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MATCHMAKER continued. "No way! She was really upset at what happened to that monster. In fact, she was so upset, that I'm amazed she even accepted my invitation to lunch. You can't imagine how concerned she was about Cookie." "I'd be more concerned about someone who would give their Doberman a name like Cookie. But don't give up. Give her a call. Maybe the dog will die of a heart attack." Martin looked glum. "I doubt he's very old. He looks healthy as a horse - and about as big." Even so, he did give Christine a call. By the end of the week, there had been two dinner-dates and an evening at the theater. Martin had to admit that there was chemistry there, and he was reasonably certain that Christine felt it too. Saturday morning, the week's anniversary of their encounter, Martin arrived at a blue chip decision. His attraction to Christine had reached the point where the subject of dogs had to be broached and resolved. Since his polite but perfunctory inquiries as to Cookie's condition at their initial luncheon meeting, there had been not so much as a word between them on the subject. Much as he was attracted to her, the thought of any close association with Cookie was too serious a matter to simply brush under the rug. It took him almost an hour to make up his mind to phone and fifteen minutes more to work up his courage sufficiently to deal with the topic. "Christine, I think we should discuss dogs." "I agree, Martin." Christine's voice matched the tenseness in Martin's. "I've been thinking about that, and I guess we might just as well get it over with. How do you really feel about Sam?" Martin tried desperately to fit the question into some kind of context. It occurred to him that he had never indicated to her that Sam was a borrowed dog. Martin was rather hurt to think that Christine's dog would take precedence over what she thought was his dog. It was a side of her he hadn't seen before. He didn't like it. Evasively, he ventured, "Why do you ask?" "Well, I don't like dogs. In fact I can't stand them." Martin shook his head in utter disbelief. "But. . .what about Cookie?" "Oh. I guess I didn't tell you. Cookie isn't my dog. He's my boss's dog. She had a sudden medical emergency and her regular dog-sitter was out of town, so she asked me to take care of him last weekend. Believe me, I didn't want to, but she's great to work for, so what else could I do?" Martin quickly revealed Sam's true status, and the next hour's conversation was one of the most pleasant in Martin's memory. A dinner engagement, and perhaps more, was planned for the coming evening. Only a knock on the door finally terminated the phone call. Martin opened it to find a grinning Chuck with Sam in tow. "Hi, Martin. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try again? Sam's game for another walk." Sam followed his master into the room, looked around and then immediately plunked himself down on the floor. "No, thanks," Martin said, reaching down and giving an appreciative pat to an unresponsive head. "Sam has already served his purpose." The End.
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