“Why were you on a boat?” Jen began. “I thought this trip was all about work and…wait a minute. I broke up with you? When?”

  “I smell perfume on him, Jen, and it’s not yours.” Stuart did not quite growl the observation. But he wanted to.

  “Now, look.” Arthur addressed Stuart sternly, as if prepared to deliver one of his laudatory lectures on himself, the subject on which he possessed the most expertise. “I was sitting on a plane for two hours next to a….” He paused, blinked. “Who are you, again?”

  “Stuart.” He had better be nice to Jen, or I’ll bite him. No matter what she says.

  Arthur looked from him to her. “Are you guys dating?”

  “Oh god, no. “ Jen assured him.

  “I have a girlfriend.” Stuart volunteered this information with a touch of pride.

  Jen smiled, then lowered both her gaze and her voice. “Stuart, please let me talk with Arthur alone. Just for a little while, I promise. Can you wait outside?”

  I’d still like to bite him, Stuart thought to himself. But he knew that no matter how much such an action could be justified, it would upset Jen. He’d already had her upset at him once today and he did not wish for a reprise. So he complied with her command.

  Arthur confronted her as soon as the door shut behind her …whoever this guy “Stuart” was. “Explain the baseball player mother saw you with on TV.”

  Mother Daly again, Jen thought to herself. It was plain that she didn’t spend all her time with that spoiled cotton ball of a cat. “I wasn’t with. I was just there. Derek is a client, and a very valued one. He just listed his five million dollar home with me. He’s an Angel.”

  Arthur was not satisfied. “An ‘angel’, huh? That’s a bit of a friendly description for someone who’s just a client.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, for the love of… he’s a shortstop for the California Angels, Arthur.”

  He digested this, then brightened. “Derek Jones? Oh! He’s a great player. Maybe not an all-Star, but good enough to start. If he’d just get his average up another ten points…wait a minute.” His expression darkened. “What about this guy Stuart?”

  Having been told by Jen to step outside, Stuart had done exactly that. After lingering outside Daly’s office, boredom had set in and he had gone—well, further outside. Unable to resist a perfectly manicured, healthy lawn, he was enjoying it to the fullest. Presently, by rolling around on it.

  Spotting him through the office window, Jen had a moment of panic as Arthur rose from his chair. Fearing he would see Stuart and subsequently question his, and possibly her, sanity, she moved to grab him by the shoulders and push him back against his desk. That way she could keep him facing her and more importantly, from looking outside.

  “Old college friend,” she explained, finally responding to his query. “Never mind. There’s nothing there. We used to sing together now and then. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re barking up the wrong tree.” As he started to turn she gripped him harder. He looked at her in surprise, not entirely unhappy with her proximity or sudden aggressiveness. Seeing the look in his eyes she backed off a little, lest he get the wrong idea. Or was it the wrong idea? Everything that had happened, everything that was happening, was leaving her confused and on edge.

  Focus on the dog park, she told herself. Something concrete. Something real. But other matters intruded. Matters of a much more personal nature. Reaching toward her neck, she carefully lifted the locket away from her skin.

  “Before I forget, do you remember where you bought this lovely locket you gave me? It’s not your grandmother’s or anything like that, right? If it’s a family heirloom I want to be extra careful with it.”

  He dismissed the gift with a glance and a shrug. “No. I got it at a quaint little antique shop across town. Why? Was your ‘friend’ Stuart asking about it? Why should he care? Does he want to replace my picture in the locket with one of his?”

  That was so on the mark she nearly choked. “Quite the opposite actually. I mean, he thought maybe it would be a cute gift for his grandmother. If I gave it to him. Which I’m not gonna do. Because, like for one reason, I don’t think his grandmother is alive.”

  She nearly choked again: this time on laughter.

  Arthur was not amused. “Grandmother? I remember you saying it was his mother.”

  “I’m not sure she’s alive, either…mphh…mother, grandmother—Arthur, do you think I remember? It’s just a small thing, no big deal. Of course, if you can’t recall the details of the purchase I can always….”

  “Okay, relax,” he said. “I think I have the card from the place. If not, I can check the credit card receipt.”

  She released him. Walking around behind the desk, he opened the top drawer and pulled out a handful of cards. Several were expired, a couple he shuffled so they were on top of the stack, another pair he made sure she did not see before finally locating the one for which he was searching.

  “Ah, here it is. ‘Antiques and Angels’. Charming little place. The kind you’re more likely to find occupying a stall in Porte de Clingancourt in Paris, not in Newport. Sweet old woman runs it. Very spiritual and tuned in. A delight to listen to. I spent considerably more time in there than I intended. Even learned a few things. She asked me about my life, how it was going, and what I wanted the locket for. None of her business, of course, but she was so kindly and obviously wanting to be of assistance that I found myself talking to her until I completely lost track of time. Had to buy the locket and hurry to make my next appointment.”

  Jen listened to all this with skepticism and a couple of degrees of separation. It did not sound like the Arthur she knew.

  “Antiques and Angels? Look at you, getting spiritual in your old age.”

  As usual, he completely missed when she was being sarcastic. “Ya know, Jen,” he mused, “sometimes I question Existence. I look at the universe and ponder how many lifetimes we’ve already had….”

  She let him ramble on for a bit, lost in the magnificence of his own imagined profundity, which in reality was nothing more than the usual pre-digested New Age poppycock run through a faux philosophical blender until he thought it was original with him. She was far more distracted by the sight of Stuart outside, running circles and jumping for joy out on the grass as the sprinklers came on.

  “You do?” the small portion of her that was still paying attention to him mumbled.

  “Yeah. I even bought this crystal.”

  Reaching down to one side of the desk he struggled for a moment before he managed to wrestle a massive cluster of quartz crystals off the floor and onto the (fortunately sturdy) piece of office furniture. Despite the distraction outside she found herself genuinely impressed.

  “Wow, that’s huge!” Stalling for time she added, “Where’d you get it?”

  “Another shop near the antique dealer.” His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know what was with me that day. I usually don’t buy stuff like this. The locket, I mean, and this crystal.” He ran a hand up and down one gleaming hexagonal shape. “It’s from Arkansas, they told me.”

  “Never been to Arkansas.” She watched Stuart as he gamboled through the spray from the sprinklers. He had stopped running and was now trying to bite one of the streams. “If it would help the situation with the dog park, I’d buy one myself. What about the dog park, Arthur? I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me anything about the deal. You know how much that park means to me, and to my friends. It’s not like I never talk about it. You can’t claim you were unaware.”

  He thought carefully before replying. “I couldn’t say anything to you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement until funding loans cleared.” He smiled. “I was going to tell you any time now. I just didn’t think, as far as you and I were concerned, that it mattered that much.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. Her response was flat. Controlled now. “Seriously?” She added, “I get it. It’s just ‘business’, right? No need to be involved on a personal level.”

  He nodded, pleased that he had reconnected with her. “I’m glad you understand. It could have been—awkward—otherwise.”

  “Oh, I do understand, I do. What I don’t understand is how I spent seven years with you. Not just with you, but onto you, into you, and every which way with you.”

  While he tried to comprehend fully what she was saying, she glanced out the window yet again. The sprinklers were still running and so was Stuart. He was now thoroughly soaked: happily so. As she looked on he took a dive toward the nearest sprinkler, mouth agape and arms outspread, like a big bird flying through a rainstorm, and she was reminded yet again of What Was Important. Turning back to a plainly baffled Arthur, she offered him a wan smile that doubled as a farewell.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat about priorities, yours as well as mine, but I have a park to save.”

  With that she exited, her retreating back having to serve in lieu of a kiss, handshake, or by-your-leave. Brooding, he watched her go. Having caught her several times looking out the window, he now did so himself, only to find a singular soaked figure gazing back at him. It was that fellow Stuart. A very wet Stuart, smiling and waving at him. Absently, Arthur waved back.

  “Hmm. From college, huh?” Within a mind that could be more than a little calculating, wheels were turning across several lines of thinking, and none of them led to any place particularly nice.

  Stuart was used to the bathroom in Jen’s house. It was a fun place to investigate, often full of fascinating and intriguing smells, especially when she was putting on assorted washes and soaps and perfumes. At such times he was free to run around, sniff, and explore so long as he did not do two things: put his feet up on her and drink out of the toilet. In his present body he would not dare to do the former and as regards the latter it did not matter, since the seat was down. He would not have indulged in any case since he was confident Jen’s reaction would have been more extreme even than if he had been in his natural form.

  While he would have been more comfortable without any clothes on he sort of understood why she was making him wear some even while in the bathroom, though the bathrobe he had on was too tight for his male torso. At the moment, she was drying his hair with a blow dryer. He didn’t like it. In point of fact he had never liked the damn thing. It was noisy and hurt his ears and the steady gust of hot hair felt unnatural. In his canine book, as far as irritating home appliances were concerned, the blow dryer came in second only to the vacuum cleaner. In this, at least, he and cats were in accord.

  Having had about enough of being tormented by the fiendish device, he grabbed it away and pointed it at her. See how you like it, he thought. Actually, he told himself, that was a pretty stupid thought, since she pointed it at herself all the time. Laughing, she put up both hands to shield herself from the warm blast. It was quickly apparent she wasn’t laughing at him.

  “Arthur was so serious!” Though her merriment wound down, an occasional muffled chuckle still interrupted her speech. “I almost busted out laughing watching you rolling around in the sprinklers and snapping at the spray. Why would you roll around on wet grass like that?”

  He set the blower aside, suddenly serious. “Isn’t it obvious? I miss being a dog, Jen. I miss running through sprinklers and tearing up cardboard boxes. I miss consistent food, and being able to go to the bathroom when and where I wish—well, mostly where I wish—and not having to be formal and wonder if I’m using the right words.” His earnestness threatened to overwhelm her. “I miss being me. Humans are so certain that being human is the best way there is to be when they don’t have the slightest notion what it’s like to be something else. Well, I can tell you from my personal experience that it’s not all you think it is. It’s pretty good having a dog’s life—especially if you are one.”

  “I’m sorry, Stu,” she replied, somber now. “We’re gonna fix this I promise.” She paused a moment, then perked up. “Speaking of that, the good news is that I got the contact information for the place where Arthur bought the locket. It doesn’t mean that anything will come of it, but the least we can do is talk to the lady who sold it to him and see if she knows anything. What do you think?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Can we go now?”

  She was apologetic. “The card says they close at five, so we’ve missed it for today. But for sure first thing tomorrow. Assuming the shop is as small as Arthur hinted, I don’t imagine there’ll be anyone there except the owner and maybe an assistant. So we should be able to….” Her words melted into an uncontrollable yawn.

  He eyed her with concern. “Tired?”

  She contracted from the stretch that concluded the yawn. “Why should I be tired? Just because today was the craziest day of my life? I’m beyond tired, Stu. But I can’t relax now. We’ve got to keep hammering on this, we have to save the park and most importantly, get you back to normal, Stuie Louie. ” She was unable to stifle a second yawn.

  “Oh, and I spoke with Jim. Now that he knows I was… am dating Arthur, he probably thinks I knew about the dog park all along and thinks the worst of me.” Are you starting to care about what Jim thinks? I told ya he was the right guy for you! “You’re saying that again? You are so about Sweetie Peters that you would want me to marry Jim.” Marry? Stuarts eyes widened. By the way, he also mentioned Sweetie is not eating her food.” “Not eating?” He didn’t have to ponder long. “She’s sad. We don’t eat when we miss someone. Especially someone close to us. We can whimper, we can howl, but we can’t really cry. So we stop eating.” He looked evenly at her. “I didn’t eat when you went to Mexico with Nina for her sister’s wedding.”

  “Really?” Jen didn’t try to hide her surprise. “Mom didn’t tell me that. Was it because you missed me? Aw, that’s so sweet and sad, Stuart.”

  “It was only partly because I missed you. It was also because Sylvia didn’t go to Petco like you told her to and buy what I usually eat. Instead, she bought some cheap kibble somewhere. I wouldn’t eat it. Neither would you, but you have a lot more choices than I do.

  She looked abashed and he opted to change the subject to a more important matter.

  “Can you call Jim and put me on the phone with Sweetie Peters? I’ll talk to her and maybe that’ll help.”

  Usually it was Sweetie who was begging. This time it was Jim. She was lying on her bed sadder than he had ever seen her. Worse, he didn’t know why. Physically she seemed normal. There was nothing wrong with her legs or anything else. At least, nothing visible. Normally a happy, vivacious dog, now she was just lying around as if drugged. And she wouldn’t eat, no matter how much he pleaded with her.

  At the moment he was on his knees holding a food-filled spoon. It was salmon, her favorite. He would have offered her filet mignon if he’d had any but he doubted she’d eat that, either.

  But canned salmon dog food never failed to tempt her. Until now.

  “Come on, Sweetheart. What is it? What’s wrong? Tummy upset? Did you eat something nasty that Dad didn’t see?” He pushed the spoon a little closer to her face. All she did was turn further away. “I don’t want to have to take you to the vet. If you don’t eat there, they’ll have to force feed you, and I don’t want to think of that. Please eat something Sweetie….”

  The phone rang. Rising, he went to a nearby table, picked up the phone and answered. Given the present difficult circumstances he would not have responded, but the screen showed that it was Jen on the other end.

  “Can I talk to Sweetie Peters?”

  “Stuart?” Jim replied. “Yes, can you put Sweetie on the phone. Jen told me she hasn’t been eating.” “I’m about to worry myself to death. I’m here trying to get her to eat something. I even alluded to having to take her to the vet. That’s a word she knows and usually it sends her scampering under my bed or the kitchen table or something. This time she didn’t even move.”

  Impatient Stuart, “Can I talk to her now?” “ Of course! Let me get her.” “Sweetie.” came the male voice from the other end of the connection.

  “Hang on Stuart, I’ll put you on speaker”

  Switching his phone to speaker mode, he set it down upright next to the terrier on the bed. “Sweetie, you have a call.”

  What followed sounded to Jim like a person doing the best dog imitation he’d ever heard. The series of barks, whines, grumblings and growls made absolutely no sense to him, but as soon as the exchange commenced, Sweetie Peters raised her head and lifted her ears. What really threw Jim was that the voice on the other end of the connection sounded more like a dog than she did in her replies. Maybe, he thought, it had something to do with pitch. Or maybe he was so worried he was just going a little crazy.

  No such confusion afflicted the terrier, who understood perfectly what the doggie voice on the phone was saying.

  “Sweetie Peters, it’s Stuart!”

  She sat up and replied, all anxious barks and whines and woofs. “Stuart Louis, is that really you?”

  “It sure is! I miss you mon chérie!”

  “Is that French? You are so romantic. Although you sound kinda funny.”

  “It’s this stupid human throat. It doesn’t make quite the right sounds. But I think that is dog French, yes. Gizmo says it all the time to female dogs at the park.” He started to choke up. His human throat was capable of that, anyway.

  “I heard you’re not feeling well?”

  I’m very sad about the dog park. I’ve only been there a few times myself but more often recently because my human likes to work there.”

  “I understand, Sweetie. But we won’t let them take our park.”

  “How?” she replied. “If the park goes away my human won’t have a place to work where we can see each other. Also, I met the most perfect Boston, the dog of my dreams, and the next day he was short two legs. How is that going to ‘work out’?”