“We’re gonna have to put this on you.” Remy showed Marlowe the leash, then leaned in to attach it to his collar. “Now remember, you’re going to have to help me out.”
The two walked side by side toward the large barn. The sound of dogs barking from the kennel at the back of the sprawling property was carried on the night wind.
Remy stopped to listen, hearing the panic in the raised voices of the kennel dogs. Yeah, they most definitely had to do something about that.
“So I know you’re a good dog, and you’re very smart, but you’re going to have to pretend that you’re not. Do you understand?” Remy asked as they started toward the barn again.
Marlowe stopped and stared at Remy as if he were crazy.
“We’re supposed to be going to classes to learn things that you already know, so you’re going to need to pretend not to know them.”
“Pretend stupid?” Marlowe asked.
“Exactly,” Remy said. “Pretend stupid.”
Several other dog owners and their pets were making their way down the path toward the barn, and Marlowe watched as they passed and went inside.
“Stupid dogs go school. Marlowe smart. Pretend stupid.”
“That’s it,” Remy said, giving the leash a slight tug as they headed toward the barn entrance. “We have to look like everybody else so we don’t stand out. Got it?”
“Got it,” Marlowe answered.
They reached the door to the barn and Remy took hold of the handle, pulling it open for the dog to enter.
Marlowe sat down, staring.
“What are you doing?” Remy asked.
“Being stupid,” Marlowe replied as he continued to stare at the open door.
“Okay, let’s pull back a bit on the stupid and get inside,” Remy said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
He could have sworn that the Labrador rolled his eyes as he passed by into the barn.
Marlowe trotted into the building with Remy close behind him.
The dog was immediately on alert as he took in his new surroundings. The smell of urine washed over his senses, and he suddenly realized how bad some of these dogs really were.
Following his nose, he glanced over to see a woman kneeling down with a handful of paper towels mopping up the floor as a white poodle stood innocently by, feigning disinterest.
“He does this when he’s frightened,” the middle-aged woman in the New England Patriots jacket tried to explain to Remy. “Guess it’s obvious why we’re here,” she said with a nervous laugh.
Marlowe knew that it wasn’t fear that made the dog pee inside the barn; it was the desire for his scent to be the strongest, marking his territory. He pulled Remy over toward the poodle as the woman quickly disposed of the damp towels, tossing them into a nearby plastic barrel. She kept the dog tight to her side, although he struggled to get closer to Marlowe.
“He isn’t very nice,” the woman said to Remy. “They say he needs to be socialized better. I hope these classes work.”
“What’s his name?” Marlowe heard Remy ask.
“Vincent,” she replied, still holding the poodle back.
Bad dog better name, Marlowe thought as he extended his muscular neck toward the defiant poodle.
He heard Remy making small talk with the woman as he fixed the poodle in his sternest of stares. “No pee,” he growled at the white, curly-haired dog.
“I pee . . . mine,” the poodle retorted, his entire body quivering with excitement.
“Not yours,” Marlowe corrected.
“Mine!” the dog barked, straining on his leash.
With a harrumph, Marlowe went to the spot where the dog had just relieved himself, sniffed it, then positioned himself over the damp floor.
“Not yours,” Marlowe said again, letting a quick stream of his own urine spray upon the spot.
“Marlowe!” Remy yelled in horror as he watched his dog urinate on the barn floor.
The dog looked at him with an expression that said, What’s the problem?
“What the hell are you doing?” Remy asked, dragging him over to one of the many paper towel dispensers bolted to the walls around the barn.
“Teaching,” the dog explained.
“Yeah, this one escapes me,” Remy muttered softly. He pulled a handful of towels from the roll and returned to the scene of the crime.
“How were you teaching by pissing on the floor?” Remy asked him as he started to sop up the still-warm puddle.
“Said room his. . . . Not his,” Marlowe explained.
“So you showed him that the room wasn’t his by peeing on his pee,” Remy finished.
“Yes,” Marlowe barked happily.
“You know what, no more teaching, okay? Let’s leave that to Jackie.”
Marlowe didn’t really care for that, but agreed for the sake of higher learning.
Remy tossed the wet paper towels into the barrel, and took a moment to absorb the vibe in the room. Jackie had talked about feeling a presence, something that had prevented her summer puppy classes from happening, but all he could sense at the moment was the nervous anticipation of people desperate for their dogs not to do anything embarrassing.
He watched as a large man in baggy shorts and a red hoodie was dragged by an equally large Saint Bernard to see a cream-colored French bulldog, owned by a mother and little girl, that didn’t appear at all interested in the other dogs, focused instead on killing a spider that had been trying to cross the room. There was an attractive young woman with a slightly older companion whose eyes were glued to a BlackBerry. She was trying to calm a shivering German shepherd mix who seemed terrified of the other dogs. An older couple—probably retired—stood off by themselves, a howling dachshund held tightly in the woman’s arms.
“How old?” asked a voice nearby, and Remy spun to face a woman with a coal black dye job, drawn-on eyebrows, and a turquoise velour sweat suit. She held a small, puffy-furred black dog protectively in her arms that silently studied him and Marlowe with deep, dark eyes. Remy didn’t know what kind of dog it was, maybe a Maltese, or some kind of terrier, but it was cute in that ankle-biting kind of way.
“Excuse me?” Remy asked.
“Your dog,” she said, looking down at Marlowe. “How old is he?”
“Oh, he’s four,” Remy replied.
Marlowe pulled on the leash, trying to get closer to the woman, as well as the dog in her arms. She backed up quickly as if afraid, holding her little dog closer to her.
“Sorry,” Remy said, hauling Marlowe back. “He’s perfectly harmless.”
“This one isn’t,” the old woman said, eyes darting to her little friend, who remained perfectly calm and silent cradled in her arms.
“Bit of an attitude?” Remy asked with a smile.
“You might say that,” she answered coldly.
There was silence then, and Remy tried to fill the uncomfortable moment by again looking around the barn. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Even extending his preternatural senses, Remy experienced nothing more than anxiety from the dog owners in attendance, and their pets.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the older woman said suddenly.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, her expression showing as little emotion as the tiny black dog she held in her arms.
“I really don’t understand what . . .”
“He’s too well behaved,” she added, motioning with her chin to Marlowe, who was sniffing the air, taking in all the various scents. “Maybe an advanced class would be better for him.”
“Maybe,” Remy said, petting his dog’s head. “But I think a refresher course might do him some good.”
A chorus of dog barks suddenly filled the air of the barn, and Remy glanced over to see Jackie Kinney entering through a back door, striding across the wood floor, clipboard in hand. He was amused by the air of confidence she exuded as she stopped in the center of the room, her eyes falling upon each and every person, and their dog. Like General Patton about to address his troops.