Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Okay, but—”
“And as for the name on the tag, you don’t want someone to know his name in case they want to keep him. Little dogs get stolen a lot. Some to be bait dogs,” she whispered, covering Misha’s ears. “Others because they’re so cute and people just grab them up. So that’s why it’s only your name on the tag. Plus, when someone calls, if you ever lose him, you can tell them his name, and when he responds, they’ll know he’s yours.”
“But he doesn’t know his name is Misha.”
At which point Shannon said, “Baby,” using the old name from his previous owners. Misha continued to look at the people walking behind me. “Misha,” she said, and he turned right to her, waiting.
“That’s only because you said Baby like you were dying and Misha all happy, using a high-pitched voice.”
“I did, you’re right, but I don’t think it matters,” she said, chuckling.
I shook my head at her.
“He knows that’s his name. Dogs are very smart and pick their people just like we pick them. Make no mistake.”
I thought perhaps it had more to do with how his previous owners had treated him, but I went for practical instead. “You realize I don’t even know if Ada Farley will let me have a dog.”
She waved her hand at me. “She will. I’ve been buying pottery from that woman for years, and I can say with all confidence that she loves animals. Last time I was there, I saw at least ten cats lounging around the steps of her house, and she feeds the crows that sit on top of her little studio out back.”
“Studio?”
“Where do you think she makes the pottery?”
I scowled at her. “I’m sorry my brain didn’t make that leap fast enough,” I said sarcastically.
“That’s all right,” she consoled me.
God.
“You’ll get caught up, honey.”
Now I was being placated. “Is her stuff any good?” I asked for a change of subject from me being slow.
“Oh yes. I use my plates and platters and mugs and cups all the time. It’s all microwave and dishwasher safe. I love it. I’ve told her she should sell it every Saturday at the farmer’s market at the center of town, but there’s the loading and unloading and the setup, and she doesn’t have anyone to help her.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she doesn’t get along with everyone. No matter what they all said in there, she’s a bit prickly, kind of odd. I can be around her long enough to pick out and pay for pottery but not any longer.”
“Because why?”
“Her conversation sort of flits from one thing to another, and it’s hard to follow.”
It was interesting information.
“So Misha will probably be good living with me is what you’re saying.”
“I would think so, yes.”
It was honestly fine either way. If Ms. Farley said she didn’t want Misha in the house she was renting to me, I could find another place to stay. I wasn’t worried.
“Shoot,” Shannon said, passing me a set of something, some kind of tools, and another bag of small boxes. “Almost forgot your poop scooper.”
I looked at Connie, who nearly choked on her water.
“Oh my God, your face,” she cackled.
Now, fifteen minutes later, I turned off the main highway down a frontage road and then off that onto a tight two-lane road. The heavy brush and trees on both sides looked like they’d grown together over the years to create a giant canopy of shade. I could have sworn the temperature had dropped ten degrees. There were wildflowers every direction I looked, and it smelled so good and fresh, like wind and newly turned soil.
The road came to a dead end at a gravel drive that had a charming Craftsman house painted in a myriad of colors on the right, which had to be Gale’s place. It had a white picket fence lined in rose bushes on the house side of the fence and a charming gate out front with a yard that included an enormous oak tree. There were boxwoods next to the front porch, and gorgeous, full limelight hydrangeas. The path that went from the gate to the steps leading up to the porch was immaculately laid brick. I was very impressed with how beautifully manicured the man’s house appeared.
In contrast, on the left of the gravel drive, just as Gale had said, was a three-storied Gothic nightmare that looked haunted. Several decades ago, the Victorian might have been beautiful. Maybe there had been flowers outside, but now it was wildly overgrown, and you’d need a machete to get through to the front door. There could be a whole safari worth of animals in there, and you’d never know. A redwood guarded the front of the house, and it looked like there were at least two more in the back. Farther down the drive was a smaller building directly behind the terrifying Victorian eyesore, and even farther back was a small bungalow with trees on every side. It was absolutely picturesque, and I had a gut reaction to seeing the house. I really wanted to live there.