourth of July, we can surprise them with their new pets.”
Crawford punches my arm, grinning. “Damn right we can.”
I drop Pepper off at the groomers then drive Crawford back to the Cascade Hotel Group offices, where my other brothers coo over the guinea pigs.
“They are not staying,” I warn them.
“That’s what you said about Faulkner when he was born,” Crawford reminds me. “And here we are.”
I stop at Starbucks on the way back to the groomer and pick up a Puppuccino for the dog.
Pepper is fluffy and smells like honey when I return to the groomers. She sees me and practically jumps off the table into my arms.
“So, I see this is Pepper’s second time,” the manager says as I hand over my credit card.
“You all did an excellent job on her.”
She runs my card. “I think that Pepper might be happier at another groomer.” She hands me my receipt.
“Are you firing the dog? ”
She waits a beat. “Yes.”
“How bad can she actually be?”
“She howled the entire time, toppled a very expensive drying machine, and would not stop moving when we were trimming her. There’s a chunk now missing out of her fur.” She shows me the shorn area of Pepper’s hindquarters. “She’s a liability.”
“Just bill me for the damages.”
Pepper gets whipped cream all over my car window as we drive back to Mandy’s parents’ house.
The storm has broken, and the sun is poking through the cloud cover. Behind me, the ocean churns blue-gray.
Mandy is out in front of her parents’ house holding a rake. Pepper sees her through the window. The dog’s ears perk up, and her stubby tail wags.
I gaze at Mandy, wondering if it’s going to be the last time I see her.