Sleeps with Dogs by Lindsey Grant Read Free Book Online Page B

herding or guarding, the more time I spent with this trio of Tervs, the more I wondered at my own ignorance that the two could be confused or even compared.
    The German shepherds I worked with were keen to please and get their job done with care and efficiency; the Tervs’ sole focus seemed to be getting where they’re going or obtaining what they want, and fast. Of course, that could have been specific to these particular dogs and not all Tervuren shepherds. I was quickly learning that for every generalization about breeds, there were as many exceptions that challenged my previously held conceptions. Environment and especially training seemed to have just as much to do with any dog’s temperament as their genetic provenance.
    The athleticism of these particular Tervs, at least, overrode any impulse control or command to slow down. Which is where the extensive agility training surely came in handy. Just as much as their speed and precision garnered them awards, it seemed that same conditioning to stop, sit, wait, and heel were equally beneficial for the humans—and any other dogs—that came into contact with them.
    The front of the house was entirely overrun by the dogs. Toys were strewn over every surface; there were water bowls of varying sizes and heights in strategic locations throughout the entryway, living room, and kitchen. The pantry was stacked deep with treats for training, reward, and dietary supplement. Their owners administered these very carefully depending on the dog and the context. It took me at least a week’s worth of visits to get the treat distribution down pat.
    Then of course, there was the mantle of fame. The owners were going to have to extend the mantle or add a shelf, as the trophies, certificates, statuettes, and ribbons were threatening to spill over onto the floor. Or, more hazardously, into the fireplace itself.
    Once the front door was bolted, offering no option of escape, Rascal backed off to see what I had to offer. Zipper was barking madly, running laps at warp-like speed around the large center kitchen island, while Rascal awaited my next move, his intelligent eyes trained on me and his head cocked. Though he was still, he was wired for action, his whole body tensed for my cue. He was significantly larger than his female counterpart, standing about half a head taller. I was grateful that it was the smaller of the adult dogs that was so excitable. If he were as wild as Zipper, there would be no managing him.
    What I had to offer Rascal, always, was freedom from the house in the enclosed backyard. But first, I had to retrieve the third corner of this Terv triangle. Slinky was still being crate trained and was kept in the back bedroom in a handsome mahogany affair that had to have cost a bundle. The wooden slats of the cage matched the wood of the dresser and bed frame, her enclosure as much a piece of furniture as a tool for training. She waited patiently as I unhooked the latch to her crate, and she accepted my caresses and kisses upon the supernaturally soft crown of her head, offering me a reciprocal lick on my hand.
    Though her face was still puppy-cute and her head and paws just slightly too big for her growing body, she already sported the lean, angular frame of a Terv. Unlike the older dogs, who cared singularly about getting out of the house, she was content to hang back a bit, keeping pace with me as we worked our way through the house. Whether it was the puppy in her, or the innate animal knowledge that she was the submissive in the pack—the low dog on the totem pole—Slinky was distinctly well-mannered. She was a little lady, deferring to others carefully in a way that came across as dainty.
    As I picked my way across the living room minefield of rope toys, stuffed animals, kongs, and other miscellanea that may not have been intended as toys but fell victim to the dogs’ jaws nevertheless, Rascal clued into my trajectory. As though a switch had