Page 47 of Murder in the Winter Woods
Ordinarily, this would mean using an old towel, or wet wipes, or getting him to walk about on yesterday’s newspaper, or some other dog-cleaning operation that he and she both disliked. But today, Julia was excited – yes, excited! – to clean Jake’s feet. She had purchased, online, something called the Perfect Paw Washer. The reviews were five star – ‘My Choo Choo loves it!’ and ‘Pinky’s paws have never been so clean!’ – and now Julia would see it in action herself. The item had been delivered three days ago, just before this latest deluge, and it would be used for the first time today. It was a large silicone cup, lined with flexible silicone bristles. It came with a simple set of instructions:
Fill with warm water up to the mark as indicated.
Place the dogs’ paw into the cup.
She tried not to be annoyed by the misplaced apostrophe.
Swirl around gently for 1–2 minutes.
Remove the paw.
Do the same on the other feet.
Julia filled the cup with warm water. It was raining again, so she couldn’t do the operation outside, but she set up a chair and a towel next to the open kitchen door, and called Jake in the calmest of tones: ‘Come here, Jakey boy.’
Jake looked at her warily. Had he identified something suspicious in her too-calm voice? She had taken the precaution of bringing a pocketful of dog treats. She held one out towards him.
He came towards her slowly. She drew her hand back a little so that he was close to her. ‘Sit.’
He sat, and she stroked his ears and spoke soothingly. ‘There’s a good boy, now, let’s wash those feet, shall we?’ Julia lifted his front left paw gently, being careful not to get mud on her clean grey trousers. It struck her that she should probably have done this before getting dressed for work. But Jake was calm, and she would be careful not to get any stray drops of water on her clothes. She brought the cup up to enclose the filthy paw. It was quite a snug fit, but it didn’t seem to bother Jake. She imagined it was rather pleasant, like when you have a footbath before a pedicure. He looked mildly surprised, rather than concerned, to find his paw enveloped in warm water.
Until Julia got to point 3 of the instructions:Swirl around gently for 1–2 minutes.
She took his foreleg firmly and gave it and the cup a few gentle rotations. As the water sloshed around, Jake’s expression went from mildly surprised to alarmed. He pulled away. Somehow, his leg slipped from her clutches, but the Perfect Paw Washer was still firmly attached to his foot. He fell back on the kitchen floor in surprise, and then scrambled to his feet in a panic. When he stood, the cup, still attached to his foot, skidded and clattered against the flagstone tiles. Nowthis, he didn’t really like.
‘Jake, sit! Calm down,’ said Julia, lunging for him. But he was too quick. He made an awkward run for it, with the Perfect Paw Washer still remarkably well-lodged on his right front paw. Jake made a clattering circuit of the kitchen table, showering the place – and his owner – liberally with muddy water, sliding and slipping as he went, before the device finally detached from his foot and skittered across the flagstones, dispersing the rest of the water across the entire area of the floor. Relieved of the dastardly device, Jake bolted for the garden, into the lovely mud and the rain that had started to fall.
Julia surveyed the wet, muddy room, and sighed deeply. What a bloody mess. She would have to clean up the kitchen, and then herself. The grey trousers were unsalvageable, streaked with mud and water. She would be late for her shift at Second Chances, and have to endure Wilma’s pointed checking of her watch as she arrived.
Bending down, she picked up the stupid silicone cup lying empty and innocent under the table. She tossed it angrily into the sink, then fetched the mop, closing the broom cupboard with a satisfying slam.
Why did Jake have to be so unrelentingly clumsy, she wondered, grumpily. Why couldn’t he be more like the docile Chihuahua of the five-star reviewer wholovedthe Perfect Paw Washer?
She sent Wilma a message saying she would be a little late, and set to work mopping up the mess. It was astonishing how far half a cup of muddy water could disperse. She had to get out the kitchen steps to climb up and wipe a splatter from about six feet up the wall. Once she got over her irritation and accepted the situation, however, the cleaning action soothed her, and her cross mood dissipated as order was restored.
Outside the kitchen window, Jake was lumbering happily about, sniffing the morning smells, tail wagging, having quite forgotten his earlier trauma, and caring not a jot for the devastation he’d left in the kitchen. She felt a rush of love for the silly chocolate chap. She couldn’t blame him for the debacle. It was her fault, really. She knew Jake’s ways, and should have known better than to attach a foreign object to his paw and expect him to sit quietly while she jiggled it about and sloshed water all over.
Despite her eventful morning, Julia was only twenty minutes late for her volunteer job at Second Chances. She was a meticulously punctual person, who hated to be late, especially if someone else was inconvenienced by her tardiness. Wilma had said that the Feel-Good Christmas campaign and the festive Christmas display was ‘pulling in the punters’, and it was ‘all hands on deck’ for the Christmas season. Julia knew that the shop was seldom unmanageably busy, especially in the first hour or so, so Wilma and Diane wouldn’t be under excessive pressure. She decided she could afford the extra five minutes required to stop on the way to buy mince pies for her co-workers, as a gesture of goodwill. Spreading the Christmas spirit, and all that.
They had the desired effect, causing a chorus of ‘ooooh’s, and a discussion about whether to have the pies for elevenses, or save them for later. They had yet to reach consensus on the matter when the ringing of the bell above the door alerted them to the arrival of the first customer. The first of many. Julia had never seen the shop so busy as it became that day.
‘I saw the story in theSouthern Timesabout Feel-Good Christmas and I thought, what a good idea,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s good that people are buying second-hand. Much better for the environment, isn’t it? The landfills and all that.’
‘That’s the idea,’ said Wilma brightly.
‘I wouldn’t buy second-hand clothes myself,’ Nicky said, with a little shiver. ‘I know all the young people are into vintage these days, but I just don’t like the thought of it. Someone else’s armpits.’
Wilma blinked at her, at a loss for words, and said weakly, ‘Well, you could wash them first, if you’re not sure.’
‘Nah, not for me. But I’ll see what you have for Sebastian,’ said Nicky, wittering on in her usual stream of consciousness, heading towards the children’s section. ‘Toys and so on. You know what kids are like, half the time you buy the fancy newthing and they don’t even look at it, too busy with a pinecone. Or a snail. Last week, it was a snail he brought into his bedroom, into his actual bed, lord love me.’
The bell rang with the arrival of another customer. ‘Good morning,’ said Diane cheerfully.
A mildly dishevelled-looking man of about sixty nodded in their direction and perused the shelves. Mostly, people who came into the shop wandered about in what seemed to be a purposeless manner, waiting for something to catch their eye, but he seemed to be going systematically, as if in search of something particular.
‘Are you looking for anything specific?’ Diane asked.
‘Yes, I am, actually,’ he said. ‘A guitar.’
