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But this was civilization, and Cotton Ball was a pet. Brenda’s pet.
A pretty, throaty voice called out, “Olaf! Come here! Stop that!”
The dog paused and lifted his head, looking guilty. Then went right back to his task of ripping into that dead fish. But Galen wasn’t paying attention to that anymore. All he could see was Brenda’s gorgeous form crouching down to snatch up the leash.
“Olaf! No!” She took a firm hold of the leash, and the dog finally obeyed her. He sniffed at the fish one more time, then turned and trotted through the puddle of bloody water toward Brenda. She scooped him into her arms, not seeming to mind that her zip-up hoodie was getting soiled by that fish water. “Very bad boy,” she crooned to the top of his fluffy head.
Galen thought it was an odd kind of punishment, all that cuddling and cooing. Seemed more like a reward to him.
She turned to face him, her cheeks pink and glowing from her race across the street. “I’m so sorry. He’s got this thing about fish.”
“Fish dog,” said Redbull wisely.
She wrinkled her forehead at Galen’s partner, gave him a perfunctory smile, then turned back to Galen. “Are those your fish?”
“My…no…I mean, yes…” he stammered. They weren’t really his fish, but he was responsible for them. His clients were expecting some nice, un-mauled filets this evening.
“He’s got custody of ‘em,” Redbull explained.
“Client catch.” Finally, Galen got some words out. “It’s fine.”
“No, of course it’s not fine. I’ll buy you some replacement fish. What are those?” She peered at them. “Tuna?”
Galen couldn’t help it. He snorted out a laugh. Tuna lived in the ocean, not in any streams in Minnesota. Clearly Brenda had no experience with the fishing around here. She’d only moved here less than two years ago, after all. “Rainbow trout,” he told her. “Freshwater.”
“Of course. I know that.” Her cheeks flushed even pinker. “I was just rattled. Olaf knows better.”
“He’s a dog,” Galen pointed out.
“Yes. What’s your point?”
“Even domesticated animals like dogs still have primitive instincts.” He’d noticed that some people treated their dogs as if they understood things on a human level. But they didn’t. As dogs, they experienced the world in their own way. They knew things humans didn’t, and they couldn’t know some things humans took for granted.
“So do people,” said Redbull in that deadpan voice he used to convince people of his deep wisdom. Most of the time he was making fun; maybe one third of the time he actually had some wisdom to impart.
Brenda clutched her dog closer to her chest.
“Cotton Ball, I mean, Olaf, can only control himself for so long around a fish,” Galen explained earnestly. “But he stopped when you told him to. Overall, he did good.”
“Well.”
It took him a second to realize she was fixing his grammar. He nodded, accepting the correction.
“And his name isn’t Cotton Ball.”
“It should be,” said Redbull wisely. “Just look at him.”
Galen wished he could wave a wizard’s staff and send Redbull out back to the storage shed. “Yeah. I mean Olaf. I’m Galen,” he added, as if introducing himself to her damn dog.
His heart sank to the soles of his favorite leather hiking boots. This was his first real conversation with Brenda, and he was making an epic mess of it. A bloody, fishy mess.
But Brenda didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and picked up Olaf’s front paw.
“I know. I’ve seen you around. Nice to officially meet you.” She waved the dog’s paw at him. “This is Olaf, and I’m Brenda McMurray. Technically, Brenda Bogosian, but around here I’m a McMurray because of my grandmother.”
That explained why he’d heard two different last names for her. He’d been terrified that one of them was a married name.
“And we’re really really sorry for this mess,” she continued. “If you can wait a minute while I put him in my car, I’ll come right back and clean it up.”
