Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 25

It was a cloudy and blustery Monday morning, the kind of weather that drove sane people to hit the snooze button. But if you owned a dog, the world spun on a different axis. Early-morning constitutionals were the name of the game. Grace had dragged herself out of Nick's bed and trudged home at 5:30 a.m. to do the honors. After a canasta night Auntie Beth would be sound asleep. Casting a fond glance at the dog trotting at her side, Grace thought longingly of Nick's warm bed and warmer body as she dragged her navy Crocs through the sand.

At that hour, houses lining the dunes were dark and the beach was empty, so she let Murphy roam free. As she jogged behind, the full weight of a raw Atlantic wind slapped her face with a promise of autumn. Gray breakers rolled in, rank upon rank, breaking and foaming against the sand before withdrawing to re-group for another assault. The hood on her windbreaker didn't prevent her hair from whipping into her eyes.

She stooped to lift a piece of driftwood. "We know one thing for sure," she said to Murphy, brandishing the chunk of wood. "Nick doesn't trust me as far as I can throw this stick."

On hearing the word "stick," Murphy danced around her ankles and yipped his excitement. A game of fetch got his vote every time.

She threw the stick. Murphy scampered to retrieve it with an excited yap and a flurry of sand. Ten seconds later, he dropped his prize at her feet.

She picked up the stick and examined it thoughtfully, as if it would provide the answer she needed. "I mean, how dumb can I be? With Nick's history, I should have anticipated he'd have a few control issues." She drew her arm back and threw. Murphy scampered away.

"The man's a control junkie," she muttered, wondering what it would take to convince him to trust her.

They played the game until her arm grew tired.

"This is the last time." She wound up and tossed the stick as far as she could into the foaming surf. Murphy tore after it.

She continued to march along. Behind her, a series of sharp barks caused her to check over her shoulder. The dog was circling what looked like a pile of debris draped in seaweed.

She backtracked at top speed. "I hope you haven't found more rotting fish to roll in," she said aloud, remembering his last episode. It had taken three soapings with Canine Scents Revitalizing Shampoo to get rid of the stench.

"Heel," she yelled. The last thing she wanted was to waste another morning dealing with a smelly dog when she had better things to do, like sneak over to Nick's place for a long, leisurely brunch. And anything else that might arise.

Murphy danced around his briny treasure. Piercing yips set her teeth on edge. She increased her pace to a fast jog. "Dammit Murphy, you can bet a barrel of bones I'm enrolling you in Top Dawg Canine College."

When she reached her pet she had to drag him away. A reassuring pat didn't settle him down. She clipped on his leash and wrapped it twice around a driftwood log before investigating the heap of seaweed and rags the tide had washed ashore. Waves foamed over the partially submerged heap of sodden fabric before receding with a sucking sound.

She took a closer look. Someone had wrapped a blue and white Laura Ashley sheet around something and trussed it up with cheap yellow rope. Squatting at one end, she worked the knot until it fell away. A sweetish reek assaulted her. With shaking hands, she tugged sodden fabric away. At the same time, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud to illuminate the scene. Staring back, if an eyeless corpse could stare, was a greenish face attached to a bloated torso. Sea creatures had done a number on the lips and nose.