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Dog Days of Summer

By Kathleen YBarbo

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DOG DAYS OF SUMMER
By Kathleen Y’Barbo

CHAPTER ONE
A few minutes before 6:00 pm on the first Saturday in December
The Brenham, Texas, Annual Lighted Christmas Parade

When I told Mama that I was fine with whatever Christmas plans she had, I had no idea I would arrive in my hometown of Brenham, Texas, to discover I’d been named Grand Marshal of the annual Lighted Christmas Parade. And I certainly didn’t expect I’d end up on a glow-in-the-dark float made from a flatbed trailer loaned for the occasion from Bubba’s Haul-It-Fast, Inc.
But there I sat, shivering on a cold December evening and wondering how in the world a woman of my age with a long list of hit records and Miranda Lambert’s personal cell number on speed dial got herself into this situation.
Of course the answer was simple. My mother had always had a way of talking me into things. My niece Marigold Evans, known by everyone as Mari, inherited that talent.
I glanced around at my motley crew of companions on the lighted-covered float—a half-dozen adorable, barking mutts in elf suits—and couldn’t help but smile. Every one of them was rescued by Mari and her volunteers, and dressed by my mother.
Yes, my mother makes dog clothes. Trust me, I encourage this every chance I get. If I don’t, I’m afraid she will go back to insisting on making my stage costumes, and nobody wants that.
It’s bad enough that Mama made a Christmas vest for me complete with lights spelling the words Merry Christmas that flash off and on. It’s my fault. I told her I absolutely refused to wear an outfit she made, and I may have let her think that I was contractually obligated to wear something chosen by my manager.
I mean, it’s probably written into the contract somewhere. Who reads the fine print on those things? So, Mama made this vest, skirting around the rules to find a loophole yet again.
You never know. I might conveniently lose the batteries for this red velvet monstrosity now that Mama has been ushered to the VIP box.
In the middle of the Christmas-themed chaos, my niece sat cross-legged with a smile as big as Texas and a headband with lit-up candy canes. Mari might be able to talk me into just about anything, thanks to my mama, but she got her love of animals from me and her mama.
Mari had made a career out of this by working as a vet tech at Lone Star Veterinary Clinic in Brenham. That evening both veterinarians and the rest of the staff had lined up to greet me as I climbed aboard the float emblazoned with the words GIVE A PET A SECOND CHANCE on a lighted sign at the front and LONE STAR VET CLINIC—BRENHAM’S BEST, JUST ASK YOUR PET! on the back.
Mari’s description of that hunky vet Dr. Tyler Durham was not an exaggeration. He really is that handsome. And Dr. Keller—I’m supposed to call her Kristin—is sweet as pie.
And the vet tech who follows Mari around like a lost puppy? Parker something-or-other? I’ll never forget those gorgeous blue eyes or the way he looks at my niece.
And the way she returns that look.
I met the others, but I am terrible with names. I sure hoped they’d all be wearing name tags at the clinic Christmas party after the parade.
Oh, but the fur babies? I knew all their names and would have taken every one of them home if I could have gotten away with it.
Bucky and Clementine were barking like crazy at the policemen on horseback up ahead, while Skipper, Sunshine, and Bella were alternating between exploring the confines of the picket fence wrapped in Christmas lights that held them in and rolling around playing.
They reminded me of my two, Patsy and Cline, who were cooling their heels—or rather their paws—back at home at the most exclusive and expensive doggie spa in Nashville. I’m sure by the time I return, they’ll be expecting a daily massage, warm bedding scented with lemongrass, and who knows what else.
I felt a nudge and looked down to see that the puppy that Mari called Lady had determined that my lap was where she belonged. I tried to pay no attention, but those eyes…
Any pet lover knows when a dog has decided you’re the one who ought to listen to him. Or, in this case, to her.
I gathered up the persistent puppy and tucked her under the blanket I’d thrown over my legs. This little girl—all or part Springer Spaniel unless I miss my guess—instantly captured my heart with her glossy liver and white coat with beach waves of fur I never could manage even with all the money I spend on hair products.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” someone called from up ahead, signaling a response from the Brenham High School Band’s drum line.
I glanced over at Mari who was dividing her time between calming the dogs with toys she retrieved from her backpack and repairing the damage they caused to the arrangement of star lights that had been glued randomly to the picket fence.
As the drumbeat picked up, Mari stood and pulled a thick white ribbon out of her backpack and handed it to me. “I almost forgot. You’ll need to wear this sash.”
I eyed the length of cloth with the words Trina Potter country singing sensation sewed on with glow-in-the-dark trim. “Oh no, sweetheart. I won’t be putting that on.”
Mari laughed. “Suit yourself, but Grandma Peach made it. Apparently it was Tyler’s way of calming her down after he told her she couldn’t advertise her pies or her pet clothes business on his float or have your song about her playing on the float’s loudspeaker during the parade.”
I gave the sash another look. “So I either wear this or explain it to Mama?”
My niece nodded. “And good luck with that second option, because I guarantee she’ll notice if you don’t.”
I groaned as I shrugged into Mama’s work of art. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me up here on this bench?” I asked Mari. “You’re the real star here with your dog rescues. I just write songs and try not to forget the words when I sing them. I’m sure if these dogs could talk, they’d agree.”
Mari grinned. “It’s probably a good thing they can’t talk, Aunt Trina. Most of them weren’t too happy about the bath and the medical treatment they got when they were first rescued. And as to sitting up there? No thank you. I’ll stay down here and make sure these crazy canines don’t jump the fence.”
“You never were one for the spotlight,” I told her. “Busier than a bee in the background but never wanting to take credit for the good you do. So much like your mama.”
Mari’s face softened, and I wished I could take those words back. She and I didn’t talk about my big sister much, but when we did, it was never planned. Nor was it easy.
And it generally ended with both of us in tears.
I miss Vanessa more than life itself. I’d have given up every one of my gold records and moved back home if it had kept her alive.
But none of that would stop what the cancer had started. And it only took one trip to Brenham to see that Mari ought to be the one to care for her mama. Not because I couldn’t or wouldn’t do it but rather because my niece wanted to do it.
She needed to.
So I made the difficult decision not to come around too much lest Mari think she ought to step back and let me take over. I tend to take over things—again I blame my mama for this—and I have no doubt I would have done exactly that.
In the end it had been Mari who had stayed with her mama until she was gone. Mari who delivered the news to Mama and me that Vanessa was gone.
I sighed as I tried hard to keep my smile in place. Mama was here, so it wasn’t like Mari was without family, but the girl shouldn’t be walking the grief road alone.
The float jerked forward, and my little companion let out a bark. At the same time, the marching band struck up a rousing version of “Jingle Bells.”
“It’s all right.” I scratched my new best friend behind her ear. “It’s just a bunch of noise. Don’t let it bother you, honey.”
At that last word, that little dog stared up at me with the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. She was giving me a look that said I’d spoken the magic word.
“Oh, I see. Your name is Honey.” The pup cuddled against me, and I gave her ear another scratch. “Well, that was a good guess. I’ll be sure Mari knows. Now hang on because we’re about to go for a ride.”
Mari glanced up at me. “The dog you’re holding is a little jittery around loud noises, so hold on tight. She was the closest one to the…”
Her voice trailed off. I knew instantly that Mari had said more than she’d intended. But about what?”
“Closest to what?” I demanded.
She looked away.
“Marigold Evans. What aren’t you telling me?”
My niece swiveled to face her. “A few days ago, there might have been an explosion at the rescue.”
“Might have been?”
Honey yipped at my outburst. I smoothed her fur and her rising tension with a sweep of my hand.
“Okay,” Mari admitted, “so there was an explosion, but no one was hurt because the police came and detonated the device before it blew up next to the rescue.”
“What kind of device?”
“Some kind of homemade bomb.” She shook her head. “That’s all I’m saying. Now smile and wave, okay? This is a Christmas parade, not an inquisition.”

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