Karma's a Killer (4 page)

The two women rushed off before I could find out what Maggie meant.

Four

Michael left to find
Maggie and see if he could help stop the protest. Forty-five minutes later, the last of the dog walkers finished their loop and started streaming into the main soccer field for the post-walk shenanigans. Like it or not, it was showtime.

I placed a sign on Serenity Yoga's table saying that I'd be back in an hour and headed off with Dale and Bandit for my likely-to-ruin-my-reputation-forever Doga class.

Dale jolted to a stop at the entrance to my makeshift yoga studio. His lips frowned. His nose wrinkled. Even his whiskers quivered in disgust. “What in tarnation is that smell?”

The question was rhetorical. Anyone who'd ever cleaned up after a dog with a bellyache knew that stench. Believe me, it wasn't Nag Champa.

I pointed to the three-foot-tall, overflowing garbage can positioned inside the entrance. The sign taped to the front bore Tiffany's unmistakable handwriting:
Dog Waste Only
. The smell was so rancid that even Bandit gave it a wide berth.

Dale looked the container up and down, as if mentally measuring it. “It looks pretty heavy. Do you want me to try and move it?”

I waved my hand through the air, resigned. Tiffany had won this round. “Thanks, but don't worry about it. Go inside and find someplace to sit—preferably upwind.”

If Tiffany had intended to scare people away from my class, her prank was a grave error. That waste receptacle was like a dog-owner magnet. Dozens upon dozens of tired-looking dog walkers made their way to the doggy-doo can, deposited their bio bags, and continued straight into my practice area. Suffice it to say that the crowd gave the phrase “dog pack” a whole new meaning.

Having that many dogs in such a small space couldn't possibly be a good idea, but I didn't have another alternative. I eased my way to the front and tried to assess the crowd's mood. My audience included most of the dogs I'd seen earlier, as well as quite a few new ones.

A growling Doberman gave the stink-eye to a scruffy black terrier. The mastiff I'd seen earlier rolled to its side and groaned, almost crushing his ancient female owner. The piranha-Chihuahua barked at me from the arms of his owner. The Rott-wiener used all of its strength to keep its massive head up.

My only hope was to get this over with as soon as possible.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled over the din. “Okay everyone, find a space to sit and please ask your dogs to lie down beside you. We don't have any yoga mats today, but the grass will work fine. We'll get started in a few minutes.”

Dale and Bandit claimed a spot in the middle of the front row. A frighteningly large number of people arranged themselves behind them. I should have been pleased at the turnout. After all, what fun is teaching a class if no one attends? Still, when Michael convinced me to participate in this circus, he'd sworn I'd have at most a handful of students. From what I could tell, all twenty-three hundred walkers—and twice that many dogs—had decided take me up on my offer.

I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths, and gave myself a mental pep talk.

It's okay, Kate. You can do this. Forty-five minutes tops and it will all be over. After all, how bad can it …

I made the mistake of opening my eyes. My stomach dropped to my toes.

… be.

Pretty darned bad, evidently.

A middle-aged, heavyset woman elbowed her way to the front and squeezed in beside Dale. One look and I knew I was in trouble. I wasn't worried about her outfit, though her black spandex pants were three sizes too small and she wore a bright pink baseball cap with long, fuzzy rabbit ears. I wasn't even worried about her attitude, though she'd rudely elbowed and pushed and grabbed her way through the crowd to claim the best spot. I was worried about her bag. Or rather the creature that peeped out over the top of it.

A huge, white, floppy-eared bunny.

Bandit took one look at the twitching-nosed creature and froze. His ears perked up; he leaned forward, every muscle fiber in his fifteen-pound body tensed on high alert. Dale sat beside him, eyes closed, oblivious to the impending disaster.

This would never do.

I approached the obviously insane woman with a cautious smile and pretended to assert some yoga teacher authority.

“Hi, I'm Kate. I'm the yoga teacher today. I'm sorry, but I can't allow a rabbit in this class. It will be too distracting for the rest of the animals.”

Bunny Lady nestled the rabbit up close to her chest. He wiggled his nose curiously from between her bulbous breasts. “Alfalfa's not frightened of dogs. He'll be fine.”

Alfalfa wasn't the one I was worried about. “That may be true, but I'd be more comfortable if you and the rabbit waited outside. It's for everyone's safety.”

Bunny Lady's lips thinned to a scowl. She squeezed the poor trapped bunny tightly against her chest and drummed her fingers against his side. A huge diamond ring decorated her left ring finger.

“My husband and I are two of DogMa's biggest contributors. I wrote them a check for ten thousand dollars an hour ago. Do you honestly think that it's wise to refuse me service?”

The answer was no. As in no-win. If I threw Bunny Lady out of the class, she would inevitably take her frustrations out on DogMa. If I let her stay, the dogs might do worse.

She mistook my silence for assent.

“As I thought.” She lifted her lips in a fake smile and pretended to be benevolent. “Don't worry, dear, it will be fine.”

I hoped she was right.

I sat at the front, stared across the crowd, and tried to get my bearings. After multiple years of experience, teaching yoga to humans was easy. I could quickly and intuitively assess
human
yogis' needs at the beginning of each class. Could I do the same with canines?

Might as well give it a try. I closed my eyes and visualized the dogs I'd seen enter the yoga space. The mastiff could use an energizing practice with back bends and flows designed to build vitality. The Chihuahua would benefit from a relaxing practice to address his anger management issues. Maybe I could teach some neck strengthening exercises to that poor Rottie mix.

Dale cleared his throat to get my attention. All around me, dogs and their owners were fidgeting. It was time to begin, whether I was ready or not.

I pulled out the Tibetan chimes I'd brought with me, rang them three times to focus attention, and then stood up so my voice would project through the crowd. “Before we start, I need to set some ground rules.”

I pointed at the empty space beside me. “Notice that I didn't bring a dog today. That's for a couple of reasons. First, I'm here as your teacher, not a participant, so I need to focus all of my attention on you. But more important than that, my crazy pup—though I love her dearly—doesn't like other dogs. She prefers
private Doga.” I grinned, waiting for the crowd's response.

They stared back at me in silence, obviously confused by my joke.

“You know, like private yoga.”

Nothing.

“A single student?”

Not one appreciative twitter.

“It was a joke.”

Dale let out a halfhearted sympathy laugh. I moved on.

“Second, this isn't a dog-training class. In fact, if your partner isn't already well trained, she shouldn't attend.” I looked directly at the Bunny Lady. “For Doga to work, the dog needs to focus on its handler without distraction.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “Now would be a great time to leave if this class isn't right for your pet.”

Two people stood and led their canines toward the exit. The bunny and his owner weren't among them.

I pointed toward the vendor area. “If your dog gets completely out of control, take him to the Pete's Pets booth and ask for free dog treats.” I didn't try to suppress my smirk. “Be sure to tell Tiffany that Kate sent you.”

Complete silence. Not a smile in the area.

So much for my stand-up comedy routine.

“Well, okay then. A couple of additional thoughts. Doga is actually partner yoga, with a little assisted stretching for Fido thrown in. It has been shown to help with behavior issues, particularly separation anxiety. If you practice consistently, you and your dog can develop a stronger, more meaningful bond.”

The more I spoke, the more I realized that, in spite of my reservations, I actually believed what I was saying. I always felt better after I practiced yoga with Bella. Happier. Why wouldn't the reverse be true? I wasn't sure Bella fully understood yoga's connection of body, breath, and mind, but she definitely benefited from my calm, post-yoga energy. And—whether they fit the true definition of yoga or not—assisted stretches and passive range-of-motion exercises helped mitigate arthritis and other orthopedic diseases common in dogs.

I gave the class an encouraging smile and began.

“Let's get started. Put your dog in a down-stay in front of you.”

Dale snapped his fingers, made a sweeping motion with his right hand, and pointed to the ground. Bandit flopped down and stared at him adoringly. The rest of the dogs wiggled, whined, and generally voiced their protests, but most of them eventually lay down in front of their owners. So far so good.

“Place one hand on your abdomen, the other on your dog. Close your eyes and notice your breath.” The humans all complied, which was evidently the opportunity the canines had been waiting for. The Doberman leveled a hard stare at the terrier. The Chihuahua showed me his teeth. Bandit crawl-walked toward the rabbit and drooled.

“On second thought, keep your eyes open and watch your dog, but continue lengthening your breath.” The owners opened their eyes. Many seemed surprised to see their dog focusing elsewhere.

“Breathe in calming energy with every inhale,” I continued. “With every exhale, send that same calming energy to your pet.”

The Chihuahua's owner rolled her eyes at my woo-woo imagery, but the Doberman stopped goading the terrier and Bandit turned back to Dale, which were my primary goals.

After several lengthened breaths, I asked the class to come to hands and knees. “Keep your dog in a down-stay but hold onto his leash, just in case. Place your hips on your heels, reach your arms forward, and rest your forehead on your dog.”

The positioning took more shuffling than I had anticipated, but the class eventually found the right place. “With each inhale, come to hands and knees. With each exhale, fold back and bring your hips to your heels again in Child's Pose. Touch your forehead to your dog.”

The mastiff closed his eyes and sighed in pure pleasure. The Chihuahua tolerated two repetitions before it jumped up, shook its entire body, turned, and barked at the Bunny Lady. His beady little eyes stared hungrily at her pant leg.

Time to shift tactics.

“Tell you what—let's come to standing and try some balance postures instead.” I looked pointedly at the Chihuahua's owner. “If your dog is small, pick it up and hold it in your arms.”

I asked the class to watch as I demonstrated several variations of Tree Pose. “Shift your weight to your left foot and place the sole of your right foot on your left inner thigh.”

“Are you kidding me?” the elderly woman asked.

I smiled. “Or you can keep the toes of your right foot on the grass for balance. There are three options for your dogs. Option one is to keep your dog in a sit next to you. Option two—for those of you with small dogs—is to cradle your pup in your arms. If your dog is tiny, you can try option three, which is to reach your arms up like this, holding your dog overhead.” I pantomimed holding a tiny dog between my palms and lifting it up.

Bunny Lady, of course, chose option three.

She grasped Alfalfa between two chubby palms and thrust him up to the sky. Alfalfa didn't appreciate his new view. He squirmed, he lurched. I would have sworn that he frowned. When that didn't get Bunny Lady's attention, he thrashed his body weight forward while forcefully kicking two bunny-sized feet back, straight into her nose.

“Hey!” she yelled.

To be fair, Bunny Lady gave that balance pose one valiant effort. She weebled and wobbled and wove and warbled. For an insane, hopeful moment, I thought she might remain standing. But the piranha-
Chihuahua couldn't withstand the temptation. He spied her flapping pant leg, dove from his owner's arms, and chomped onto the fabric.

Bunny Lady yelled, “Get it off of me!” and dropped both Alfalfa and his leash.

The terrified rabbit skirted away from the falling monolith. Dale somehow managed to hang on to Bandit, but that didn't stop the other terrier. The little black monster slipped his collar and tore after Alfalfa. The Doberman broke free and chased after them both.

All of Green Lake seemed to erupt in an explosion of barking, chasing, howling, and lunging as hare and hounds zipped through the crowd, ducked under the rope, and tore across the main soccer field toward the hot dog stand. Bouncing cellulite, flopping bunny ears, and deep-throated growls ripped through the air. And that was just from the Bunny Lady.

The animals collided in front of the condiment table.

Innocent bystanders dove in all directions, some trying to escape the melee, others trying to stop it. I stared in horror at the Tasma
nian Devil–like vortex of fur, teeth, ketchup, and hotdog buns. When the food stopped flying, a triumphant-looking teenager cradled the bunny; an angry-looking, ketchup-covered man wrestled the terrier. Michael, having come from lord only knows where, held onto the collar of the still-lunging Doberman.

Michael was the first to arrive back at my yoga area. He handed the Doberman's leash to its handler, who apologized and quickly skirted off into the crowd. The terrier's owner ran to the food truck and ineffectually dabbed napkins across the shirt of his dog's rescuer.

The rabbit-carrying teen arrived last. Bunny Lady marched up to him imperiously, her rabbit-ear hat askew like a poorly fitted toupee. She grabbed Alfalfa from the teen without so much as a thank you.