Brightleaf Read Online Free PDF Page A

say, “Do you dye dogs?”
    “Dye? No, ma’am, we only do highlights.”
    “Do you know anyone who does dye dogs?”
    “I can’t say there’s much of a demand for it here in Brightleaf, but you’ll probably find some groomers in Greensboro who can help you. If the dog has a graying problem, you could always try Miss Clairol or Lovin’ Care, and wash that gray right out.”
    “Okay. Thanks,” I say, and set the phone down.
    I look at Floyd. “Miss Clairol, huh?”
    “Did I hear Eleanor say, cute dog ?” Mavis is looking through the kitchen door at Floyd curled up at my feet. He has switched positions at least ten times in the last fifteen minutes.
    “Hey there, baby, where’d you come from?”
    Floyd lifts his head and whimpers. He can spot a softy.
    So can I.
    I seize the opportunity and say, “Mavis, you will not believe what all I’ve been through this morning. I rescued this dog from an abusive owner. See, I spotted the owner kicking it at the park on my way to the preschool. You can imagine the horror I felt and prayed that somehow I could find a way to help this poor creature. Lo and behold, on my way back I noticed the dog making a run for it. I simply slowed down the car, leaned over, and swung open the passenger door and said, Hop in, my man to Floyd here, and he jumped in and we were off.”
    “Floyd? That’s his name?”
    “Well, yes, I took the liberty… Mavis, I need your help. His owner may come around searching for him, so we need to disguise him.” I pause and then add for good measure, “The man looked like a real pervert, too.”
    Mavis nods with gravity in the same way she would if we were protecting a battered woman. “Know just what to do. A few boxes of Rit Dye should fix him. Here, give him to me and rest assured,” says Mavis.
    “Rit Dye?” I ask, kind of dubious. “Isn’t that stuff for dyeing old blue jeans?”
    “I swear by it. Rit’s good for anythang needin a little pick-me-up,” she says. “Take a box of red. You’re fixin to go to a party and only have you an old blue dress, right? Drop that blue dress in a bucket of hot water with a red packet, pull it out an hour later, and you got you a new purple dress. Then dip your little fanger in the bucket of red and rub it on your cheeks and lips, and baby, you got yourself some make-up won’t come off, no matter how drunk you get, how hard you cry, or even if you get locked outside and have to sleep in the bushes. You wake up from that night and look like a thousand dollars.”
    “Is this your personal experience?”
    “I ain’t done that in years, darlin. Anyway, I got a question,” says Mavis.
    “What?”
    “How bout a small tattoo?”
    “Tattoo?”
    “You know, for Floyd here.”
    “That might be considered animal cruelty.”
    “Not a real one. I mean one of them fake tattoos. The rub-on kind.”
    “Whatever.”
    “Oh, goody,” says Mavis, clapping her hands. “Come on now, Floyd baby.”
    She may have some strange ideas, but I love that woman. Okay now, I just have one more call to make that I’ve been avoiding.
    “Hello. Gentle Care for Gentlewomen,” answers a woman’s voice.
    “Hi, I need to make an appointment for a mammogram. No, I’ve never had one. A what? No. I guess I should do that, too, then. I prefer a woman doctor. Is that possible? Mary Beth Green. Ten a.m. on Tuesday? Thanks so much.”
    I have to hand it to Mavis for doing such a professional job on Floyd. Even though the color she used was Midnight Black he turned out more of a deep blue, which is quite attractive. Mavis was worried that if she used more dye she might blind Floyd, or give him brain damage. On Floyd’s shoulder is a little shaved patch plastered with a rose tattoo. The dog looks ready to jump on a Harley and ride down to Daytona.
    “Floyd could use a leather jacket,” I say.
    Floyd’s been with us for three days now and is stinking up the whole downstairs. Mavis says that’s because he’s been eating like