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“He eats all that in two days and you're not gonna need a pooper-scooper,” Grandma said. “You're gonna need a shovel.”
I unhooked Bob's leash and hung it on a hall peg. “Well, Bob,” I said, “this won't be so bad. I always wanted a golden retriever.”
Bob wagged his tail and looked from Grandma to me.
Grandma ladled out oatmeal for the three of us. She and I took our bowls into the dining area, and Bob ate his in the kitchen. When Grandma and I went back to the kitchen, Bob's bowl was empty. The cardboard box that used to hold the cake was also empty.
“Guess Bob's got a sweet tooth,” Grandma said.
I shook my finger at him. “That was rude. And besides, you'll get fat.”
Bob wagged his tail.
“He might not be too smart,” Grandma said.
Smart enough to eat the cake.
Grandma had a driving lesson scheduled for nine o'clock. “I'm probably gonna be gone all day,” she said. “So don't worry if you don't see me. After my driving lesson I'm going to the mall with Louise Greeber. And then we're gonna look at some more apartments. If you want, I can stop and get some ground beef this afternoon. I thought a meatloaf might be nice for supper.”
Major guilt trip coming on. Grandma was doing all the cooking. “My turn,” I told her. “I'll make the meatloaf.”
“I didn't know you could cook meatloaf.”
“Sure,” I said. “I can cook lots of stuff.” A big lie. I can cook nothing.
I gave Bob a dog treat, and Grandma and I left together. Halfway down the hall, Grandma stopped. “What's that sound?” she asked.
We both listened. Bob was howling on the other side of my door.
My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Karwatt, stuck her head out. “What's that sound?”
“It's Bob,” Grandma said. “He don't like being at home alone.”
Ten minutes later I was on the road with Bob riding shotgun, head out the window, ears flapping in the wind.
“Uh-oh,” Lula said when we walked in the office. “Who's this?”
“His name's Bob. I'm dog-sitting him.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of dog is he?”
“Golden retriever.”
“He looks like he been under the blow-dryer too long.”
I smoothed some of his hair down. “He had his head out the window.”
“That'll do it,” Lula said.
I let Bob off the leash and he ran over to Lula and did the crotch thing again.
“Hey,” Lula said, “back off, you're getting nose prints all over my new pants.” She gave Bob a pat on the head. “He keep this up, and we're gonna have to pimp him out.”
I used Connie's phone to call my friend Marilyn Truro at the DMV. “I need to run a plate through,” I said. “Do you have time?”
“Are you kidding me? There are forty people standing in line. They see me talking on the phone, and they'll go postal.” She spoke more softly. “Is this for a case? Is this for a murderer or something?”
“It might tie in to the Ramos murder.”
