Chasing Stanley (4 page)

“Says who?”

“Me. I just made that up. Am I clever or what?” Marcus looked pleased with himself.

“You're very clever,” Delilah acknowledged, taking the newspaper from him to fan herself for a moment, “but in this case, you're wrong. Just because I notice a guy is good-looking doesn't mean I want to date him.”

“Well, maybe you should think about it. I don't want you winding up one of those crazy dog ladies with a hundred pets and no man in your bed.”

Delilah laughed. “I
am
one of those crazy dog ladies, Marcus! Or hadn't you noticed?”

Marcus's gaze turned serious as he plucked the paper from her fingers. “I
have
noticed, believe me. But we're going to fix that.”

“Get off of
her!”

The minute Jason opened his apartment door, Stanley jumped up on Delilah. His massive paws landed on her shoulders, sending Delilah stumbling back before steadying herself. For a moment, it looked as though they were dancing. Had Delilah not been quite as agile, Stanley would have knocked her flat.

“Stanley, down!” Delilah commanded. Stanley ignored her, licking her face instead. Sighing with momentary resignation, Delilah held still while Stanley gleefully lapped at her cheeks.

“He doesn't know ‘Down,' does he?”

“No,” Jason admitted guiltily.

Shaking her head, Delilah grabbed Stanley's front paws and gently lowered him to the ground. Stanley looked at her, then indelicately thrust his head between her legs. Jason wished he had a gun so he could shoot himself.

“Stanley!”

“It's okay,” Delilah said, scratching Stanley's back. “He knows we're mad at him, so he's looking for reassurance.”

Jason couldn't believe it. Stanley had nearly knocked her down, he'd slobbered all over her face, and now he had bulldozed her—somewhat vulgarly—into affection. Yet Delilah was unfazed.

She continued scratching Stanley's back for awhile before lightly tapping his rump. “Okay, that's it. Rubbies are over for now.” Stanley played deaf. Delilah backed up so she was no longer straddling him. Stanley charged her playfully, hoping for a repeat performance. This time Delilah stopped him in his tracks.

“Stan!” She moved out of reach, eyeing Jason above the unruly beast's head. “This isn't good. If he butts someone in the crotch, it could seriously hurt them.”

“Tell me about it.” Jason left to go to the kitchen, returning with a slice of hot dog. “Watch this.” He walked over to Stanley, who had Delilah cornered. His giant tail was wagging so hard it created a breeze. “Stanley!”

The dog turned and lumbered over to Jason, who held the hot dog chunk high above Stanley's head. “Sit!” Stanley sat. Jason gave him his reward, smiling proudly at Delilah. “Impressive, eh?”

Delilah didn't look impressed. “You've been using hot dogs to bribe him all week, haven't you? Getting him to come in, getting him to go out . . . Am I right?”

“Well, yeah. But I was using it as a reward, like you said!”

“You're supposed to reward him for obeying a specific
command
.”

“ ‘Sit' is a command,” Jason pointed out.

“True. So are ‘Up,' ‘Out,' ‘Down' and ‘In.' Are you telling me he knows those?”

“No. I just kind of hold the hot dog out to him and—”

Delilah winced. “Don't tell me. I don't want to know how much he'll have to unlearn.”

“Sorry.” Jason sulked his way over to his couch. “Want to sit down?”

“Sure.” Delilah sat, once again unfazed when Stanley followed her, sitting down right on her feet. “Typical Newf,” she murmured, affectionately stroking Stanley's back. “Wants to be right where you are.”

“Always,” said Jason, stifling a huge yawn. He'd been out partying with his brother and some of his new teammates. He could already tell he was going to love living in Manhattan; there was so much to do and see, so many different places to hang. Eric had told him to get used to being the center of attention because he was a Blade, but it wasn't until last night, with women throwing themselves at him and bartenders giving him free drinks, that Jason believed him.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“Some water would be great.”

“Coming right up.”

Jason returned to the kitchen. He'd been nervous about Delilah coming over to interview him and Stan. He knew she'd bust him on his flagrant hot dog abuse, but there was more to it than that. He wanted to make a good impression. He had the feeling she thought he was a big dumb jock who knew squat about the best way to care for his dog. She was partly right. It was one thing when he owned a house in Minnesota and could just open the back door to let Stan out to play or do his business. But now that they lived in the city, things had to change. Stan's behavior was a hazard, both to himself and others. Jason knew he had no choice but to acclimate him as quickly as possible.

Grabbing two bottles of mineral water from the fridge, he headed back out into the living room. Stanley was now stretched out on the floor with his head in Delilah's lap, gazing up at her adoringly. Delilah looked amused as she took her bottle of water from Jason.

“This is one affectionate little boy you've got here.”

“Total love whore. I won't deny it.” Jason sat beside her, wondering if he should turn on some music to relax them. Delilah seemed nervous.

“So, is that your official dog walker uniform?” he asked in a lame attempt to break the ice.

Delilah looked down at her shorts, T-shirt, sneakers, and fanny pack. “I suppose. You can't take care of fifteen dogs a day and care about fashion.” She sounded almost apologetic.

“No, of course not,” Jason agreed, worried she might have taken his question as a criticism. He wondered: What did she wear when she wasn't taking care of dogs? Tight jeans? Tight T-shirts? She didn't seem the type to flaunt her assets. Then again, how did he know what type she was? All he knew was that she loved dogs.

Delilah was looking around the living room, her right hand absently stroking Stanley's head. “This place is huge.” Her eyes fastened on his new mountain bike, propped up in the corner. “Nice bike.”

“Thanks.” Jason gestured around the nearly empty living room. “I probably should have waited and gotten some furniture first, but what the hell? I wanted it.” He took a slug of water, pointing to Stanley with his bottle. “Look at him,” he murmured. “He's totally blissed out.” It was true: Stanley's eyes had glazed over with pleasure. Delilah could stroke his head for hours, and it still wouldn't be enough for him.

“He really is a charmer,” Delilah noted. “That's why it's going to be doubly hard to break him of all those bad habits you let him develop. So tell me: What's Stanley's background?”

“Well, he used to be a puppy. Then he grew.”

“Very funny.” Actually, she did look amused, which pleased Jason.

“Let's get back to business,” she said crisply. For the next twenty minutes she proceeded to ply him with questions. What did Stan eat? Did he have all his shots? Were his parents OFA-certified? (Whatever the hell
that
meant.) When was the last time he saw a vet? Her “interview” was beginning to feel like an interrogation. All that was missing was a hard wooden chair and a blinding light in his eyes. Finally, Jason couldn't take it anymore.

“Look, I love him, and I try to take care of him the best I can. If he's undisciplined, it's not because I'm lazy; it's because when we were in Minnesota, he didn't have to be disciplined. You probably think it was wrong of me to take him to New York with me, but there was no way I was going to stash him with my folks or some friends. He's
my dog
. Know what I mean?”

“Of course I do,” Delilah replied quietly. Her eyes glistened. “And I don't think it was wrong of you to bring him to New York. I couldn't imagine life without my three dogs.”

Jason nodded. “It's obvious you love dogs and know all about them. Stan is my best friend. I'd feel very comfortable leaving him in your care—if you'll have us.”

“Here's the deal,” said Delilah. “I'd like to meet with you and Stanley once a week. I charge fifty dollars for an hour-long lesson, and expect owners”—her gaze was unnervingly direct—“to practice with their dogs for a minimum of fifteen minutes every day. Like I said last week: I'm not just training Stanley, I'm training you, too.” She started scratching Stanley behind the ears. “Dogs live to please the leader of their pack. If you assume that role and stick to it, Stan will do the rest.”

Jason nodded. “Okay.” He was pretty sure he could carve out fifteen minutes a day to work with Stan.

“Once he's trained,” Delilah continued, “we can set up a schedule for me to walk him. I charge twenty-five dollars for an hour-long walk, fifteen dollars for a half an hour, and twelve dollars for your basic pee and poo.”

“And boarding him?”

“That'll cost you fifty dollars a night if I have room. But like I said before, I won't take him in as a boarder until he's trained.”

This wasn't what Jason wanted to hear. Suppose Stanley was a bad pupil and wasn't anywhere near trained by the time of the Blades' first road trip of the season? What then? It wasn't like he could always get Eric to do it; he might also be on the road. Jason would just have to make sure he and Stan were whipped into shape by the time the season formally began.

“I think that's it.” Delilah's fingers began fiddling with the zipper of her fanny pack. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“What got you into this?”

“I've loved dogs from the time I was a little girl. I got my first dog when I was five, a miniature poodle named Harry. He was gray and white with the cutest little nose and I got him this little pink collar and—” She stopped, checking her watch. “I hate to be rude, but I have to go.” She stood. “I have another client I have to meet with.”

Jason wondered if she was telling the truth. She couldn't be
that
shy; her business put her in contact with lots of people. Maybe she just felt shy around him?

Meanwhile, Stanley had stood, too, and was once again trying to nudge his way through Delilah's legs.

“He doesn't want you to go,” said Jason.

“It's okay, big guy,” Delilah cooed. “We'll see each other soon.” As if he understood, Stanley backed off and headed for the kitchen; there came the sound of loud slurping. Jason sighed.

“Half the water he drinks winds up on the floor,” he told Delilah.

“It's that way with every Newf.”

Delilah seemed to relax again now that they were back to discussing dogs. She intrigued him. She was cute, smart, and kinda shy. Best of all, she wasn't repulsed by big, ol', hairy, drooly Stanley. If anything, it was the opposite.

“When can we meet for our first lesson?” Jason asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Delilah pulled a PalmPilot out of one of the compartments of her fanny pack. “How does Thursday afternoon sound, around four?”

“Hang on.” Jason's eyes scoured the room. What the hell had he done with his Blades schedule? Most of his life was still in boxes, though he was trying to unpack as fast as he could so he'd start to feel at home. He spotted the schedule peeking out from under a pile of newspapers and grabbed it, giving it a quick glance. “Thursday at four looks good. Where?”

“I'll meet you guys here. It's important we start out in a familiar setting. I think the first thing Stanley needs to learn is the proper way to behave on a leash.”

“You mean twining himself around me is unacceptable?”

“Stanley has so many unacceptable behaviors I don't know where to begin.”

Jason laughed uncertainly. Was that a reprimand or a good-natured tease? He shot a sidelong glance at Delilah. She was ribbing him.

“Anything special you need me to have here before our first lesson?” Jason offered.

“A copy of your schedule would be great, too. Just for future reference.”

For a split second Jason entertained the fantasy of asking her to the Blades home opener, but then he realized: she'd be watching Stanley.

“I'd also like you to go to the pet store and get him a Halti. It's a type of training collar that looks just the same as a horse's bridle, and more or less works on the same principle: if he starts to pull, his head will turn toward you. Just remember to tell the clerk how much Stanley weighs so they give you the right size.”

“Maybe you could come with me?” Jason suggested.

“You'll be fine,” Delilah said, edging toward the door. She seemed anxious to leave, so much so that she was having trouble unlocking the door.

“Allow me,” said Jason. He opened the door for her. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“You, too.” Delilah's shoulder bumped the doorframe as she shot out into the hall. “I mean, thanks for having me stop by. Yes. Right.”

Jason watched her walking down the hall toward the elevator but then stopped, worried she might sense he was watching. He closed the door and turned; Stanley was right behind him.

“Me and my shadow.” Jason chuckled, sidestepping Stan. “Delilah Gould,” he murmured to himself. “What's your story?”

Stopping off at Marcus's, Delilah was greeted by the sight of her dear friend and assistant limbering up in his living room with an oxygen mask on.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”