CHAPTER THREE
I’ve either fallen into a case of extremely bad luck or Spencer is the absolute worst at dating. Is there a test to determine if someone has bad luck? If I search the Internet long enough, I bet I’ll find something. You can find everything on the Internet.
"I really appreciate you coming along," he says from somewhere on his side of the truck.
I tilt my head back and forth to try and get a clear view of his face before I answer, but Frankie’s head fills the space, so it’s no use. “Of course.”
"This is probably not what you had in mind when I asked you for a date."
"Not exactly, no." I'm willing to bet money no girl in the history of the world would have imagined this scenario.
Frankie leans over and with her big, wet, prickly tongue, licks all the way up my cheek.
"Frankie."
I wipe her slobber away with the back my hands. "How could I say no?"
"We'll get Frankie’s shot taken care of, drop her off at home, and then you and I can have the entire night together. I just couldn’t miss this opportunity.”
“Uh-huh."
Spencer parks his truck in one of the open spaces at the vet’s office parking lot. "He came in on a Sunday." The lot is filled with fresh snow from last night’s mini storm. It won’t get really cold in this part of Maine until January, but it begins ramping up in December.
"Spencer, it's okay." We’re halfway out of town, between Pelican Bay proper and the new development area. If I had a problem with bringing Frankie to the vet on Sunday, I would've spoken up before we passed the welcome to Pelican Bay sign.
I lean up against the heavy door and open it with my back, a chime announcing our entrance. Spencer struggles with Frankie, who pulls on her leash, not wanting to go anywhere near the office. She obviously has experience here and remembers.
"You made it in!" An older gentleman, Dr. Pike, the only veterinarian in Pelican Bay, steps out from behind the receptionist desk.
I’ve seen the Dr. around town once or twice, but his presence is still startling at first glance. I always forget he’s a giant. Spencer is over six feet and towers over my five-and-a-half-foot frame, but the doctor is humongous. I don’t have to lift my head to look at him, I have to throw it all the way back, my skull resting on the space between my shoulders. His patches of white hair styled on top of his head are barely visible from my angle.
"The delivery came in first thing this morning, but I’m unboxing it now.” The doctor flips open the flap of the brown shipping box sitting on the top of the receptionist desk and pulls out a small Styrofoam cooler.
The insides rattle, little tinkering of glasses hitting each other. He selects a slim glass vile with clear liquid inside.
"Just what the doctor ordered, right Frankie?" he says, leading us into an exam room on the first half of the office.
Frankie does not seem to agree. I don’t know what this man did to the poor dog the first time she was here, but from the way she pulls her leash taunt against Spencer's hand, she is not anxious to relive it.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask Spencer quietly as he drags Frankie into the exam room.
He stops walking to give a good tug on the leash. "Of course. She needs her vaccine."
I almost didn't believe him when Spencer asked me out on another date and then showed up with Frankie. He explained the vet called on his way out the door and said the vaccine he was short on two weeks ago had been delivered. With a full roster of clients—who knew there were so many pets in Pelican Bay—he asked Spencer to stop by as soon as possible.
"Come on in, Frankie." The doctor carries on like he doesn't realize Frankie thinks she's walking to her execution. "My secretary had all the offices outfitted with these paintings from an artist in New York. They're supposedly very calming for the dogs.
"Aha." There's been talk in town Dr. Pike is a bit crazy, but as I stand to the side of the exam room waiting for Spencer to talk Frankie in, I'm turning more and more to her side.
How much does the dog need this vaccine, anyway?
Okay, probably a lot.
Spencer steps into the room with Frankie in his arms and sets her on the examining table, but she's having none of it. Her little feet scurry on the metal as her back paws scratch on the hard surface. Spencer tightens his grip, and I rub behind her ears until she’s relatively calm.
Rather than sticking her with the vaccine and rushing to get us in and out, Dr. Pike takes his time. He looks Frankie over, giving her an exam. She growls when he lifts her top and bottom lips to check her teeth and closes her eyes when he shines the light in them.
“The painting must be working. Look how calm she is,” Spencer says, a little too cheerful for what’s actually going on in this room. This is calm?
Just when I figure he’s done, the doctor pulls up one of Frankie's flopped over ears and looks inside.
"Have you decided what breed she is yet?"
Spencer's head turns to me, but he never takes his eyes off Frankie. "No. No one else seems to know either."
"Have you considered she may have some poodle in her?" the doctor asks, completely serious.
My head snaps up, and I give Spencer a what-the-hell look. It's hard to determine what kind of dog Frankie is. With her short black hair and tall-framed body, there is no way she's anything poodle. Maybe Mastiff.
"From the amount of hair she leaves behind on everything, I don’t think that's a possibility,” Spencer is quick to answer.
The doctor taps his finger on his chin twice. "Well, some poodles shed. Especially when you start mixing them with other breeds."
Frankie was right all along. This guy is a quack.
Spencer laughs and pets Frankie on the head a few times. "I'm not sure how many poodles are running around in the woods of Kentucky, Doc."
My hand stills behind Frankie's ear and I think back to the article I read taped to the door of the pet store. "You're the guy from the article? The bachelor party puppies?"
Spencer’s lips pucker, and the left side of his face pinches up. "I thought you knew."
I reach across the table and smack him on the shoulder. "I didn't." Men are so ridiculous. How would I have any clue the Spencer mentioned in the article was this Spencer?
On second thought, Pelican Bay is not a large city. I probably should've had a guess.
"Found her with a bunch of my buddies on Halloween. You didn't get your name just because you like to destroy things, huh Frankenstein?" Spencer gets right into Frankie's face and rubs the top of her nose. As much as he complains she destroys his stuff, he obviously loves his dog.
"Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor’s name." Dr. Pike punctuates the end of his sentence by jabbing Frankie with the vaccination needle.
For all his craziness, he does get it over quickly. The needle is in and out before Frankie has a complete panic attack and jumps into Spencer's waiting arms.
Dr. Pike reaches into his lab coat pocket and pulls out a handful of deep red, little balls. He sticks his hand up to Frankie's nose and lets her lick a few from his palm. When she's eaten three or four of them, he pulls his hand back and then pops two into his own mouth.
I stop scratching Frankie's ear.
Spencer stops patting her on the top of her head.
Dr. Pike shrugs and then eats the third and last treat from his hand. "Dog treats these days are pretty delicious."
I hold my look of disbelief while not speaking as Spencer pays the doctor for the vaccine. It stays steadily hidden as we walk through the lot. I even get the door closed before I make a comment.
“You do realize your vet is crazy, right?” I ask while Spencer starts up the truck.
He nods. “He is. Now smile and wave at the crazy man.”
Dr. Pike steps onto the front porch of the vet’s office, and I immediately raise my hand, nod, and wave as we pull away.
“I live over in Kensington Place.” Spencer mentions the brand-new fancy apartments Pierce finished construction on last year. “Can I make up for this adventurous morning by cooking lunch?”
“I don’t know. I just witnessed a grown man eat dog treats as a snack. It needs to be a really delicious lunch.”
Spencer makes a left and chuckles once. “I’d better order out then.”