The Conundrum of Collies (Love & Pets #6) - A.G. Henley Page 0,22

you know?” She laughs. It’s a sweet, tinkling sound, like a spoon tapped against a champagne glass. “Is it bragging if I’m talking about my dog?”

“I don’t think it’s bragging when you’re being factual, and I asked. Although, Meadow couldn’t do this without you. You’re both champions.”

“I guess that’s true.” Emmy smiles and toys with the treat bag she carries. Of all the dogs, Meadow seems the least interested in food rewards and most motivated by the joy of chasing the disc, but Emmy reinforces the joy through Meadow’s stomach.

“When’s the next competition?” I ask after throwing the disc again. My spins are not as good as Emmy’s. They don’t go as far, stay on as straight of a path, or dip as smoothly and with the right timing as hers or the others in the club do.

“End of August,” she says. “It’s in Littleton. Sometimes we travel to Fort Collins or Colorado Springs, and there’s a fun one up in the mountains in Avon every summer, but this one is here in the Denver metro. I think Bean’s ready if Stevie wants to compete.”

I pause to watch Stevie and Bean for a minute. They’re getting better quickly, but Bean’s nowhere near Meadow, Bear, or a few of the other dogs’ levels. They’ve been at this a lot longer, after all.

I must look doubtful, because Emmy adds, “There are novice, intermediate, and advanced divisions, plus a freestyle competition. Bean would do great with the novices.”

“Oh, in that case, I have a feeling she would.” As we watch, Bean trots back with the disc in her mouth and tries to give it to Stevie. She’s too involved in something she’s telling Jude to take it from her, even after Bean knocks it against her leg.

Hands on his hips, Jude smiles and laughs, totally focused on Stevie. I wonder what she’s telling him about. He’s new, he’s fresh, he’s probably a lot more interesting to talk to. I know all her stories already.

“Logan?”

I glance at Emmy. She looks . . . sympathetic. “Do you want me to take over?”

Meadow sits at my feet with the disc, waiting for me to take it.

“No, sorry, I’ve got it.” Turning away from Stevie and Jude, I throw Meadow’s disc long and hard. And yeah, I might be picturing Jude’s good-looking face as the target.

Later, over beers at Station 26, I sit beside Aaron and an Indian woman from the club named Nisha. This is the first time she’s come to a workout since Stevie and I joined, although she said she’s been a member since moving to Denver two years ago to do her residency in internal medicine at the nearby University of Colorado Hospital.

Her dog, a white and brown Australian shepherd mix named Jack, had barked excitedly every time she threw the disc for him. But now, like the others, he’s laid out under the table snoozing.

Nisha tells me her name means night in Sanskrit. “Which is appropriate,” she jokes, “because as a resident I work all night. And all day for that matter.”

She tells us a story about a patient she had this week who had a mysterious set of symptoms that he was convinced was leprosy, even though none of the symptoms matched. “I’m pretty sure he was disappointed when I told him it wasn’t leprosy, and more likely to be a virus. Or maybe hypochondriasis.”

Aaron and I laugh. I glance down the table at Jude, Emmy, and Stevie. Bean is at Stevie’s feet, a bowl of water in front of her tired nose, and her gaze focused on some squirrels chasing each other around a nearby tree. How can the dog still be interested in running after small animals after all the running after frisbees she did this evening?

“What do you do, Logan?” Aaron asks me.

“I’m an accountant.” When they both nod, I joke, “And that’s usually the end of that conversation.” They chuckle. “Not the most exciting of careers, unfortunately, although I enjoy it.”

“What do you guys do for fun, other than this?” Nisha sighs. “I have no time for hobbies, much less a social life, so I live vicariously through other people.”

“I like to run,” I say. “And I game with friends to relax at night.” I’m shy about telling people about my bird watching hobby. I shouldn’t be, I know, but the humiliation lingers from a time I told a girl I liked in middle school about it and she laughed at me. And promptly told all her