They separated. As he stood, Stuart brushed himself off. Even as a dog he knew that humans did not like their companions tracking grass and dirt into their homes.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Entering the house, they encountered a red-haired boy torturing a piano while trying to accompany it with a song. Vocally, his as-yet immature tone fell somewhere between the sound of Jen’s garbage disposal when it encountered a stubborn deposit and the explosive reaction of a prowling cat Stuart had once surprised from behind the previous Halloween, when Jen had dressed him in a cute doggie devil costume. The kid was so off-key his wails were out in the yard somewhere. The pre-adolescent din made him flinch. He could only imagine what hours of it must be doing to poor Mozart. Heedless of offending their hostess, he put his fingers in his ears. It was a small temporary advantage the lab did not have.

  Without commenting on the qualitative positioning of Stuart’s fingers, Sarah spoke to Jen. “Is this your friend I saw on the news today?” She regarded Stuart uncertainly. He certainly didn’t look special, but still…. “Can he really talk to dogs?”

  “Yes, Sarah, he can. As much as anyone with his, uh, unique background can.” Looking to her left, she made introductions. “Meet Stuart.” You’ve met him before, she thought, but elaboration would only result in disbelief.

  He was forced to remove his fingers from his ears in order to hear what the two women were saying.

  “I’m sorry, Stuart, for Mozart jumping all over you like that. He’s usually much more restrained with visitors.”

  “I know. It’s okay. We’re friends.” He looked down at the suffering Labrador. Mozart currently was lying on the floor, moaning. “Can you stop the kid?”

  She blinked, unsure she had heard correctly. “What was that?”

  Looking up from the tormented lab, Stuart met her gaze directly. “Stop the kid. Mozart needs a break. The, um, ‘music’, is killing his ears.”

  “Ah. Well, not all dogs like classical. A break? Yes, that’s a great idea. It’s about time for one anyway.” She turned toward the downscaled demon seated at the piano. “Elliot, sweetheart, would you like to take a few minutes? That’s a good boy.”

  Sliding off the bench, the boy turned to find Stuart staring at him. It was all the subject of the youthful gaze could do not to growl.

  “I saw you at The Barkery today. Everyone said you were amazing.”

  “Amazing? Really?” Sarah did everything but applaud. “That’s fantastic!”

  Pushing out his lower lip, his gaze still fixed on Stuart, the red-head responded without looking at her. “I thought you sucked. Not impressed.”

  Any notion of applause vanished from the piano teacher’s horrified thoughts. “Elliot!”

  The boy’s tone turned mocking. “Oh, Choo Choo and Mitzi, poor babies. Does daddy have a stroller for the little baby?”

  This time Stuart did growl. But very, very softly and mostly under his breath, so that not even Jen heard it. “I remember you! The ice cream kid.”

  “Yeah, I had ice cream.” Elliot did everything short of physically challenging the much bigger adult. “And you ate it.”

  Stuart took a step toward him, remembered his new size, and managed to restrain himself. Though his intent was only to deliver a warning nip he doubted Jen or Sarah would understand, far less be sympathetic.

  “I did,” he shot back. “It was great. Got anymore?”

  The boy sat back on the piano bench and crossed his arms, deliberately disrespecting both Stuart and the instrument. “Not for you.”

  Having trouble following the exchange, a bewildered Jen decided to ask for clarification. “What are you guys fighting about?”

  Looking up at her, Elliot pointed an accusatory finger at Stuart. “He ate my ice cream.”

  This explanation struck her as unaccountably funny. She started to giggle. She could not recall the last time she had broken out in uncontrollable giggles and made a valiant effort to suppress them; an effort that was only partly successful.

  “Mmph—did you, Stuart?” Her voice turned little-girlish even as she intended to chide him. “Did you eat this little boy’s ice cream?”

  The image that formed in her mind could not be suppressed. One instant she envisioned Stuart Louis in terrier form gobbling down a kid’s ice cream. That in itself threatened to see her burst out in unrestrained hilarity. The next, in her mind’s eye she saw full-blown human Stuart acting in exactly the same fashion. At that point she lost it completely and half collapsed in laughter. Stuart joining in made it all the harder to calm the situation down. Meanwhile Elliot remained seated, arms still crossed, fuming silently as only a spoiled child his age could do.

  Baffled, and feeling certain that she must be missing something significant including the joke, Sarah tried to de-escalate the confrontation.

  “Why don’t you play something for us, Jen? I haven’t heard you play in a while.”

  “Not her!” Unfolding his arms, Elliot jabbed a finger at Stuart. “I wanna hear the ice cream thief play piano. Can you?” he said challengingly. “I can. I bet you can’t.”

  “I can play better than you,” Stuart shot back.

  Even as Jen struggled to stop laughing, a part of her knew it was a losing battle. She barely managed to croak out a comment.

  “Stuart is—mmff—Stuart is classically trained. He can play Rachmaninoff. He can play George Crumb’s Mundis Canis. Sliding off the bench, Elliot made way. “Go on then. There’s the piano.”

  “Go on—Stuart.” Though she kept a hand over her mouth it wasn’t enough to muffle her nonstop chortling. “Show them.”

  There was a twinkle in his eye as he adjusted the piano bench. Carefully, he positioned his knees on it, cracked his knuckles to warm up, fluttered his fingers as he prepared. Jen’s hand slipped up, from covering her mouth to cover her eyes. She was doing her best to stifle her laughter. If anything, she was having less luck than before.

  Stuart cleared his throat. Save for Jen’s half suppressed laughing it was dead silent in the room. With great care, Stuart raised his hands—and brought them down.

  The piano shook under the impact, and not melodically.

  Kneeling on the bench, Stuart pounded the keys wildly as he threw back his head and bayed at the ceiling. He was immediately joined in his recital by the deeper if more frantic cries of Mozart, who alternated howling with equally deafening percussive barks. Sarah’s jaw fell nearly to the neat pile carpet. Elliot, devoid of an immediate response, did not know whether to taunt, scream, or start howling himself.

  No such indecision afflicted Jen. Her laughter, barely contained for the preceding minutes, now spilled out afresh. It complimented the piano pounding, howling, and barking nicely. She let the acoustic chaos rattle and bang for another minute before wrapping her arms around Stuart and pulling him off the bench and away from the piano. He was panting with excitement.

  “That was great, Stuart! Not only Crumb would’ve been proud, but Springsteen too!”

  “You think so?” “I know.” She smiled affectionately at him. As they looked at each other, Mozart—high on the energy that had briefly filled the room—continued to bark and spin. Moving to him, Sarah did her best to quiet her dog.

  “Can’t we all calm down? Stuart, that was—I don’t know that piece.”

  Elliot was shaking his head energetically. “That was not Rachmaninoff. That was stupid! So was the crummy!”

  Stuart ignored him. He pretty much shut out the world whenever Jen had her arms around him. At such moments, shape and form seemed utterly unimportant.

  “Play one of your songs for me,” he asked quietly. “Please?”

  There was desperation in Sarah’s voice as she fought to control her pet, who continued to struggle against her. Couldn’t she share in his joy? The Lab sighed. Humans—especially the females. Simply no inclination to break out in uncontrolled howls.

  “Yes, Jen,” Sarah implored. “Play us something.”

  She couldn’t turn down two requests. After a moment’s pause, she sat down nearby and began to sing.

  Stuart, you’re the one who brightens up my day.

  Stuart, you’re the wind that blows dark clouds away.

  Only you, can make my heart beat like a drum.

  For only you, I sing this song

  To only you, my heart belongs.

  For the first time since his transformation, Stuart found himself trembling. He had yelled, run, questioned, snapped, growled, stolen ice cream, watered trees, tongue-lolled and eye locked—but this was the first time he had shed a tear. It was a remarkable sensation. Sitting down beside Jen, he leaned up against her and joined in. No barking this time. No howling. Having accompanied her while she sang this song before, he knew the words very well. But now, for the first time, they came out properly.

  “Each night, I thank the moon and stars above,

  For your loyalty and love.”

  He went silent, letting Jen finish alone.

  “Stuart Louis, you’re the one.”

  A delighted Sarah broke out in applause. Nearby, Elliot let out a grunt and turned away. All this lovey-dovey stuff was making him sick and he wished he had some ice cream.

  Inclining her head toward Stuart, Jen met his gaze. It was one she recognized immediately. So intimate was the connection that she was not troubled by the fact that the eyes meeting hers were human.

  “If I had to stay two-legged for the rest of my life,” he murmured, “just so I can tell you how much I love you, it would be worth it.”

  Elliot couldn’t stand it any longer. Rising from the piano bench, he walked over to tap Stuart on the shoulder. “I hate to ruin this Kumbaya moment, but I’m paying for this lesson time with my own allowance. Do you mind?”

  Sarah escorted her guests to the front door. As they reached it, Stuart looked back to where an impatient Elliot stood waiting for them to be gone. Ordinarily, following a visit to one of her friends he would just let Jen lead him outside. But as long as he was stuck being a people, he figured he might as well take advantage of it.

  “Kid,” he called back to Elliot, “you don’t have enough money.”

  For once, he reflected as he trailed Jen out the door, something sounded better in human than in dog.

  He waited until Sarah and Jen had said their goodbyes. Moving to follow, he paused long enough to whisper to their somewhat frazzled host.

  “Sarah, your student is hurting Mozart’s ears.” He nodded back the way they had come. “Not just this kid. All of them.”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “Is that so?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Mozzy is not capable of telling you in words what bothers him. All dogs have sensitive hearing. It depends on what’s being played and how loud. Mozzy likes Mozart, but not when it’s being banged out off-key.” He smiled. “Look for signs. He’ll let you know.”

  She considered the stranger’s strange words. “I guess maybe you’re right. How did I not see that? I supposed it’s because I hear bad music so often that I automatically tune it out.” She winced slightly. “To tell you the truth, some of it kills my ears, too. I can’t imagine what it does to his. And he doesn’t have these.”

  She removed the ear plugs she had been wearing. At her feet, Mozart wagged his tail and gazed up at her. Then he snorted on her shoes.

  Canine punctuation.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jen heard her phone going insane inside the house even before she unlocked the front door and they entered. It rang and wouldn’t stop ringing. Which made no sense. Why would her land line home phone be ringing off the hook when the one that was always in her purse stay silent? Pulling it out, she checked the screen and got her answer. Dead battery. She moved quickly to grab the phone in the front living area from its charger.

  “Stuart,” she told him, “if you’re hungry there’s some cold pizza in the fridge.” Messages, she told herself. Start with the voice messages first. As she worked the phone, Stuart headed for the kitchen.

  Opening the refrigerator was easier with hands. So was digging around inside. Ignoring the container that held the third of a pizza that would have been perfectly at home in the ruins of Pompeii, he began sorting through packets of lunch meat. Packages were also easier to search with hands, he mused, though not necessarily easier to open.

  The first recording on the phone belonged, unsurprisingly, to her mother. “Jen, we got thirty-seven calls for you today. I just got into the office. Where are you? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Call me.” A beep was followed by the next message. “Hi,” a voice began with professional chirpiness, “I’m Maria Sanchez with CBS 2. We were at….”

  If only out of latent masochism Jen would have listened to it all, except that the playback was automatically paused for an incoming call. The phone identified it as originating from ….

  ARTHUR DALY

  For an instant she froze. Regaining her composure, she accepted the call and before anyone on the other end could say word one, she snapped into the phone.

  “Arthur! Where the hell are you? Why don’t you answer? I’ve been calling you all day! I tried different times, I left messages, I….

  “Take it easy. I was out on a boat with no reception. I just got signal and have twenty calls from you and from my mother. She says you were on TV with some baseball player? What the hell is up with that?”

  Entering the room, Stuart paused politely, a package of lunch meat in hand. He held it out to Jen who, being neither hungry nor curious, ignored both it and him. At the moment she was too busy dealing with an entirely different kind of bologna.

  “What are you talking about?” It took her a moment to realize where he was coming from. “Oh, for goodness sake, Arthur! I listed his house. It’s nothing but business.” Honestly, she thought to herself, sometimes the man was impossible. He had nothing to worry about.

  He certainly didn’t, because at that very same moment, Arthur Daly was standing on the bridge of a fairly sizable yacht flanked by an assistant and two very attractive younger women as it motored into a San Francisco Bay marina.

  None of which kept him from speaking accusingly into his own phone. “Oh yeah? And what about that dog whisperer? Mother says he never left your side.”

  “Who? Cesar Milan?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Arthur replied sarcastically.

  Becoming impatient now, Stuart inserted the lunch meat package more forcefully into Jen’s field of vision. Irritated, she nudged him aside as she kept her grip on the phone.

  “It’s Arthur,” she whispered to him. “Be quiet.” Louder and to the phone she said, “Look, Arthur: we have to talk.”

  Stuart would not be denied. Moving in close once more, he pointed insistently to the expiration date stamped on the package. “Jen, can I still eat this? The date is bad. Is it too old? I don’t want to get sick. You know what happens when I get sick. I can’t help it where I get sick.” He pouted. “You don’t like me when I get sick. Especially when I get sick on the bed, or in your shoes.” He held the package up higher and raised his voice to make certain she was hearing him. “Maybe you should just dump this old ham.”

  When she didn’t respond he tossed it to one side and, frustrated, headed back to the kitchen. Turning away from him, she covered her phone with her free hand. On the other end Arthur was confused and fuming.

  “Who was that? Who’s calling me an old ham?”

  “Relax.” Jen rolled her eyes. “It’s just an old friend from college.”

  “That’s great, Jen,” came the taut reply. “I’m gone one day and—wait. You don’t have any friends.”

  Claim, accusation, or joke, his comment was absurd no matter how you took it. She decided to play it diplomatically. “Well, I have one, anyway. And he loves my locket with your picture in it. He wants to get one for his mother. Where’d you say you got it?”

  In the kitchen a hungry Stuart was pawing through the fridge in search of something, anything, edible. Something packed in foil caught his attention. Picking it up and unrolling it he discovered a turkey leg spotted with fungi. Mold, not mushrooms. He wrinkled his nose at it and raised his voice, shouting toward the living room.

  “Jen, why do you hang onto this old turkey?”

  “I heard that!” The reply crackled over the phone Jen was holding. “’Old turkey’? I don’t care if this guy is your friend, nobody calls me a turkey, old or otherwise!” Behind him on the yacht, the assistant had turned tactfully so he could not see her face and was gazing at a brace of seagulls. The two girls broke out in giggles.

  “Arthur, we’re breaking up.”

  “What?” He tried to make sense of her increasingly garbled words. “Did you say we’re breaking up?”

  Most of what he spewed into the phone dissolved into static and the rest was incomprehensible nonsense. After a couple of moments of electronic uncertainty, the connection went completely dead. Jen frowned at the phone.

  “That sucks. We almost had him.”

  On the boat, Arthur turned to the young pair behind him.

  “What are you two laughing at?”

  Turning, they headed toward the stern.

  “What an old ham,” one murmured.

  “Definitely a turkey,” agreed her companion.

  Arthur didn’t have to hear what they said. Their attitude told him all he needed to know. Unlike the girls his assistant was unable to flee, much less giggle. Though she very badly wanted to do so.

  “Sandy, get me on the next flight to L.A. Allow enough time for me to get back to the hotel, get my stuff together, and get to the airport with some time, but cut it close.”

  “Yes sir.” Out came the assistant’s iPad, on went her fingers. Meanwhile Arthur leaned on the nearby railing and addressed the ocean, which could not have cared less. While seagulls cawed and wavelets slapped against the side of the boat, he muttered darkly to himself.