Page 25 of Spiced!

“He says, ‘Tell the vet that Mofongo has also learned to open the kitchen cabinet and steal bread, which is either very smart or very Puerto Rican. He hasn’t decided.’”

I thought about Puck behind the washing machine with my shoe and chuckled.

“Tell him, ‘Puck’s been stealing things since I brought him home, and we’ve never resolved it. Welcome to the club.’”

Jacks went.

Ten minutes later, he reappeared.

What surprised me most about this ridiculous teenage note-passing exercise was how unbothered Jacks seemed each time he returned. He had the energy of an Australian Shepherd who’d been given a job and was simply happy to do it.

“He says, ‘Tell the vet that Puck, Gerald, and Mofongo should meet. They have things to discuss, probably a heist to plan.’”

“Tell him that Puck doesn’t discuss things. Puck schemes and steals and hides the evidence. Gerald contemplates. They are not remotely the same, and I won’t have them compared.”

“You want me to say all that?” Jacks blinked massive, owlish eyes at me. “Gerald’s a plant, right?”

“Succulent, to be precise.”

“You want me to explain the difference between a ferret and a succulent to Adrian? While he’s performing?”

“Word for word,” I said pleasantly, raising my tumbler in salute.

I watched as my message was delivered. From the bar, Adrian’s face did something I filed under genuine delight before I could stop myself.

Jacks came back looking like a man calculating how far back his wrong turn had been.

“He says, ‘Tell the vet that Puck and Mofongo are basically the same animal, and the vet knows it.’”

The grin wouldn’t leave my lips. “Tell him that Puck has never stolen bread. He steals socks and shoes and once my car keys, which is a completely different value system. Mofongo is eight weeks old and innocent. Puck is a career criminal. The comparison is offensive to both of them.”

“He’s going to want me to come back again after that,” Jacks said, resignation threading his usually buoyant tone.

“Probably.”

Jacks sighed at the ceiling, then turned and wove his way through the crowd.

Adrian laughed at something during that delivery. His head tilted back as he did so. The room caught it and warmed without knowing why.

Then Jacks returned with a third whiskey and a basket of something battered and fried.

“He says, ‘Tell the vet that stealing shoes is definitely worse than stealing bread because at least bread is consumable and its theft has a logical endpoint. Reference Jean Valjean, a bread thief who became a hero. A wanton shoe thief operates without purpose or mercy. These are also reflections on their respective owners.’”

I considered this, then I allowed a moment of awe at Jacks’s memory. I was fairly certain he was reciting our messages, word for word, without notes or a second hearing. It was truly impressive, especially for a golden retriever. They weren’t always the smartest breed.

Adrian also had a fair point about the shoes. The part about the owners was a stretch, but I wasn’t going to say that through Jacks.

“Tell him I’ll raise the logical endpoint argument with Puck at our next house meeting. And tell him his hypothesis about the owners is circumstantial at best, and I’d like to see the supporting data.”

Jacks opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Then vanished into the crowd.

Chapter 6