it, and felt better still when she had gotten half the drink inside her.
'Say, I sure didn't mean to offend you,' the bartender said. 'It gets lonely in here, afternoons. When a stranger comes in, my lip gets runny.'
'My fault,' Anderson said. 'I haven't been having the best day of my life.'
She finished her drink and sighed.
'You want another one, miss?'
I think I liked 'purty lady' better, Anderson thought, and shook her head. 'I'll take a glass of milk, though. Otherwise I'll have acid indigestion all afternoon.'
The bartender brought her the milk. Anderson sipped it and thought about what had happened at the vet's. The answer was quick and simple: she didn't know.
But I'll tell you what happened when you brought him in, she thought. Not a thing.
Her mind seized on this. The waiting room had been almost as crowded when she brought Peter in as it had been when she dragged him back out, only there had been no bedlam scene the first time. The place had not been quiet - animals of different types and species, many of them ancient and instinctive antagonists, do not make for a library atmosphere when brought together - but it had been normal. Now, with the booze working in her, she recalled the man in the mechanic's coverall leading the boxer in. The boxer had looked at Peter. Peter had looked mildly back. No big deal.
So?
So drink your milk and get on home and forget it.
Okay. And what about that thing in the woods? Do I forget that, too?
Instead of an answer, her grandfather's voice came: By the way, Bobbi, what's that thing doing to you? Have you thought about that?
She hadn't.
Now that she had, she was tempted to order another drink ... except another, even a single, would make her drunk, and did she really want to be sitting in this huge barn in the early afternoon, getting drunk alone, waiting for the inevitable someone (maybe the bartender himself) to cruise up and ask what a pretty place like this was doing around a girl like her?
She left a five on the counter and the bartender saluted her. On her way out she saw a pay phone. The phone-box was dirty and dog-eared and smelled of used bourbon, but at least it was still there. Anderson deposited twenty cents, crooked the handset between shoulder and ear while she hunted through in the Yellow Pages, then called Etheridge's clinic. Mrs Alden sounded quite composed. In the background she could hear one dog barking. One.
'I didn't want you to think I stiffed you,' she said, 'and I'll mail your leash back tomorrow.'
'Not at all, Ms Anderson,' she said. 'After all the years you have done business with us, you're the last person we'd worry about when it comes to deadbeats. As for leashes, we've got a closetful.'
'Things seemed a little crazy there for a while.'
'Boy, were they ever! We had to call Medix for Mrs Perkins. I didn't think it was bad - she'll have needed stitches, of course, but lots of people who need stitches get to the doctor under their own power.' She lowered her voice a little, offering Anderson a confidence that she probably wouldn't have offered a man. 'Thank God it was her own dog bit her. She's the sort of woman who starts shouting lawsuit at the drop of a hat.'
'Any idea what might have caused it?'
'No - neither does Dr Etheridge. The heat after the rain, maybe. Dr Etheridge said he heard of something like it once at a convention. A vet from California said that all the animals in her clinic had what she called "a savage spell" just before the last big quake out there.'
'Is that so?'
'There was an earthquake in Maine last year,' Mrs Alden said. 'I hope there won't be another one. That nuclear plant at Wiscassett is too close for comfort.'
Just ask Gard, Bobbi thought. She said thanks again and hung up.
Anderson went back to the truck. Peter was sleeping. He opened his eyes when Anderson got in, then closed them again. His muzzle lay on his paws. The gray on his muzzle was fading away. No question about that; no question at all.
And by the way, Bobbi, what's that thing doing to you?
Shut up, Granddad.
She drove home. And after fortifying herself with a second Scotch - a weak one she went into the bathroom and stood close to the mirror, first examining her face and then running her fingers through her