Pitty Party: Soul Mutts, #5

By Lori R. Taylor

Sometimes the best medicine is a dog who loves you.

 

Maggie Allen hates being a delivery driver, but she can't leave her small town to find a better job; her father's too sick to take care of himself, her younger brother Jake can't stay out of trouble, and her nagging aunt won't stop meddling in their lives.

 

The last thing she needs is a dog to take care of. Especially one that's spend most of his life chained up by neglectful owners.

 

But when Dad goes behind her back to adopt a pit bull named Cappuccino, she has to admit that the dog is good for the family — Dad's tackling physical therapy with new determination, and Jake's been helping out more. Despite the messes he makes, Maggie's fond of the eager-to-please dog.

 

Her luck can't last, though. In his enthusiasm to please, Cap accidentally disconnects Dad's oxygen, convincing Aunt Josephine that Maggie can't do anything right. Can Cap keep Maggie sane —and the whole family safe — when Josephine moves in and turns the chaos up to 10?

 

Pitty Party is the fifth book in the Soul Mutts series, heartwarming stories of lost dogs finding new homes with the humans they were born to heal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sterling & Stone
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201480363

Book preview

Chapter One

Cap wasn’t entirely sure what the girl was doing. He’d seen humans do all manner of strange and unusual things, and this one was certainly not the strangest — he’d known a human woman once who liked to walk across fire so that other humans would shout and toss coins into a hat — but for all that, it wasn’t the weirdest thing. He really couldn’t understand what she was trying to do.

At least the firewalker did it for the shouting and the coins. A strange motivation, perhaps, but hardly unmotivated.

This human, clearly younger than the others in the room, gave off so much adrenaline, such obvious fear, that it made Cap sneeze. On the whole, he figured humans couldn’t smell fear the way he could, but hers was so strong there was no way the adults around her couldn’t smell it.

The thing was, he wasn’t sure why. She was shockingly afraid, but Cap couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the focus of all that fear could be.

He knew the girl some. Chloe, her name was, and she’d been around since spring. She was quiet and unassuming and lit up like a beacon when she was allowed to handle a dog. Mostly she kept to herself, although for the last few days, she’d been playing with him, and that had been the most fun he’d had since setting foot in this building.

Leslie, the main adult here, a warm dark-skinned woman who smelled like dogs and sweat and exhaustion, smiled at the girl. Go on, Chloe. The floor is yours.

Chloe took a breath, gave Cap’s lead a gentle tug as a signal to follow her forward, and stepped forward.

Cap followed, then stopped again when she did after two steps, sitting diligently at her side the moment her feet stilled.

(That was what Good Dogs did, and Cap wanted to be a Good Dog.)

Everybody, this is Cappuccino, she said, her voice breaking as the adrenaline in her scent flared. He’s been here for more than a year now, brought in as a stray, and we don’t know where he’s from or what his previous life was like, but we do know that he’s really good. Like, at tricks. Watch.

Chloe turned away from the adults and other dogs in the room so she was facing Cap again. She slid the lead off his neck, and the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips was one that Cap recognized.

It was time to play.

She took another step forward, a big one this time, leaving plenty of room between her legs. Cap, weave.

He knew this one. He bounded between her legs.

Chloe took another large step, and before she could even tell him to do it, he darted back the other way, again slipping between her legs.

They crossed half the room that way, with Chloe taking large steps forward and Cap weaving in and out between her legs with every step. The other people in the room — the audience, Cap realized, probably a little later than he ought to have, distracted by Chloe’s fear as he was; that’s why she was doing this, because they had an audience — applauded generously when they turned back to face them again.

Chloe beamed. Cap, on impulse, tucked his front feet underneath him and lowered his head to the ground.

Laughter, light but happy, rose from the others. One or two of their dogs barked.

He’d never had an audience before, not an official one, not like the firewalking woman or the little dogs that used to jump off tall platforms. His audiences had always just been whoever happened to be around. He’d never performed before.

Chloe’s fear suddenly made sense. He fought to keep from shaking.

Cap, Chloe said again, drawing his eyes up to her from where they were pressed against the floor. She made a circle out of her arms. Hup!

At least these cues were familiar. He knew these games. He loved to play them, and Chloe’s adrenaline was starting to ease, her voice coming a little stronger than it had been before.

He could do this. He liked doing this.

He could be Good.

He jumped through the circle of her arms, being careful not to knock into her more than he could avoid because the first few times they tried this game, he’d pushed her over.

She flipped the circle so her left arm, instead of her right, was at the top. That was the cue, like the next overly wide step in the weave, to do the trick again in the other direction.

The audience clapped. Chloe’s smile was getting so big Cap wondered if it might slide right off her face and wander away.

She opened her arms, stretching them as wide as they would go. Cap stood on his back legs, put his front paws on her shoulders, and followed her on two paws as she stepped and twirled her way back toward the audience end of the room.

They applauded again as she nudged Cap back to sit at her side. She bowed, and Cap followed her lead and took another bow himself.

Well done, Chloe, Cap, Leslie said, coming up from behind them to smile at each of them in turn. I’m sure everyone here liked seeing that.

The audience agreed. One man at the front of the small group holding a yellow lab that Cap sort of recognized as one of the dogs who’d stayed here once actually wiped his eyes.

Chloe smiled at them all again, then crouched down and scratched Cap’s neck, so pleased that the scent of fear had vanished entirely. Good boy, Cap, she murmured to him, using both of her hands to get at the itchy spot directly behind the fold of his ear. Good dog.

Those words, spoken in that soft, genuine tone, were better than all the food and treats in the world.

Chapter Two

Maggie didn’t want to be doing this.

Being the best cook in the family, she didn’t intrinsically dislike the act of cooking itself, but there was something deeply unappealing about even the most useful and fun activities if she knew it wouldn’t be enjoyed.

She wasn’t even sure why she put up with Great Aunt Josephine inviting herself over for dinner like that in the first place.

No, that was a lie — she knew exactly why she did it. She just hated it.

Maggie switched off the stove and covered the pot of sauce to keep it warm. It was 6:02 by the oven clock, and she could hear the car pulling into the parking space, then a moment later the hum of Dad’s voice, followed by the interminable yelping of Napoleon.

Jake! She moved away from the stove and poked her head into the living room, where her younger brother sat slouched across the couch, scrolling through his phone. They’re here.

Jake slouched lower, if that was possible, and scowled at his phone without answering her.

Stand up. You know Aunt Josephine won’t like to see you sitting like that.

She can go to hell, Jake grumbled, but he did stand up and put his phone into his jean pocket, so Maggie let it slide.

Dad and Aunt Josephine stepped into the kitchen a moment later. Maggie turned and plastered on her best smile. How was graduation?

Terrible, Aunt Josephine answered before Dad could even open his mouth. It took forever, and the instructor kept bringing out all these other dogs from the shelter to try and sell them to us. There was this one mean-looking pit bull everyone adored because it bowed for them.

Cappuccino, Dad added. I thought he was great. Very cute.

Josephine snorted. It was a transparent ploy to get someone to take a troublesome dog off their hands.

Dad sat down at the table. His breaths came a little faster than normal from all the standing and talking. He adjusted the tubing beneath his nose and took several deep breaths before speaking again. My old dog Moxie looked like him. Remember her, Aunt Jo?

Josephine’s face softened. She was an old woman, brittle-looking in ways that Maggie had never noticed in other people before, like a harsh gust of wind might snap her in two, but sometimes, when she looked at Dad — or, less frequently, Jake — there came a gentleness into her face that reminded Maggie that she must’ve been young once. Of course I do, dear. But that was back before people ruined pit bulls. Now they’re menaces. That’s why there are so many in shelters. Awful dogs, the lot of ‘em. Kill more people every year than any other dog breed in the world.

Dad made a noise. It wasn’t agreement, but Maggie understood it as the noise he made when he wasn’t interested in pursuing a conversation any further. He turned and smiled at Maggie instead. Smells good in here.

I got us lobster ravioli, made a lemon sauce, Maggie answered, grateful for a change in the subject because she knew how Josephine could get onto a topic and rant until she turned blue.

Yum.

Jake, dinner’s ready!

There was some mumbling and shuffling, then Jake appeared in the archway between kitchen and living room, scowling still, but at least his hair and clothes were clean.

Josephine went up to him, smiling so wide Maggie could probably count every tooth in her dentures.

Jacob, love, how are you?

She went in for a hug. Napoleon, the dolled-up toy poodle she carried in the crook of her arm, snarled at Jake.

Maggie stirred and ladled out the lemony sauce over four plates of ravioli.

She didn’t get a weird feeling deep in her stomach when Josephine offer Jake affection and not her. Nope, not at all. Because if she did, well, that would imply that she cared. That she had any reason at all to want Josephine’s affection.

Which she definitely didn’t. Josephine had to be endured because she was rich and helped with Dad’s medical bills, and then went on her way without a second’s additional thought.

Hi, Aunt Jo, Jake answered, accepting the hug but not actually returning it because that wasn’t the sort of thing a teenage boy was supposed to do, after all.

He then went to the table and didn’t slump too terribly into the chair.

Maggie offered Josephine a hand to help her get to her own chair, but she ignored the offer and, with a perhaps exaggerated effort, sat down at the table and stared at Maggie as if there was something else she was supposed to be doing.

Maggie served the plates then sank into her own chair.

So, Josephine began as she lifted her fork and cut into the ravioli. The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear that she was addressing Maggie — there was a noticeable coldness in it now that hadn’t been there just a moment before. How are you getting on, then?

Fine, Maggie said.

It might’ve been a bit of a lie, but no one around the table needed to know that.

Josephine took a bite of food, and Maggie was absolutely not holding her breath waiting to find out how that bite would be received.

Hmm. She chewed, swallowed, thought, gnarled fingers rubbing at the ball of puffy hair on the top of Napoleon’s head. Of course Josephine would elect to use the ridiculous show cut on her own ridiculous dog. That’s … different.

Delicious, Dad said, his own mouth half-full.

Don’t talk with your mouth full, Willy. Josephine sent him a look across the table. Dad just grinned back, and probably would’ve opened his mouth at her right then if she hadn’t spoken again immediately, to Maggie again. How much butter did you put in the sauce?

Maggie shoved a ravioli in her mouth, chewing slowly, and perhaps a bit exaggeratedly, so there was no way Josephine would be able to say anything about how she wasn’t answering. After all, if even Dad could get scolded for talking with his mouth full, then there was no chance of Josephine accepting Maggie doing the same.

The sauce was good. She’d put a lot of butter and lemon juice in it, and it was just right for the lobster stuffing. Josephine didn’t know anything about cooking.

She pursed thin, weathered lips and scraped the sauce off the pastas, eating the ravioli plain and feeding the sauce to Napoleon. You know I’m watching my fat intake. Doctor’s orders.

Maggie didn’t answer. She wasn’t supposed to.

Josephine didn’t linger long — apparently, she was exhausted by Napoleon’s graduation from puppy class and disappointed enough by the lemon sauce that she didn’t feel it worth her time to hang around.

Dad looked disappointed, but Maggie wasn’t. Seeing Great Aunt Josephine leave was the only good thing about seeing her at all.

Dad walked her to the door, and Maggie couldn’t help but slump as hard as Jake back into the couch as soon as they were out of sight. Jake, sitting at the other end with his attention back on his phone, actually looked over and grinned at her. I thought the sauce was good.

Maggie wasn’t up for his mockery, not tonight. Maybe not ever again. She glared back at him until he stopped grinning at her and went back to his phone screen.

Dad came back into the living room a moment later. He’d hooked his cannula into the little wheeled oxygen tank he preferred around the house, and the left wheel squeaked with every rotation. Maggie added it to her mental list of things she had to check on before going in to work tomorrow afternoon.

He sat on the couch between her and Jake with a sigh and a few deep inhales that meant he’d been standing too long again.

Dad, it’s time for you to get to bed. You’re worn out.

He grinned back, that same sort of displacing, effortlessly charming grin that Jake tried to use when talking his way out of trouble. It never worked for Jake, and it certainly wasn’t going to work for Dad while he was still struggling to catch his breath. I’m fine, Mag.

You’re not. You shouldn’t’ve gone to the shelter today.

It was Napoleon’s graduation!

It’s a dog. Graduation isn’t a thing for dogs.

She didn’t add the part about how Napoleon was a raging little piece of crap, just like her owner. That would come off as deeply, unnecessarily aggressive.

Because it was. There was no point denying it.

We should get a dog.

Jake looked up again suddenly, eyes brightening from the scowl usually present on his face at the words. Yeah. We totally should.

We’re not getting a dog, Maggie said.

Aw, c’mon, Mag, why not?

Because you can barely stand for more than a couple of minutes. How do you think you’d be able to look after a dog?

Dad frowned. Maggie felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment for saying it so bluntly and coldly like that, but she didn’t take it back.

It was true. Just showing Josephine to the door and switching over to his wheeled oxygen tank had him out of breath today, probably because he’d already spent too long on his feet during Napoleon’s class.

I’d help, Jake tossed in. His voice was smaller than usual, almost hesitant.

Maggie