Girl's Best Friend Read Free Page B

your nose.)
    See you tomorrow,
    Maggie
    While my parents would be upset about my new business, they’d be happy that I finally found a use for the personalized stationery my aunt Sally gave me for my eighth birthday.
    Yes, stationery for an eight-year-old. Obviously she doesn’t have any children.
    I capped my pen and headed for the door, glancing over my shoulder for one last look. Isabel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but her crutches? They were still lying on the couch, untouched.

Chapter 3
    ♦     ♦     ♦

    Milo did his business. And by business, I mean he pooped and peed. I fed him a cup of kibble, as instructed, and gave him two treats.
    See you tomorrow,
    Maggie
    Unlike boy-Milo, dog-Milo is extremely easy to deal with. He’s always happy to see me and he’s very well behaved.
    Bean is a different story. I picked her up as a client two weeks ago. Parminder referred me. She and Bean’s owner, Cassie, live in the same building, except I can’t walk her and Milo together because Bean tries to fight with every dog she sees. I guess no one told her she’s a six-pound Maltese.
    Another annoying thing about Bean—she wears a sweater. Not in the house; that would be too easy. Bean’s owner has me dress her in a sweater before I take her outside. Although I’ve been told that this is strictly a cold weather–month policy. Once summer hits, I’ll get to dress her in a T-shirt. Something to look forward to.
    So after dropping off Milo, I walked up one flight of steps so I could fetch—and dress—Bean.
    Her red-and-blue-striped cashmere hoodie sat folded on the kitchen table, still in its dry-cleaning bag. The dog has a nicer wardrobe than I do.
    Since walking Bean is all about avoiding other animals, we headed away from the park. Everything went okay for a while. As soon as I spotted the flat-faced Boston terrier up ahead, I crossed the street. Bean didn’t even notice him. Then I heard a kid on a scooter rolling up from behind. I picked up the pace and turned the corner because Bean also snarls at anything on wheels.
    A minute later she sniffed at a half-eaten granola bar. “Let’s go, Bean.” I gave her leash a slight tug but Bean wouldn’t budge. She’s surprisingly strong for a six-pound animal. Stubborn, too.
    After she finally did her thing, we turned around and headed back to her place. Before we even got close I spotted trouble up ahead: five humongous dogs pulling along one small woman. Like sled dogs racing, but without the sled.
    Bean saw them, too, and she went crazy. Teeth bared and growling the most ferocious growl her half-pint-size body could muster, she strained to get at them.
    And once the other dogs noticed her acting aggressive, they went crazy, too—barking, snarling, the works.
    Their annoyed-looking walker had straight dark hair and short bangs. She wore hiking boots, faded jeans, and a gray sweatshirt with a big picture of a Dalmatian and the words DIAL-A-WALKER embroidered above it in red stitching.
    “Can you move, please?” She barked even louder than her dogs. Also? Her “please” sounded more sarcastic than polite, like she owned the sidewalk and I should’ve known better than to trespass.
    I scooped up Bean fast and turned to cross the street, but there was a truck coming. So the best thing I could do was step between two parked cars.
    When she passed, the dark-haired woman squinted at me like she needed glasses, although she already wore a pair—rectangular ones with thin wire rims.
    Bean growled and two of the woman’s dogs snarled right back.
    Suddenly one of them—a chubby chocolate Lab—broke free from his leash and darted straight at us.
    I held Bean up high over my head, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best.
    Luckily the dog ran right past. Turns out he was chasing a squirrel.
    “Stop him!” the woman yelled, like a drill sergeant giving orders.
    But it was all I could do to hang on to Bean, now flailing around like crazy.
    The Labrador moved