Chapter One
On a late August Sunday in Cottageville with the sun shining overhead and a light breeze swaying the trees, Sarah Carter, owner of Carter’s Canine Coiffure, wore a purple halter dress in honor of Oodle the poodle’s collar color as she stood in Gladys Rossmiller’s backyard. Sarah’s Australian red heeler cattle dog Whiskey stood alert and somber at her feet like a guard at Buckingham Palace.
Gladys was dressed in a black blouse and in black slacks, mirroring her grief. Tears trickled down her face as her neighbor and the owner of the local hardware store, Daniel Snyder, dug a hole between bushes in her rose garden. Thirty friends had gathered for the occasion of saying goodbye to Oodle and planting the urn with her ashes. No one knew exactly how old Oodle was when she went to her eternal sleep, but she and Gladys had been companions for more than two decades, and they belonged together the way Dalmatians did with firemen.
Sarah wiped a tear that slipped from her eye. Losing a beloved client was painful, and she and Whiskey, ever the empath, felt Gladys’ grief like a tidal wave.
Wearing a black and white tweed suit—despite the summer heat—and sensible black shoes, Janice Jenkins, Sarah’s next-door neighbor and Gladys’ best friend, said a few words as the hole was dug. Janice was regaining her strength after surviving a kidnapping.
Chief James Order and his German shepherd Sascha were attending the service in Gladys’ backyard. The chief held his hat over his heart and his eyes welled with unshed tears.
“Thank you all for gathering here today to remember Oodle,” Janice said. “Oodle was a great poodle, and the perfect companion in Gladys’ retirement, inspiring some of her best paintings.”
The gathered friends smiled at that comment, and a few nodded their heads.
Janice continued, “Oodle was ever-present, loving, and a comfort to everyone, humans and other dogs alike. And we will miss her.” She cleared her throat. “Would anyone like to share their favorite Oodle memory?” She looked around at all of the neighbors and their dogs, who were on their best behavior.
Daphne Smith, in a red maxi dress and a giant straw hat, held her French bulldog Pierre in one arm against her left side. She sniffed loudly before exclaiming, “Je suis triste,” and throwing the back of her right hand against her forehead and flicking outward in a dramatic gesture Sarah didn’t understand.
“We all are,” Sarah mumbled.
“C’est horrible,” Daphne added. She got sidelong looks from some people. Everyone in Cottageville knew or knew of Daphne and her penchant for everything French, though she was a town native and had never been to France.
“It is very sad,” Janice agreed. “Does anyone else want to share?”
Robert Wise, who lived on Sarah’s block and was the music teacher at the local high school, said he and his students had created a song to honor Oodle. He snapped three times and launched into a jazzy number about unconditional love; soft, curly fur; comfort; canine companionship; and dog being God spelled backwards. The number was both comedic and heart-breaking at the same time, and Sarah wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry, so she did a bit of both.
At one very moving part three-quarters of the way through, Gladys dabbed her face with a lace handkerchief, and Whiskey left Sarah’s side to offer his soft fur to Gladys to stroke. Sarah’s heart-space warmed as she watched Whiskey tap Gladys’ leg twice with his front paw. Gladys leaned from her chair and hugged him like a child does a new puppy.
From across the circle of people, Emily Colt, the Coiffure’s assistant groomer, spoke up. Her hair was dyed purple today in honor of Oodle, and she wore a short black dress, tights, and black combat boots. “I loved how gentle and trusting Oodle was. Even when her cataracts clouded her vision, she still trusted us to trim her nails and bathe her and showed us love and never feared. We could learn from her.” Emily’s voice cracked on the last few words.
Sarah sent her a weak, but appreciative smile and a nod of her head. “I loved how she romped with Whiskey, and even when Oodle was older and slower, he could still get her going and bring out her inner puppy. It was beautiful to see,” Sarah said.
“Yes, it was,” Gladys agreed. “They were so good together.” She wiped another tear from her cheek and ruffled Whiskey’s fur with her crooked and swollen knuckled fingers.
Whiskey wiggled closer to her in response, and Gladys chuckled.
Sarah’s best friend and owner of Java and Juice, Ginger said, “As Oodle aged, I had to find a biscuit recipe that was softer than what I usually make for the dogs that come in. Because of her, I learned a lot about senior dog health and nutrition. I will miss hearing her nails click on our café floor. May you rest in peace, Oodle. You brought a lot of comfort and joy into our lives. And for that, we are grateful.”
Sarah saw Daniel smile at Ginger. Sarah was the only one in town who knew Daniel and Ginger had gone on a couple of dates and were trying to figure out what they were to each other. Town gossip spread faster than the global pandemic in 2020 so they were keeping seeing each other on the downlow. Ginger had grown up in Cottageville and known Daniel and his late wife all of her life.
Bill, a widower who sat every morning on his front porch with a gallon jar of dog biscuits while he read the newspaper and drank his coffee, said that he would miss seeing Gladys and Oodle walk past his house daily. “She didn’t have enough teeth to eat the biscuits I buy, so sometimes I’d soak one in some chicken broth for her.”
Gladys said, “I’ll still come by, Bill. But I’d prefer coffee to a soggy biscuit.” That made her friends and neighbors laugh.
Bill said, “Sure thing, Gladys.”
Gladys smiled at him and then said, “I appreciate you all coming here today. I’m grateful for your love and support during this rough week. I know Oodle loved you all and I do, too. Daniel, if you’d be so kind to help this old lady…”
Daniel walked toward Gladys, but the chief got to her first. “Here, Gladys, I’ll help you,” Chief James said. He offered his elbow, and she put her arm through his.
He guided her across the lawn to the rose bushes, and Whiskey and Sascha followed them.
Daniel bent to the ground, picked up the urn, and held it toward Gladys.
She kissed the top of it and said, “Good dog.” Tears ran rivulets down her cheeks. “I love you. Always.” To Daniel she said, “I can’t bend like I used to. Would you do the honors?”
In silence, Daniel crouched in front of the hole and placed the urn into it. Others in the yard crowded toward them, wanting to watch and to pay their final respects. Daniel scooped a hand spade of dirt and offered it to Gladys. The chief walked her another foot closer to the edge of the hole. She tilted the spade and watched the soil stream over the urn.
“Thank you,” Gladys said, handing the spade back to Daniel. Her tears had stopped, and her blue eyes were clear, though slightly bloodshot. Then she turned, everyone backed up a step or two to give her room, and the chief escorted her back to her chair. But instead of sitting, she said, “A luncheon is inside. Please help yourself. Chief, if you could accompany me into the kitchen. I need a cup of tea.”
“My pleasure,” Chief James said. He guided Gladys up the back steps onto the small deck and into her house. Janice, Bill, Daphne, and most of the others followed.
But Sarah, Ginger, Emily, Sascha, and Whiskey stayed outside while Daniel covered the urn and filled in the hole. The vet’s office had made a plaster imprint of Oodle’s paw, and Gladys had asked Daniel to use that as a grave marker amongst the roses. Daniel pushed it into the dirt half an inch to make it secure. Whiskey sniffed the plaster marker once and then walked a few feet away before lifting his leg on a bush. Sarah rolled her eyes and thought, At least he didn’t mark the grave.
“It’s too bad Jared is away,” Ginger said to Sarah. Ginger’s blond curly hair framed her face instead of it being trapped in its usual ponytail or bun. Jared, Ginger’s employee at the café, had been an integral part of Sarah’s search for Mrs. Jenkins when she had disappeared. They had gone from having a joke-filled acquaintanceship to something more like a flirty friendship over the course of the summer. Sarah thought he would have appreciated the memorial service for Oodle, both for its quirkiness and because it brought a lot of the community together. Though Jared worked for Ginger at Java and Juice, his real vocation was writing and illustrating comic books and graphic novels, the latter of which he was shopping around to publishers. He was disappointed to miss the Oodle fooneral, as he called it, but he was in Vegas participating in Comic-Con. Over the last two days he had texted Sarah photos of people in all kinds of crazy costumes.
As Daniel and Ginger and Emily walked toward the back door of Gladys’ house, Sarah whistled for Whiskey and Sascha to come. They had been sniffing the newly dug grave and then every bush on both sides of the marker.
The dogs raced past her as she said, “Slow down.” They stopped on the deck and waited for her to catch up. And then they walked like the perfect gentle dogs they were into Gladys’ house, before slurping up water from a bowl in her kitchen.
Sarah small-talked with people she knew, and she ate a cream cheese and cucumber finger sandwich and some potato salad. She cleared plates and cups and carried them from the living room and dining room into the kitchen. She was determined not to leave Gladys with a mess to clean up.
As she hand washed some china, Ginger popped into the kitchen and picked up a dish towel to dry what Sarah was washing. “Did Daniel leave?” Sarah asked.
“He had to go back to the store.” Daniel had inherited Buck and Son from his father. They were the only hardware store in town and were open seven days a week. Ginger carefully dried the bowl Sarah handed her. “Do you know where this goes?”
“I believe it belongs in the breakfront in the dining room.” Sarah picked up a plate from the counter and dunked it in the wash water.
Ginger left the room with the bowl. When she returned, she said, “Whiskey is curled up in a corner of the dining room. Almost everyone has left. Gladys and Janice are sitting on a sofa together talking. I’ll start to bring the food in. Can you find some smaller containers?”
“Sure. Just let me finish this plate.”
Twenty minutes later, Sarah and Ginger had all of the leftover food in smaller containers and stacked in Gladys’ refrigerator. They had washed and dried all the casserole dishes and cake and sandwich stands and left them on the kitchen table since they weren’t sure where they went. But the rest of the kitchen and the dining room were clean.
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
“Of course.” Ginger smiled. “It’s what best friends do.”
“What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?” Sarah ran her hand through her ginger curls to push them out of her face.
“Daniel’s coming over for dinner.”
“Ooo la la,” Sarah teased.
“It’s going well, but we are taking it one date at a time.”
“I don’t see why,” Sarah said. “You’re both adults and know what you want. And that’s not to be alone anymore. Makes sense to me.” She winked at Ginger and then added, “Plus, he’s a hard hunk of man. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
Ginger laughed.
But Sarah understood not wanting to be alone. She had been for quite a while—moving to Cottageville from Seattle by herself more than six years ago and inheriting her grandmother’s house. Sarah felt less alone since Whiskey had come into her life, but it wasn’t the same as having a human partner.
Sarah wondered how long Gladys would wait before she went to the animal shelter and got another dog. Sarah knew the silence of losing a pet and living alone could be too loud.
