Authors: Susan C. Daffron
The Art of Wag
The Art of Wag
An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy
Book 3
Published by Magic Fur Press
An imprint of Logical Expressions, Inc.
P.O. Box 383, Ponderay, Idaho 83852, USA
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business organizations, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Susan C. Daffron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.
ISBN:
978-1-61038-025-6 (paperback)
978-1-61038-026-3 (EPUB)
Digital Edition 1.0 – October 13, 2014
Chapter 9 - Scientific Experiments
Chapter 12 - The Mood of the Room
The Art of Wag
An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy
Book 3
by Susan C. Daffron
With the exception of a few failed forays into higher education, Tracy Sullivan has lived her entire life in the small town of Alpine Grove. When she is fired from her hostess job, Tracy hits a new all-time career low. Now she’s officially a repeat underachiever and almost completely broke. The income from her second job as a veterinary assistant is barely enough to pay her rent and keep her temperamental dachshund Roxy in dog food.
Desperate for a change of scene, Tracy splurges on a digital art class in the city where she meets Rob Thompson, a geeky computer networking guy who wants a new career as much as she does. After seeing her illustrations, he offers Tracy a temporary job, but adding “starving artist” to her dubious list of achievements doesn’t seem wise. Against her better judgment, Tracy takes on the project. But then everything goes haywire and Tracy may never look at her ancient car, fungi, or Rob the same way again.
The Art of Wag
is a romantic comedy novel of approximately 80,000 words.
Chapter 1
E
ven though she was wearing heavy leather welding gloves, Tracy Sullivan could feel the 17-pound gray tabby’s muscles twitch under her grasp. She was holding the cat by the scruff of the neck while her other hand rested on his back. Although she was cooing sweet nothings to the feline, he didn’t seem to appreciate the sentiments. A low growl from deep within the chest cavity of the cat rose to a high-pitched squall as he tensed all of his muscles at once and launched straight up off the examination table.
“Get back! Don’t let him bite you!” the veterinarian, Dr. Karen Cassidy, shouted as the two women jumped back from the shiny stainless steel table.
The cat landed with a thud back on the table, made a horrific screeching noise, and jumped down to the floor, scurrying around the room looking for an exit.
Fortunately, Tracy had closed the doors before the exam, so the cat had nowhere to go after his bout of kitty performance art. The large feline continued to circle the room and then settled in a corner, growling menacingly. Squiggy was a beautiful cat with the type of swirled, contoured tabby markings that reminded Tracy of van Gogh’s famous “Starry Night” painting. At the moment though, the cat seemed to have discarded the peace and tranquility of the impressionists in favor of a more expressionist work like Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”
Tracy looked over at the tall, slim veterinarian in the room with her. “Should we bag him?”
Karen Cassidy ran her fingers through her curly brown hair, pushing it back off her forehead. “Yes. I guess we’ll have to. Could you grab the net, too?”
Tracy reached for the fishing net hanging on the wall and then grabbed a bright blue zippered nylon bag off a hook. “Were you able to figure out what’s wrong with him? This smell is really starting to get to me.”
“He just seems to have a case of, ah, extreme flatulence.”
Tracy’s straight blonde hair brushed her chin as she shook her head. “I hate Mondays. Why is it that we always get patients like Squiggy, the gigantic farting cat, on Mondays? What do people do to their animals when the clinic is closed on Sunday? It’s like there’s a full moon every weekend and people sprinkle their critters with wacko dust so they can drop them off here bright and early.”
Dr. Cassidy smiled. “I don’t know, but it does seem to be a trend, doesn’t it? We need to catch this guy, so I can get to surgery. I have all those strays to neuter today.”
“We’re going to give those ferals some happy, sleepy drugs, right? Because after Squiggy’s meltdown, my hands are shaking.” Tracy held up a quavering hand horizontally in front of her face to demonstrate. “At this point, I’m not up for dealing with semi-nuclear wild kitties.”
The vet crouched down in front of the cat. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to sedate Squiggy, since his owner said he’s a big ‘love bug,’ but it looks like we’ll have to, after all.”
Squiggy growled more loudly from his corner to emphasize his displeasure and readiness to leave the room.
Tracy looked down at the cat’s scowling face. “Yeah, sure. You’re a real love bug.”
The two woman worked together to catch Squiggy and put him into the “cat bag,” a zippered bag uniquely designed to confine a feline, so the animal isn’t able to easily scratch large swaths of skin off a veterinary professional.
Tracy held onto the cat again while Dr. Cassidy gave Squiggy a shot “to take the edge off,” as she liked to say. After the injection, Squiggy was significantly less cranky. Tracy looked up at the vet.”This smell is starting to make me feel a little ill. Are you almost done?”
The veterinarian looked up from her ministrations. “Yes. In addition to his flatulence, he does seem a little dehydrated. I’d like to give him some fluids and see if the owners would be willing to let us keep him for a few hours so we can keep an eye on him.”
Tracy nodded. For suffering through eau d’Squiggy, she was being paid six whole dollars an hour, the going rate for veterinary assistants in Alpine Grove. Given that she was the only assistant at the only vet clinic in town, it must be the going rate. Becoming a certified vet tech would pay more, but taking all the required courses was far beyond her means. On the Chinese Zodiac, 1995 was the year of the pig, but that clearly had nothing to do with bringing home lots of bacon for her extremely lean piggy bank.
Although Tracy loved animals, working two jobs was starting to get to her. She worked as a veterinary assistant from seven thirty in the morning until three in the afternoon, ran home, took her dachshund Roxy for a walk, grabbed a shower, changed into the required idiotic outfit, and worked from four to ten in the evening as a hostess at the local Italian restaurant.
Being clawed and shed upon during the day by dogs and cats and then groped in the evenings by drunken male tourists meant she could afford her rent. And food. Most of the time. But job opportunities in Alpine Grove were scarce. On her best days, Tracy was grateful to have any job. But this wasn’t one of her best days. Today, all she felt was exhausted and annoyed.
Cradling the large stinky and now sleepy cat in her arms, Tracy carried him back to the row of stainless steel cages. She closed the cage door firmly and mentally acknowledged the metal clang, indicating the lock was in place and the cat was securely confined. With any luck, Squiggy would still be feeling a little sleepy when his owner arrived later that afternoon.
Dr. Cassidy had wasted no time and already had a small feral cat anesthetized and on the surgery table for his neutering. It was amazing how quickly the veterinarian worked. None of her movements were wasted and she could neuter a cat in minutes.
Tracy stood next to the table and monitored the anesthesia machine while the vet worked. “I’d like to take a couple of days off. Is that okay? I got a free pass to an art class. It’s a weekend class about a computer program called Photoshop. My friend Shelby got some special deal and gave it to me. The price is right. Free works for me.”
Dr. Cassidy looked up from the cat. “Sure. No problem. Gail can cover your shifts. She’s always wanting more hours, anyway.”
“Don’t we all? I agonized about going, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. Plus Shelby is going to let me stay with her at her place in the city. It could be fun. I could use a weekend away from here.” Noting the movement of the anesthesia machine’s reservoir bag, which inflated and deflated like a balloon, she gave it a squeeze. What would it feel like to go up in a brightly colored hot-air balloon and soar through the sky like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
? She’d never been on a plane, much less a balloon.
Dr. Cassidy finished up and passed the little orange tabby to Tracy. “This one is done. Could you put him in a cage and grab the next one?”
Tracy snuggled the sleeping cat to her chest and looked down at his striped face. “Okay, little fella, let’s go. Your opportunity to be a daddy is over now.”
The sound of furious barking came from within the tiny studio apartment as Tracy walked up the stairs and opened the door. The scuffed hardwood floor was littered with clothes and art supplies. Tracy’s long-haired dachshund Roxy ran up to her, deftly dodging an empty laundry basket, a half-painted canvas, and a box filled with crumpled tubes of acrylic paint.