8. Just Like Positive
JUST LIKE POSITIVE
CHLOE
Shortcake sits patiently at the dock like a good boy, smoky-gray tail thumping, eyes fixed on me. I show him the tennis ball in my hand. His tail smacks the slats, but he stays put.
“Now, tell him to fetch like a good boy,” I instruct Veronica, handing her the ball.
With intense focus, she takes the toy and waggles it. “Fetch, like a good boy,” she says, then cannons it into the lake in Darling Springs.
And the Mastiff who knocked me into a lake a month ago? He trots down the deck in a perfect straight line, then jumps off the dock—without knocking anyone kersplat.
“Yay, Shortcake!” I shout when his big head emerges from the water and he paddles over to the ball, bobbing along the surface.
“He’s doing so much better,” Veronica says excitedly. She’s outgoing and friendly, a bit like the character she plays on the show I recognized her from—a bubbly white girl from California.
“Sure is,” I say, proud of the dog—but also his owner.
Because the Mastiff is my new client.
Turns out the rowdy partier from the dog birthday fete is none other than the dog owned by Veronica—yes, that Veronica, of LGO fame.
The “bad dog,” as she called him when she asked to meet with me.
To which I replied, calmly and professionally (and definitely not while screaming internally), no dogs are bad. They just need training.
Apparently, when I left the party, she raced over to Florence and asked who I was so she could apologize, and when she learned I was the dog trainer for Florence’s Corgi mix, that sparked her interest. Veronica hired me the day I returned to Darling Springs, wanting her boy to learn some manners.
And oh boy, is he ever a polite pup now. He walks without ramming into people, he jumps into lakes without mowing down bystanders, and he jogs without pulling ahead.
Since we’ve been working together—at the dog park or at her house since I don’t have a training space—I’ve learned Veronica’s a total delight, genuinely devoted to improving his behavior. I guess when your dog knocks someone into a lake, that’ll motivate you.
Want to know what else I learned this month?
I’m a total fucking pro, because I tried so hard not to mention the LGO episode of Upper East Siders where her character waxed on about how you can always tell if a man is good in bed by whether he listens to you when you talk about Mercury rising.
If he pays attention? His Mercury will rise right into you exactly the way you want it to, she says.
Nope. I kept my mouth shut about how hard I laughed when that aired earlier this year.
But now that I’m thinking about that episode again, my mind wanders back to that night with Sawyer, when his Mercury rose into me.
That man sure seemed to listen. He paid attention as we discussed bad days and ridiculous ideas at the dog park.
He read me right when he helped me out of the lake.
And later, he definitely listened as we discussed the merits of fries—then competed for the prize of the worst day.
What a prize it was.
But when Shortcake galumphs out of the lake and bounds over to us, I dismiss those thoughts. I need to focus on my client. “You know what to say when he gets close,” I tell Veronica.
And when Shortcake is ten feet away, she instructs him to “Stop and shake.”
And the goodest boy does! He’s far enough from us that he doesn’t get us wet with his giant dog shudder.
“Well done,” I say, then Veronica gives him a slice of organic liver—because of course she insisted on training him with organic treats.
After she gives him some love pats, she turns to me, flashing the smile that wins over millions of streamers on her show—especially when she plays the only character with a moral compass among the New York richy-rich types who behave badly.
“Like I told Florence, it was kind of serendipity that he bumped into you,” she says.
“Definitely,” I say, because it really was some kind of luck after all since it landed me this new gig.
I’m still scraping by, but I set aside some money earlier in the year from the shifts I had picked up at Prohibition Spirit to make ends meet.
The tips were great on the craft cocktails and whiskey.
But the dog training business is ticking up, so I think I can focus just on that now. I guess I did network that night after all.
We leave the small lake, and since Veronica likes to practice Shortcake’s walking behavior, we head into town on foot—about a mile away.
We talk amicably as we pass some cute brick bungalows with pots of flowers and lavender bushes.
A pang of longing hits my chest—they’re so adorable, and I’d love to own one someday.
But that someday feels far away. The town’s gotten pricier than when I grew up here, especially now that it’s become a thriving arts center over the past year, and since people like Veronica have moved to the area.
She’s a part-time Darling Springs resident now.
She has a place here where she usually spends the summer.
The town is thriving, and I’m hoping I can finally thrive too.
I just love this place to pieces. My mom, who runs the community theater, has even been whispering that Darling Springs is in the running to be the filming location for a new rom-com on Webflix.
If I can just find a way to make this dog business my main business, then my fortunes might change just like it seems the town’s have.
Veronica and I chat more about Shortcake and the progress he’s making as we turn onto Main Street and pass The Sweet Spot bakery. Its pink-and-white polka-dot decor catches my eye, and briefly, I wonder if they make coconut cake—then shake that thought off as we reach the corner.
Shortcake sits perfectly at the crosswalk, earning pats and praise.
After we cross the street, we walk past the yoga studio Downward Dog All Day, where a cartoonish drawing of a woman sitting cross-legged is etched into the window.
As we go, I point out the row of small art studios across the street, where a potter makes mugs, her hands wrapped around the clay; a jewelry maker is bent over a counter creating baubles and beads; and a photographer pores over prints.
When we reach Pick Me Up, the coffee shop, and our session nears its end, Veronica smacks her forehead and says, “I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you!
My two besties are heading to town for a girls’ trip soon to check it out—just in case, you know, it’s picked for the show,” she adds in a whisper and a wink wink.
Apparently, it’s the worst-kept secret in town, this Webflix possibility. Or maybe not a secret at all. “That sounds great,” I say. “Darling Springs is really becoming a hot spot.”
If only I can too.
“Oh, that’s not why I mentioned it,” she says, waving an airy hand. “They picked out Mastiffs from the same rescue litter as Shortcake. And they’ll need you to train their pups while they’re here!”
Holy shit. She’s a fairy godmother. Getting fired was the best thing to happen to me.
“I’d love to work with your friends.”
“Perfy,” she says—one of her favorite words. “Just let me know the details of your space so I can pass it along to them.”
“I will. And don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything,” I say.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” she says with a grateful smile. “Bye for now, babe.”
Then she waves goodbye, with Shortcake walking perfectly by her side as they pass the library, and me standing here in front of the chalkboard sign with a latte on it, jaw agape.
It’s not common for a dog trainer to have a training area. But maybe it is if I want to expand my business?
And I do.
I guess I need a space now.
* * *
I’m drowning my stress in a frothy vanilla latte, as one does.
“What do I do? My place is too small to host clients, and it feels a little too personal to do it at my house,” I ask Ripley and Bridget later that day at Pick Me Up.
We’re huddled around a corner table beneath a wall stuffed with whimsical paintings of foxes, gardens, and beaches by local artists, all for sale.
“Is this one of those catch-22s? I need space to grow, but how do I afford the space without already growing?”
Bridget gives me a sympathetic look. “I hear you. It’s not cheap around here. And I don’t know how much open space is even available.” She lifts her cup of English Breakfast—no surprise, that’s her drink of choice. She’s always been an Anglophile.
“Do you want to use space at the farm?” Ripley offers, always ready to solve a problem for you. “We’ve got plenty. I mean, it’s outdoors, so there’s that.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. Lots of dog owners like outdoor training. But if I want to win over clients like Veronica’s friends, I’ll probably need indoor space for sit, stay, come…and definitely shake. Everyone loves a dog who can shake.
“I love you so much it hurts,” I say to her, but then slump over my coffee sadly. “But I think I need something indoors.”
“I figured,” Ripley says. “But the offer stands.”
“Maybe Josiah’s Hardware?” Bridget suggests. “That place feels dog-friendly, and there’s a bit of open space down the end of the aisles.”
“True, but he has a cat, and some dogs don’t do well with that,” I say, noodling on other options as I glance out the window at the tables set up on the sidewalk.
I catch sight of a small crowd, including our very young, very polished new mayor, Linus Wong.
He’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and he wears a fedora, which he’s been doing since before he was elected.
He’s in a crisp shirt and tie, deep in conversation with a woman with sleek hair, a shiny blouse that looks like it costs a month’s rent, and a snakeskin purse that’s set on the table, like she’s ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
She doesn’t look like she’s from here. But these days? Who knows.