The noise was deafening even before they got inside. Carol looked around. How could six dogs make so much noise? Dixie opened one of the kennels and a large, dark spotted dog tried to crawl up her legs. She knelt down and rubbed his belly then wrestled with him for a moment. Dixie laughed then pushed the dog back inside the kennel. Carol swore the dog was crying for more attention.
“Sorry. That’s my dog, Folsom Blues. He’s a Bluetick Coonhound.”
“He’s got really long ears.”
Dixie laughed. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Is he always so sad looking?”
“No. That’s his ‘you’re not gonna play with those other dogs, are you’ look.”
Carol turned her head and saw Harry, who was being as quiet as the others were noisy. He lifted a paw when he saw her watching.
“Hi, Harry!” Dixie said and looked at Carol.
“Um, hello, Harry.”
Harry dropped his chest to the ground and wagged his tail in the air. He whined.
“Why is he so quiet? Is something wrong with him?”
“No,” Dixie said as she got his leash, collar and vest out. Harry spun in a circle when he saw his work clothes. “He’s learning about you. He wants to know what you want him to do.”
“Do?”
“Yeah. Do you want him to sit or lay down or maybe you want him to protect you.”
Carol stared at the dog. “He thinks all that?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “That’s me guessing.”
“Oh. That relieves me somewhat.”
Dixie chuckled. She opened the kennel and Harry walked right up to Carol who grinned like a fool.
“Good guess, Dixie.”
She laughed. Putting on the collar, she talked Carol through the way to rig up the dog when going out in public. Standing, she held the leash out to Carol. She took it and looked at Harry. He looked up at her with his tail wagging.
“Does he ever stop wagging his tail?”
“Yes. When he sleeps.”
This time Carol chuckled. Together, the three of them walked out into the muggy sunshine.
To steady herself, Carol looked up at the sky. She didn’t want to look at her car. “Afghanistan was so dry I thought I was drowning the first few weeks I was in Florida.”
“It can be humid but it does get very cold.”
“Ha. How cold is cold in Florida?”
“It gets below freezing on a fairly regular basis. It’ll be cold for a week or two then warm up again. You know what they say. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”
Carol scoffed. “It’s below freezing for months in the mountains in-country.”
“Hey, you’re out now. That part of your life is over.”
Carol turned limpid eyes to Dixie. “I’ll never be out of it.”
Harry whined. He was sitting at her feet looking up at her. She leaned over and stroked his head. “It’s okay, Harry. Everything is fine.” She straightened. “Let’s go,” she said to the dog.
Happily getting to his feet, he headed for the woods. Carol and Dixie followed in his wake. They made casual conversation. It was mostly about dogs vs. cats as pets, dogs in general, brothers, parents and growing up to be women. They had distinctly different paths but a commonality that bonded them as friends. Carol was completely relaxed and in awe of such a young woman owning her own business and loving every minute of it.
Afternoon in the Florida woods was just as muggy as everywhere else. Carol let herself enjoy the light sweat on her face and her neck. It was too early in the day for mosquitoes which she had learned to hate almost as much as the sand fleas in Afghan—
She stopped the thought before completing it. Dixie was right. She was no longer in-country. There were no IEDs—improvised explosive devices—in these sunny woods. No tribesmen hiding behind the trees or screaming down out of the mountains. Her shoulders felt loose. Her heart felt light. She had a new friend who knew her story and her condition and still liked her. Supported her even. Comforted her.
What more could she want?
It was at that moment that a rounded armadillo chose to reveal himself. A few hours earlier and Carol would have at least shrieked and run. This time she surprised herself. She stood still and stared at the creature rooting around the base of a tree.
“If that’s the only armored vehicle you have around here…”
Dixie was looking at her with both eyebrows raised. Carol laughed and Dixie followed suit. They giggled as Harry crowded Carol’s legs. She stroked his silky ears and he licked her hand.
“He has a smooth tongue. Cats have very rough tongues. They use them to clean themselves and their prey.”
“Their prey?”
“They lick off feathers or fur before eating.”
“How delightful.”
This time Carol’s eyebrows rose. “In the wild of course. I usually feed them out of a can.”
Dixie grinned. “By damn, Carol. You made two jokes!”
Carol looked surprised then she smiled and nodded. “I did, didn’t I?”
They resumed their walk and Carol observed how Harry watched the armadillo but didn’t try to chase it.
“Doesn’t he like to chase other animals?”
Dixie looked down to see Harry occasionally turning his head to watch the animal before it disappeared into the underbrush.
“He’s dying to chase it but he’s trained not to while on his leash. Especially when he’s wearing his vest. If he was off his leash he’d be after it until it rolled into a tight ball.”
“So the vest is like a uniform. You behave one way at work and another at leisure.”
“Exactly. Very well put.”
Feeling a little light-headed, Carol came to a stop. “Like me. I’m not in uniform so I don’t need to react like I’m in uniform.” She had spoken softly, more to herself than to Dixie. It was a revelation. She looked at Dixie who smiled.
“Good analogy. And a bit of a breakthrough, right?”
“Yeah.” Carol looked down at Harry who was sitting and leaning against her leg. But he was grinning up at her too. She grinned back at him and took him off his leash. He didn’t move.
“You need to tell him it’s okay to run around. Just say ‘release’.”
Still looking at the dog, Carol said, “Release.”
Harry stood up and shook his whole body and trotted off to lift his leg.
Dixie looped her arm through Carol’s and they headed off down the path through the woods. Dixie whistled and Harry came running back. She lifted her hand and he ran off again. Carol tried it but flubbed the whistle. Practicing, and probably driving Harry nuts, they made their way through the hot, muggy afternoon without a care in the world.
* * *
The carburetor talk withered away. Mason was tired. Since he used his hands when he talked, his shoulders, back and neck were aching. And he was hungry. Hummus and crackers was not a satisfactory lunch for a working man. Even when he wasn’t exactly working. Brand seemed to be ruminating so Mason didn’t interrupt. The man could talk cars though. Mason was used to answering questions about cars. He made his passion his work. As a matter of fact, all his siblings had made their passion their work. Even Dixie. But he never understood the attraction. Dogs were just dogs. They laid around all day, ate dinner, pooped and then slept all night. Big deal.
But he grudgingly admitted she made it work. Her clients, the human ones, always praised her. She fixed unruly dogs, dangerous dogs, loud dogs, tiny tyrant dogs and lazy horse-sized dogs. She was the dog whisperer but he never said it out loud. He’d never live it down if he admitted how right the job was for her.
Just like his. He was the engine whisperer. Take ’em apart, talk to them and they practically put themselves back together. Brand had surprised him with his knowledge of electrical systems and electronics. Sounded like he was almost ready to open the Bunny Shop. He chuckled to himself. Brand hadn’t thought the name would suit very well. Especially if Dixie heard it. But, come on! If the beach bunnies didn’t flock to it, and the—what? Beach boys? No matter what he called them, Brand would sink in six months without them.
His future brother-in-law seemed like a personable guy. They hadn’t only talked about cars. They discussed money, a few sports and dinner. His stomach growled.
Brand laughed. “Hungry?”
Mason grinned with his eyes still closed. “A bit. Dixie said you cook?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s a great cook but why should she do it all? And I like to experiment.” He lowered his voice. “But don’t tell anyone I get a recipe-of-the-day in my email and have watched a few of those cooking shows.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Good. Then I’ll go start dinner.”
Mason heard the big man get up and head for the kitchen. He soon came back and fiddled with something behind the couch.
“Lift your head up.”
Mason did as told and glanced at Brand who placed the heating pad on the back of the couch. The pad appeared to have stuffed arms.
“Okay, lay back again.”
Frowning, Mason gingerly lowered his head. The heating pad covered him from the back of his head to the mid-shoulder area. Those odd looking stuffed arms were draped around to the front of his neck across his stiff shoulder and neck muscles. And the whole contraption felt fabulous. He groaned.
“Good. Now Dixie won’t scalp me for not making you use it.”
Mason drifted off as the sounds of kitchen prep promised him dinner.