Catwalk

Copyright Information

Catwalk
© 2014
Sheila Webster Boneham

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2014

E-book ISBN: 978-0-7387-4085-0

Book design by Donna Burch-Brown

Cover design by Lisa Novak

Cover Illustration: Gary Hanna

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dedication

For “the Margarets” who handed down the genes…
Peggy (my mom), Maggie (my grandma),
and Meg (my great-grandma).
I'm sure there were more.

acknowledgments

Writing a book can sometimes feel like herding cats, although I happen to think that writing is also as much fun as a basket of kittens. The truth is that everything depends on community—ideas, memories, feedback, support, and the occasional obstacle that says “try harder.” So, in no particular order, my thanks to those—human and otherwise—who have fed my passions for writing and animals. I can't name everyone, but I will pick out a few special people who had their paws on this book, one way or another.

Because he usually isn't mentioned until the end, I'll start with my husband, Roger Boneham—thanks again for supporting my writing, for talking out (and offering) ideas, and for loving the animals. What's for supper?

Thanks also to my agent, Josh Getzler, for good-humored support, and to acquisitions editor Terri Bischoff, who believed in the Animals in Focus series enough to run with it. Special thanks to Lisa Novak, who designed the beautiful cover of this book; to illustrator Gary Hanna, who made the model Aussie look like my Jay; to Donna Burch-Brown, who not only designed the interior of the book, but who also rescued a Labrador Retriever named Cosmos while this book was in the works. Drake is proud! Brenna Spencer and Rhonda Calhoun Mullenix of Lumos PhoDOGraphy staged the “catwalk and body” photo from which Gary Hanna worked (brilliant!), and Doug Smith of Wysiwyg Photography took the photo of my friend Nita Gandara's Aussie in the perfect sniffing posture. Sharp-eyed, light-handed editor Connie Hill is always a pleasure to work with.

Special thanks to my brilliant early readers Linda Wagner and Nancy Gadzuk. Remaining booboos are mine, all mine! Although they didn't have a direct hand in this book, the members of the DogRead discussion list provided much useful feedback about the two preceeding books, and some story snippets that I have modified and used in Catwalk. Special thanks to Dana Mackonis and Patricia Tirrell for inviting me to sit in the author seat.

My profound thanks to the animals who enrich and inspire me in so many ways, and to the people who take animals seriously—the TNR community and other rescuers; the enthusiasts who share the joy of sports like agility with their animals; the serious, ethical breeders who pour love and knowledge into their animals from pre-birth through old age; the people who simply love their pets and care for them well and responsibly. Last, but far from least, my profound thanks to readers of all stripes, and to booksellers—
especially the independents, and more especially, Kathleen Jewell and Pomegranate Books. You rock!

one

The voice came through
as a half-sque
al, but I managed to make out, “She's gone! They've kidnaped her! Oh, God, I hope they don't hurt her!” The caller's ident
ity was blocked, but I was pretty sure I knew who it was.

“Alberta?”

“I know they did it to get back at me, but how could they? She's so little, she must be scared, terrified, oh God, we have to find her
…
”
I heard a huge sob, then silence.

“Slow down and tell me what you're talking about.”

“They've been after me for months but that was just my car and my house, you know, stuff, but this
…
” Another terrible ragged gasp.

Despite the sobbing, enough of the voice came through to assure me that it did indeed belong to Alberta Shofelter. I wouldn't say we were friends, but I had known her from dog shows for years, and had spent a weekend with her in Indianapolis a few months earlier. We were there on her dime to photograph her nationally ranked Welsh Terrier, Indy, aka Champion Welsho's Start Your Engines, at the Indianapolis 500 Museum. While we were there, a little boy went missing and my Australian Shepherd, Jay, found him where he was hiding. Ever since then, Alberta has regarded Jay as Superdog, and as Superdog's sidekick, I am now her photographer of choice.

That's what I do, you see. I'm Janet MacPhail, and I take photos, mostly of critters. It's so much fun that even after three decades of being paid to play with my camera, I can barely think of it as work. Truth is, though, that the publishers and animal lovers who buy my photos enable me to pay my bills.

“Can you bring Jay? I know he can find her, I know he can.” The
sobs gave way to a glimmer of hope. “Please, Janet, she's so small and
…
” Apparently Jay and I have also become Alberta's go-to finders
of lost creatures.

The clock on my microwave said 4:02. That meant we had a little more than an hour before sunset, and maybe another quarter hour until full dark. “I can, but you'll have to pick me up. My car's in the shop.”

“I'll just grab my keys and
…
” Alberta wheezed and grunted and something clicked in my ear. “Tell me your address again
…
GPS
…
” One of Alberta's dogs barked in the background.

The pile of bills and paperwork on my kitchen table seemed to expand as I looked at it. I had hoped to whittle it down to nothing before date night started, but how could I not help look for a lost animal? At least I assumed it was an animal, since Alberta's kids were grown and scattered across the country. I took a deep breath and told Alberta to do the same. “And drive carefully. A ticket or fender bender won't help.” She wasn't the most cautious of drivers even without the agitation.

“Right, I will.” Wheeze. “I'm fine. I'm on my way.”

It takes
me
about half an hour to drive to Alberta's house, so I figured I had maybe twenty minutes until she arrived. “Jay, come on, Bubby. Work to do.” He was sacked out on his big round bed in the kitchen, but at the sound of his name he rolled onto his feet in one smooth, muscular motion, ready for whatever I had in mind. I took him to the garage and grabbed his tracking harness from between leashes, long lines, collars, and assorted other training paraphernalia. When he saw the harness, Jay's rear end went into full Aussie wriggle, and he whined and snorted as if to say, “Yay! Tracking!”

Jay stepped into the harness and as I clipped the second of two fasteners, I said, “So, Bubby, here's the thing.” He turned to look at me, his brown eyes wide, his expression saying,
Yes? Tell me!

“I have no idea who we're looking for.”

Jay cocked his head to the left.

“Alberta was so agitated, I never asked.”

He swiveled his head the other way, and I hoped he wasn't think
ing what I was.
What a dope.

Once he was suited up, so to speak, I lifted the shorter of my two long lines from a hook. It's twenty feet of soft one-inch black nylon rope, shorter than a regulation tracking line, but a lot easier to manage than forty feet of potential tangles. I had no idea whether we would be working around traffic or pedestrians or other potential hazards, so I didn't want Jay too far ahead of me.

Jay followed me to the bedroom, where Leo was curled into an orange tabby knot between the pillows. I pulled on a pair of clean jeans, squatting a couple of times to loosen them up and promising that I really would lose those extra ten pounds I'd been carrying around for a decade.
Okay, fine. Twenty
. I stuffed the slacks and sweater I had been wearing, along with a pair of flats, my purse, and a pair of earrings, into a duffle bag. We had been having unseasonably warm weather, but the air had developed a chilly edge in the past hour, so I zipped my red Indiana Hurryin' Hoosiers hoody over my long-sleeved tee and tied on the waterproof running shoes I wear for tracking. Jay and I sat on the front steps and I called Tom to tell him what was happening.

I'm never sure how to refer to Tom.
Boyfriend
seems a bit silly at our age. We haven't made any long-term commitment and don't live together, so
partner
isn't right, but we're much more committed to everyday companiony things than
lover
seems to suggest. I rather like the sound of
paramour,
but can you imagine people's reactions if I used that? Mostly I just refer to him by name. When Tom nearly died a couple of months earlier, I thought I finally knew what I want out of our relationship. Since then, I had thought of all the reasons I liked being independent, if spending three or four nights a week together still counts.

“I'll come help,” Tom said after I explained about Alberta's call. “Who are we looking for?”

Good question.
“You know, she never said, but I assume it's one of her dogs.”

“She lives near Times Corners, right? I can be there in half an hour.”

“It might take a while.” One thing about searching with a tracking dog—darkness is no obstacle to scent. As long as I could see to follow safely, we could search into the night if necessary. We agreed that I would call again when I knew more and had some sense of what the search might entail.

“My ride is here,” I said as Alberta screeched to a stop in front of my driveway.

“Jay will find her, whoever she is.”