Summer Grace (Angel Paws) Read online

  Summer Grace

  an Angel Paws short story

  Jordan Taylor

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  Copyright © 2013 by Jordan Taylor. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover photograph by Ksenia Raykova.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or dogs, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No trees were harmed in the creation or publication of this work.

  Short Stuff Press

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  Summer Grace

  “Ready, Summer?” Grace unlatched the door to the plastic and metal crate, stepping back to let her dog out.

  Summer’s tiny, black nose poked from within. She sniffed, glanced across the gravel parking lot, surrounded by forest, then stared at Grace.

  “What?” Grace frowned. “Come on.”

  Summer sniffed again before leaping to the gravel. The perfectly groomed Papillon shook her white and red sable coat, sending silky hair on her large ears cascading around her face.

  She gazed up at Grace, a question in those dark, round eyes: What are we doing here?

  Grace looked away. “Don’t give me that. We’ll have a great time at camp. Just wait.”

  Car doors banged as Grace started off with Summer on leash, toward a sign at the footpath proclaiming: KAMP K-9 CHECK-IN AND INFORMATION.

  An Australian Shepherd accompanied by a very tall, middle-aged man walked ahead of them, up the path. A Rottweiler jumped from the back of an SUV a few spaces away with a young woman on the other end of a leather leash. A pair of yellow dogs—apparently part Golden Retriever and part elephant—dragged another woman toward Grace and Summer while the woman shouted over her shoulder, “Robert! You need to take one of them!”

  Grace and Summer stared as a man in old jeans and a red polo shirt ran to grab the leashes from her.

  Paws clattered on gravel. Grace spun around as Summer barked a sharp warning.

  A gray and white Siberian Husky was bearing down on them, tail and ears up, ice-blue eyes glittering at sight of Summer. No visible human companion. Only an alarmed voice calling, “Samson! Samson, come!”

  As the wooly Samson descended on them, Grace dropped her wheeled bag and bent to swoop Summer up in her arms. Waving his bushy tail, the husky jumped on her, sniffing Summer. Grace stepped away, trying to turn her back on the circling dog.

  Summer growled, showing tiny teeth.

  “Samson!”

  “I’ve got him.” A young man with a fawn Boxer mix appeared from nowhere to seize Samson’s collar.

  “Thank you,” Grace said, still retreating, every muscle tense, as the man’s dog and the husky sniffed, wagging tails.

  “I’m sorry." A woman with a treat pouch and blue nylon leash ran up to them, panting. “He jumped past me when I opened the door. Bad boy, Samson.” She took him from the young man and looked up to see Grace clutching Summer to her chest.

  “Ahwww.” The panting woman smiled. “What a sweet little thing. I didn't realize there would be little dogs here.”

  Grace and Summer stared back, from dog to woman.

  Finally, Grace found her voice. “I didn't realize there wouldn’t be.”

  ~ ~ ~

  A summer camp for dogs. Exactly what Grace needed for herself and her Papillon. They were creatures of the city—sidewalks and yellow cabs, doormen, elevators, rooftop gardens. They kept monthly salon appointments on the same schedule so Grace could drop Summer off, get her hair done, then return for pickup as the trimming of fur around Summer’s delicate toes was completed.

  Every few months, they visited Grace’s parents in the suburbs. Here, Summer raced about a fenced yard with their Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Roy. She chased squirrels and sparrows. She barked at the mailman. She bounded through snow that all but swallowed her in winter, or lay sprawled on the deck in summer, soaking in sun for hours on end.

  When Grace learned about Kamp K-9 from Summer’s groomer, she felt inspired: just what she needed for her and her city dog with a soft spot for the outdoors. She poured over details on their website, delighted to discover that all types of dogs were welcome, the rooms held only two people and two dogs each, and the camp was less than half a day’s drive away. Beautiful lakes, endless forest hikes, lots of fun and games from agility to dock diving (for dogs, of course) to trick training with on-site trainers. Three meals a day provided.

  Grace browsed pictures of previous campers involved in all these activities and more: many retrievers of various kinds, herding types, and mixed breeds. And little dogs. All dogs welcome as long as they were non-aggressive to people or other animals. She saw terriers, a Cocker Spaniel on an A-frame, and a Miniature Pinscher sitting on his person’s lap by a campfire.

  Grace signed them up.

  Now, after check-in, Grace made her way to a tiny, shared cabin in a row of identical cabins, looking around the campsite, her rolling bag hefted in her right hand. She didn’t see any little terriers or Cocker Spaniels. Besides the dogs she met in the parking lot, she spotted a German Shepherd, a Labrador Retriever, a couple of Border Collies, and mixed breeds, none of whom appeared to weigh less than 60 pounds.

  Summer also observed the commotion of arriving and milling people and dogs, then glanced at Grace as she trotted by her side.

  Grace couldn’t help feeling that Summer was waiting for her to say, “All done! Let’s go home!”

  But Grace could not. She paid a lot to be here for five nights and they had all five yet to go. She avoided Summer’s dark eyes as she pulled open the creaking cabin door.

  The space appeared cozy enough: two twin beds, two dog beds, two dressers, two bedside tables with lamps, an empty wood-burning stove, a desk with a power outlet, pens, paper, tissue box, and a vase of fresh lavender. It smelled of cedar and lavender, only faintly of dog. A fresh breeze flowed in from small windows with screens keeping out flies and mosquitoes.

  Though Grace felt relieved to see the electric lamps and another light hanging from the center of the room, there the conveniences ended. The bathrooms were in another building and the cabin had no heating or cooling besides the wood stove. Not something they needed in August. Grace hoped chilly nights would be a relief after the hot days.

  She staked out the east side of the cabin, hoisting her bag on top of the dresser. Summer leaped onto their twin bed and sniffed her way around a red, yellow, and white quilt. They both ignored the clean dog bed on the wood floor.

  “Well …” Grace said uncertainly, glancing around the room. “Should we unpack or live out of bags while we’re here?”

  Summer watched her, sitting in the middle of the bed. It was a look Grace knew well: I don’t know where you’re sleeping, but this will work for me.

  Grace pulled open dresser drawers, one at a time. Though they seemed clean, she could not shake a feeling that there may be six- and eight-legged residents already inhabiting their cabin.

  She compromised by placing Summer’s sealed food and treat containers in one drawer, her own rain jacket and extra shoes in another. Everything else could stay in the bag on top.

  She turned down the sheets of the rustic, log-framed bed to find them white and spotless.

  Metal tags jingled, paws and boots thumped over rock and dirt, approaching their cabin. Grace and Summer turned as a huge, black dog pulled his way through the open door. It was the Rottweiler Grace had seen disembarking an SUV in the parking lot. He strained into the room, sniffing this way and that, caught sight of Grace standing by the bed, then leapt backward.


  A second later, the young woman attached to the other end of the leash came through the door, now pulling her dog along with her. Wild, curly hair popped out all around her head like a wreath. Her orange-framed glasses looked smudged and her hiking boots were caked in dry mud from walks long-past.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” she said. “Look, you even have your own bed.” She spotted Grace and smiled. “You must be our bunkmates.”

  For a moment, Grace only stared. “Uh—”

  The woman pulled her dog and bags through the doorway. “I’m Katie and this is Maximilian—Max.”

  Grace tried valiantly to smile. How could someone set them up in a room together? They had all noted the breed of their dog when they signed up. How could anyone think this was okay?

  “Grace,” she managed at last. “I’m Grace and this is Summer. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh!” Katie caught sight of Summer and her expression became soft, dewy-eyed. “What a sweet baby. How cute! She’s such a little darling.” She reached a hand toward Summer, but her own massive dog kept her at a distance by sitting down in the doorway.

  “Max, really.” She dropped her bags on the foot of her bed and turned to Max. “Come here.” She snapped her fingers, glaring at him.

  Max shuffled apologetically to her, wagging his stub tail. He glanced nervously sideways at Grace and Summer.

  “No one will hurt you,” Katie told her dog. “We’ll meet nice people here, okay?”

  The dog, who easily outweighed Katie, wriggled and leaned close against her legs, gazing up at her with his pink tongue flopping out of his mouth.

  Katie looked at Grace. “I’m sorry. He’s such a chicken. Everything scares him. This place will be great for him.”

  “Oh, I … see.” Grace sat down on the edge of her bed and Summer climbed on her lap.

  Grace wanted to say more as she rested a hand on the back of her eight-pound dog—how much they were looking forward to camp or ask Katie where she came from—but she discovered she was at a loss for words.

  ~ ~ ~

  A summer camp for dogs. Exactly what they needed. Or did they?

  Grace stood by the lake in morning sunlight, watching Summer sniff the shore, some distance from other campers finishing breakfast or letting their dogs swim. Mist rose off the water below a rising sun. A Great Blue Heron took flight across the still surface and vanished beyond the forest.

  Grace snapped a picture of the lake on her phone, another of the sunlit camp buildings and the people and dogs on the dock, then pocketed the phone and turned to her dog.

  “I guess there’s such a thing as the last one picked for teams in the dog world also.”

  Summer watched her: bright eyes, long hair and large, upright ears, tiny nose and white muzzle with a white blaze running up her head between red and black. When Grace said nothing more, Summer went back to sniffing along the shore.

  After a night full of Max’s snores and Katie’s tossing and turning, Summer had bounded from the cabin when Grace opened the door and taken off at a run. Stunned, Grace dashed after her, only to discover Summer on the trail to the cars. Summer found her own and stood there, wagging her white tail like a flag, looking from car to Grace as Grace walked up.

  Grace had carried her back to the cabin for breakfast.

  Now, Grace clipped a thin leash to Summer’s harness and started toward the other campers as she saw trainers and camp counselors coming out to meet them, ready to discuss the day’s activities. Every gaze, human and canine, darted in their direction as they walked up. Dogs’ ears pricked and heads lifted. People smiled indulgently or even chuckled at the sight of the tiny, silky object trotting along in a high-stepping gait as damp grass brushed her stomach.

  They didn’t think of Summer as a dog at all, Grace could tell. She was a toy in their eyes, a novelty. A joke.

  Anita, the activities supervisor and general camp manager, stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “Welcome and good morning!”

  The roughly thirty canine and slightly more human campers had been through introductions and an evening meal together the night before. They all knew Anita by sight and listened as she outlined the activities and options for the day.

  Samson, the Siberian Husky, strained toward Summer as Anita talked, dragging his human, Kimberly, with him. Grace picked Summer up, keeping her gaze toward Anita as if nothing was wrong.

  They started the day with a walk to acquaint everyone to the campsite. This was guided and explained by a counselor who took them well down the lake, then up a hill path and around a long oval back to camp. After this, everyone could choose from three midday activities before lunch: introduction to agility, introduction to discs, or training Q&A with a camp trainer.

  Katie and Max headed off to the Q&A while Grace, Summer, and nearly half the others in camp, set out for the agility field. Samson was there, as well as the young man with Tip, the Boxer mix, and Frank, the middle-aged man with the red merle Australian Shepherd, Bracken.

  They were given an overview of the equipment and agility basics by the instructor, then introduced to a very short tunnel and low jumps to start their dogs.

  Tip jumped over the tunnel instead of going through.

  Samson bit the fabric, trying to wrestle it while Kimberly struggled to manage leash, treats, and clicker with one hand, pulling the tunnel from Samson’s mouth with the other.

  Summer trotted daintily through and popped out the other side to gaze up at Grace while the class tittered.

  Grace’s face burned. Even the instructor chuckled and said how adorable Summer was. Grace knew it was intended as a complement, yet, had they laughed at Tip and Samson for being featherbrained? Why was it okay to laugh and poke fun at the little dog because she did it right?

  Summer was adorable, of course. But she was also smart and, obviously, more advanced in her training and dog/handler communication skills than most in the agility group. Grace knew it was all good-humored, no one meant to be cruel to her and her little dog. But that didn’t help. She guessed if Summer ran the whole course flawlessly they would still titter and coo.

  As she led Summer to the side so the next dog could try the tunnel, Grace felt she was in middle school again—the only girl in her class with a dry bologna sandwich for lunch and a home-haircut.

  By dinner, Grace agreed with Summer: time to go home. All day, she felt, they had been on the fringes of something fun, inclusive, exciting. Only on the fringes.

  When most of the campers set out after dinner to toss balls for their dogs or sit around the big fire pit near the lake, Grace took Summer back to their cabin.

  She flopped on the bed. Summer climbed onto her stomach and lay down, stretched out so her tiny muzzle rested below Grace’s throat. Grace stroked Summer’s back, eyes closed. It wasn’t easy being different—she’d known that since middle school. Yet, somehow, it made things even worse when it involved someone she loved.

  “Do you want to go home?” Grace whispered.

  Summer lifted her head to stare at Grace.

  “I’m sorry, Summer. It’s not what I planned. Maybe … tomorrow … we’ll go home.”

  The next morning, Grace was about to return to her cabin after breakfast to pack when Anita called everyone to attention with a fresh outline for the day:

  The boating and water safety for dogs did sound interesting. And there were always the long hikes through the forest where Grace and Summer could more or less keep to themselves.

  Maybe one more day.

  One day turned into two, then three.

  Finally, Grace woke with only one night to go before they left camp. It hadn’t been so bad after all. Katie was nice enough and, besides the snoring, her nervous Rottweiler hadn’t really bothered them after all. Frank was always a gentleman—in fact, Grace wished he was about twenty years younger. The dogs were mostly friendly, even if some, like Samson and the Golden Elephants (whom Grace had been told her Golden Retriever/Saint Bernard mixes and brothers) were out of c
ontrol. And there was definitely a spark between Kimberly and Tip’s young man, Mason.

  Yes, camp hadn’t been a waste of time and money after all. It just hadn’t been … well … what Grace had hoped it would be. She still felt a little outside. Still the lady with the toy dog, the china doll. Just a little less than everyone with a “real” dog.

  Well, fine. There was nothing Grace could do about it. She told herself it was enough that she knew how intelligent, how devoted, how perfect her dog was. It had to be enough, because, as her mother was fond of telling her, she couldn’t change other people. Only herself.

  Grace decided to forgo the last day’s agility, diving, disc, and trick “competitions.” She took Summer on a long walk around the lake—a path she now knew well. She half hoped something dramatic would happen—Summer would scare off a black bear with her ferocious barking, or Grace would sprain her ankle and Summer would rush back to camp to bring help. Unfortunately, they saw nothing more frightening for Summer to chase away than a cheeky chipmunk.

  It was nearly dinnertime and the last events were coming to a close, with much laughter and clapping from guests, as Grace and Summer returned.

  Grace washed her face and combed seedpods from Summer’s coat before dinner.

  “This time, we really are heading home tomorrow.” Grace kissed the top of Summer’s head and Summer licked her chin.

  After dinner, they sat around the fire with other campers, Summer in Grace’s lap. Other dogs lay or sat beside camp chairs and logs serving as seats. There was much laughter and talk, much reminiscing about that day’s competitions. Several people made s’mores, slipping graham crackers or un-toasted marshmallows to their dogs.

  Katie passed Grace a s’more and Grace thanked her over the pop and crack of the fire and voices all around. Though she didn’t care for the gooey treats, it felt nice to be included. She offered Summer a crumb of graham cracker, trying to keep the sticky, slightly burnt marshmallow off her fingers.