THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

with pads, when we weren’t with her. The only bright note was her tendency to wander in circles, seemingly aimlessly, before she did anything. A quick grab and a rush outside prevented yet another accident. Bit by bit we found that she was good for approximately four hours between chores. Our lives centered around her bowel and urinary tract actions.
    Her saving grace was her dance of joy whenever she peed or pooped. She would stand on her hind legs and hop up and down, obviously delighted with her achievement.
    It was almost worth all the trouble when she met Alexander. He managed to look shocked, offended, fierce, and unbelieving at the same time when the puppy discovered him in the kitchen and tried to make friends. He hissed fiercely. She wiggled with delight. He slapped her a good one and although she cried out in surprise, she didn’t seem to understand that the cat was the source of the pain. He puffed himself up, sat on his haunches, hissed loudly and slapped her yet again. This time she sat down and studied him, cocking her head to first one side and then the other. He finally decided she’d learned her lesson and lowered his front feet so he could groom his fluffed hair.
    Ah, we all thought. She’s learned what a grump he is. She’ll leave him alone after that lesson.
    Wrong.
    The whole scenario took place so many times, every time they met, that Alexander was the first to give in, confining his appearances to when she was sleeping or food was an issue. He would retreat to a higher position if necessary and she never seemed to realize how to reach him, even when it was possible. Fortunately, she turned out to be as much of a food addict as the rest of us, and mealtimes caused minimal overtures of friendship before her attention returned to the main object—human food.
    Naming her turned out to be simple. Patsy insisted that she looked exactly like her favorite stuffed dog from her childhood. I thought her memo ry was probably a little skewed since I couldn’t imagine any company turning out a toy that looked like that, but it hardly mattered. Reality is simply what we see it as. And the stuffed dog had been named Binky. It kind of fitted her, a cute childish name for a cute childish dog.
    It wasn’t until I brought her into the vet several weeks later that the first inkling of the truth came out. Binky happily let them poke her and prod her, wagging her tail delightedly when she was given a rectal temperature check. It was when the vet waved her hand gently back and forth to check the puppy’s eyesight that things started going wrong. Once Binky’s attention was focused on the hand, the vet would start moving it from side to side. Sometimes Binky would follow the movement, sometimes she seemed to lose interest.
    “Is something wrong with her eyes?” I asked nervously.
    “I don’t think so.” She sounded tentative. “Let me check a few more things.”
    She squeezed toes and lifted legs one at a time. The puppy endured it all quite happily. I couldn’t see what the point was. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?” I finally ventured again.
    “I think we’ll run a few blood tests,” I was told. My heart sank. “Does she have any coordination problems?”
    “She does run into walls sometimes, but I think that’s only because she’s excited and hasn’t really mastered having only three legs.”
    She put Binky on the floor. Binky stood for a minute and then noticed me. She trotted over to me, delighted to see I was still around. The vet called her name. The little dog looked around, cocking her head in interest. Finally she turned enough to see the vet, and trotted over to visit her.
    “Is it her ears?” I asked. “Maybe she doesn’t hear things right.”
    “Um, we’ll check, but I don’t think that’s a problem.”
    The assistant drew blood for testing. Binky yipped once, but quickly recovered her usual good temper. By this time, I was a wreck. “What do you think is wrong?” I begged for an