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Turning my attention back to Lally, my lips quirk. I can’t help but wonder what else she sees when she looks at me.
“Yep, but as you said about Madame there, I’ve seen worse. I’m like a utility vehicle, practical. Not pretty.”
“Well, unlike you and your truck, Madame de Pupadour is a beautiful, real lady and likes to keep dry and groomed.” She nuzzles the damp dog. “Don’t you listen to him. You aretrès belle.”
“A face only a mother could love.”
Our gazes meet for a moment, the flare in me surging.
Then I catch up to the animal’s full name.” Madame dePupadour?” I ask, on the edge of laughter.
Lally sets down the small, mixed breed. “Everyone has that response when they hear her name. Madame de Pompadour is a historical figure. This is Madame dePupadour, Madame for short.”
“Was Madame de Pompadour a distant relation?”
“No, definitely not. Madame de Pompadour was the chief mistress of French King Louis XV.” Lally lifts her eyebrow pointedly. “Yes, it’s what you think it means. But she also advised him and some believe she helped broker deals with pirates. She was a fan of finery just like my Madame de Pupadour here—who has some papillon, a French breed, in her, hence the name.”
I had no idea what a keen interest I had in French history until now. Until Lally shared it with such passion and knowing in her voice.
“When I went back to college, I was at a crossroads. I wanted to study history, but given my background and desire to help, um, save lives, I went with veterinary sciences.”
“Save lives? Why not go with becoming a nurse, doctor, first responder?”
The dog yelps.
“Yes, you can have a biscuit, but we’re staying out here until you dry off some,” Lally says to Madame.
Boo rivals Madame with that little upturned pinch between her brown eyes.
“Can your dog have one of these?” Lally pulls a little dog biscuit out of her pocket.
“I don’t know.”
She inclines her head. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Boo was Sean’s dog. His battle buddy. He left him to Ross, but Ross didn’t want him. He’s been with Nora. Figured you’d know that.”
“Ross didn’t want this love bug?” In one swift motion, Lally is on her knees, positively gushing over the white shepherd. If it wasn’t immediately evident before, this woman is dog’s best friend.
Madame and General snarfle up their biscuits and then stare at me as if I’m the one with the cookies in his pocket. I give them a pet. The bigger one leans into me and then flops onto his back, lifting his leg for a belly rub.
Lally looks at us over her shoulder. “Oh, my. General doesn’t do that for just anyone. Only for me. He must like you.”
I tell myself to ignore the warmth in her tone, the possibility that Lally might mean that she doesn’t allow just anyone onto her porch and around her dogs.
“General seems like a good boy.” I give him the belly scratch of a lifetime and his leg kicks with delight.
“You got the spot.” Lally gushes, “Magnus got your happy spot. Today is the best doggy day ever, huh? Who loves General MuttArthur? We do, that’s who.” She talks in a baby voice like these dogs carry all her love alone.
“MuttArthur like General MacArthur?” I ask.
“You got it. But I can’t fathom why Ross wouldn’t want Boo. Why he wouldn’t have asked me, knowing full well that I take in,” she clears her throat, “strays.”
I recall Romy’s comment, intending to insult Lally.
“I also foster dogs and rarely say no when someone needs to find a new home for an animal. Eventually, I can usually place them with another person or family because this bungalow is only so big. I had more space up in Atlanta but not a doggy playground paradise like the beach.”
The wild business idea that floated into my mind on the drive down here returns and hovers like the clouds raining overhead. “Nora and Alex had Boo for a while, but their rental doesn’t allow dogs and she’s exhausted her landlord’s patience.”
