Dog Beach Unleashed (6 page)

I try not to laugh. People don't like old gifts, and neither do dogs.

“Hopefully some time with you and the other dogs will help,” she tells me. “We rented a house with a few other families this summer. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe he's grown antisocial in his old age.”

“I see.” I bend down to pet Lester. “He's in good hands with us.”

“Good luck.” She kisses the top of his head. “Hope he behaves himself.”

“Lester,” I say as soon as his owner-mom is far enough
away that I can talk to him in private, “I'm so excited to see you. We're going to have a great summer!”

He gives me a look as if he's not sure he believes me.

“First things first,” I tell him, and I look around to make sure the gate is closed. “Let's get you free. I know leashes bug you, and you're safe at Dog Beach.” I unclip him, and he makes a run for it.

“Lester!” I yell, and I instantly regret my kindness and sensitivity. He took advantage of it, and now I'm sprinting across the beach like a maniac, running after him.

Dogs can be classic “give 'em an inch, and they'll take a mile” creatures.

I catch up to him and put him back on the leash, and we walk slowly back to the group.

We can turn Lester's summer around and make him happy again. I know it. He's stubborn and routine-oriented, true. But we can handle that.

I guess we all like things our own way sometimes.

The most important thing is for me to figure out why he's unhappy and why he wanted to run away in the first place.

I stay up late researching dog behavior online
—especially that of cocker spaniels—so I can better understand Lester. Running a doggie day camp isn't only about good times and quality supervision. It's about taking the time to really understand the dogs. Apparently cocker spaniels are very sensitive. It's important to pay attention to how we discipline them and how we talk to them with our hands. Maybe his owners don't realize that something they're doing might be causing him to act out.

I'm exhausted the next morning and practically falling asleep on the bench while trying to set up all the different dogs' lunches, when someone startles me.

“Are you Remy?” the person asks.

I look up, nod, and pretend to be wide awake. “Uh-huh.”

“I'm Josh Gold. I hoped I'd find you here,” he says. He's
not a teenager, but he's not an adult. Must be a college student. He's wearing plaid shorts and an
SGI SWEETS 2001
T-shirt. Clearly a longtime Seagater.

“Hi, Josh,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

Maybe he's part of the beach crew this year, making sure we're cleaning up after the dogs, keeping the area clean?

“So, my buddies and I are part of an improv troupe,” he says. “You know what improv is?”

Does he think I'm six years old? Of course I do.

I glare at him. “Yeah, I know what improv is.”

He laughs. “Okay, well, great. So my troupe and I are spending the summer on Seagate, running some kids' acting classes and working on our skills so we can enter this national competition. We're called the Improvimaniacs.”

“Uh-huh.”

I can feel Micayla, Bennett, Claire, and Calvin staring at me from the edge of the water. It's not every day a college kid comes to talk to me.

“I was told you run a day care program for dogs?” he asks, looking a bit confused, as if it's one of the craziest things he's ever heard of.

“Yeah.” I laugh. It always feels funny when people know about us. As if we're a real business.

“We want to get some animals involved in our routines,” he says. “We really want to step up our game. And the dogs will make everything so spontaneous.”

“Okay . . .” I cover my mouth to avoid cracking up. This feels too silly to be true.

“So we wondered if we could come hang with your dogs some days and practice with them,” he tells me. “While they're in doggie day care. It can be kind of like their theater elective?” He smiles broadly, as if he's trying to convince me.

“I'll think about it,” I tell him, still trying not to laugh as I imagine the dogs acting onstage. “This is only our second day, and we're trying to get the dogs situated.” I pause. “But it sounds like a fun idea.”

I see Ritzy trying to steal a ball from Rascal. Lester is at the very edge of Dog Beach, about to make a run for it again, and Marilyn Monroe keeps looking over at me as if she's bored. I should probably end this conversation for now.

“Thanks for thinking about it, Remy,” he says and gives me his phone number. “Oh, and I forgot to mention, I'm planning to be a vet. I don't know very much yet, but I do know some things about dogs.”

“Cool,” I say.

If he knows some things about being a vet, he should know that I really need to get back to the dogs!

“So, how 'bout this? I'll bring the other members of the troupe by tomorrow, and we can explain what we were thinking about, in terms of getting the dogs into our act.”

“Okay. How many of you are there?” I ask.

“Well, there are four of us.”

“Okay.”

Only on Seagate Island would a college kid come to talk to a twelve-year-old running a doggie day care program. That's the magic of Seagate, right there in a nutshell.

“What was that all about?” Bennett asks when I get back to the group. “It seemed like a really intense conversation.”

“Not much, really,” I tell him. “It was kinda odd. You know that improv troupe we've seen running the acting classes in the stadium?”

Everyone nods, and I tell them what Josh said about getting the dogs involved, their competition, and everything else.

“Josh is a genius,” Bennett says. “He goes to Yale.” He throws a Frisbee to Atticus.

“Okay . . .” I'm not sure what that really has to do with this improv situation, but it only goes to prove that Bennett knows every single person on Seagate Island. “Anyway, they're coming by tomorrow to hang out with the dogs.”

“Sounds cool,” Calvin says. “I mean, improv can be really funny.” He pauses and turns to his sister. “Right, Claire?”

She rolls her eyes and walks away.

Calvin sighs. “Well,
I
think it's cool. She does, too. We went on a cruise once, and there was an improv show. Claire was picked out of the audience to participate.”

He runs down the beach to continue the Frisbee game with Bennett.

I notice that Claire's crying again, but Calvin is acting as if everything is fine. Maybe that's the key word:
acting.
His parents' pending divorce has got to be upsetting him, too.

I walk over to Claire. “How are you?” I ask, even though it seems like the dumbest question in the world.

“Bad. I saw my mom crying again.”

“Really?” I answer. I want to be there for Claire, but I don't know what to say.

“Yeah, and she's not a crier. I mean, the only other time I saw her cry was when my grandma died. She didn't even cry when she broke her foot or got stung by five bees.”

“That's a hard thing to see,” I say. “I'm really sorry this is happening to you.”

Everything I say sounds wrong after it comes out of my mouth. Maybe there's someone I can turn to for guidance. I thought about asking Bennett for advice, but now it seems easier to talk to someone else. I've spent time studying dog behavior, but I guess I need to spend time studying human behavior, too.

“I just realized that this may be our last Seagate summer. We'll probably have to spend summers with my dad from now on.”

“Really? No! You just got here.”

“I know. Everything about this totally stinks,” she says. “I really don't know what's going to happen.”

“Let's not think about the future; things can always change,” I tell her. “But I know what you mean. I always want to know how things are going to end up. Not knowing is the worst part.”

“Exactly,” she says, and this makes me feel good. Maybe I'm making some sense; maybe I actually understand how she's feeling.

I continue. “And I think you're right about getting used to the new way of things. It's like when Micayla and her sister and brother, Ivy and Zane, became year-rounders here. There was so much buildup and tension, and then, once it was settled, it turned out fine.”

“Remy.” Claire gives me a cold stare. “These two things are not the same. At all. You can't compare Micayla's living year-round in a beach town to my parents' getting divorced. Come on.”

“No, I—”

Claire stands up and walks away, and I'm left feeling like the worst friend in the world.

“Claire seems so sad today,” Micayla says a few minutes later, carrying over Tabby's water bowl so she can fill it up. “Did anything new happen?”

“No, I don't think so. Just the usual stuff,” I tell her. I don't want to rehash my conversation with Claire and how I messed it up.

“By the way,” Micayla says, “I don't want to freak you out, but I think Calvin likes you.”

I gasp. “What?”

At that exact moment, all the dogs seem to go crazy. Marilyn Monroe starts running in circles. Potato Salad and Oreo swim way too far out, and Bennett has to rescue them. Tabby, Rascal, and Atticus all start growling as if they're in a giant fight. And Ritzy seems to have tummy troubles.

And then there's Lester, huddled under a lounge chair, the way he's been for the past half hour. Maybe Ritzy is freaking him out. He seems to shy away from her.

“We have to focus on the dogs,” I tell her. “But I need more details. Obviously.”

“Right. Let's talk later.”

The whole time I'm wrangling the dogs and trying to solve all their problems, I'm thinking about what Micayla just told me. Could it possibly be true?

It feels like the most terrible yet exciting news.

I don't know what to do with this information. I came here this summer thinking everything would be perfect: I liked Bennett, the doggie day care business was going to be easy-breezy, I was going to be a great help to Claire, and we were all going to have the best summer ever.

But now Claire thinks I don't understand her, Calvin might like me, and the weather is totally unpredictable, with a storm possibly on the summer horizon.

And a college improv troupe wants to recruit our dogs?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

It feels like the summer I was eight, and, without realizing what I was doing, I swam out too far. The ocean started to get choppy, and the waves got bigger and bigger, crashing over my head. And one of the lifeguards had to dive in to help me.

That's how I feel right now. I swam out too far. I need to be rescued.

“Did you ever know anyone whose parents got
divorced?” I ask my dad over dinner. My mom is at book club tonight, and Dad and I decided to walk to Frederick's Fish and eat on their roof deck.

I'd never tell Mom this, but I love the nights she has book club. Sometimes it's nice to have Dad all to myself. Mom has a tendency to ask too many questions when I turn to her for advice. Dad sits quietly and listens. He only chimes in with a question when absolutely necessary.

“Yes, a few people, actually.” He takes a bite of his fish sandwich and looks at me with wide eyes, as if I should continue.

“Well, how did you help them?” I ask, and then decide to rephrase my question. “I guess what I'm asking is, did you ever have a friend whose parents were going through a divorce, and you didn't know how to help her?”

Dad wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I guess all you can really do is be there for your friend and listen. Let her know that you care.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I just feel like I should be doing more. Helping more. You know?”

He nods. “I know. You like to help. But sometimes just being around is helping. Sometimes less is more.”

He's probably right, but I wanted something concrete, something that I could actually do to help Claire.