"Doranna Durgin - A Feral Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durgin Doranna)

Flowers the Poodle, thinking herself sly, jerked her paw from Brenna's grasp and made a break for it,
darting for freedomтАФonly long enough to hit the edge of the table and the end of the noose at the same
time. With an exasperated noise, Brenna scooped her out of midair and plunked her back in place. "Act
your considerable age. You're not making my day any easier," she growled, and there was something to
that growl that finally got through to the tiny dog.

Or else she was simply humbled by her brief midair experience. Brenna sighed. "Count yourself lucky it
wasn't a bungee cord," Brenna said and went back to work, once more thankful that the Pets! grooming
room was tucked away from customer eyes and not behind glass as some of the other major pet store
chains insisted. Between the clamping adjustment on the noose and the dog's inconsequential weight, she
could have hung there for quite some time without dire result, but best if no one saw. Not something a
customer would understand.

Or a manager, for that matter.

Especially not the manager who now stood in the doorway, arms crossed. She found him when she
circled the table to get a better angle on Flowers' back leg, simultaneously changing to a longer blade
without stopping the clippers, a practiced motion of skillful fingers. But when she saw Roger . . .then she
turned off the clippers. She knew that look, and it never boded well.

Roger was boss, and he knew it. And being boss meant telling people to do the impossible and smiling
benignly when they had no choice but to agree. He wasn't a big man, but he had a meaty look to him; he
filled out his shirts with a bulk that at one point had been muscle and now wasn't so sure anymoreтАФjust
as his dull brown hair still held the style that had suited it when it was thick. Now Brenna thought a quick
pass or two with her clippersтАФa nice #4 bladeтАФwould be a mercy.

"Busy in here today," he said. "That's the way I like to see it."

"Keeps things interesting." Brenna grabbed the ever-handy broom for a few quick, futile swipes at the
growing tumbles of dog hair around her feet. The small room held three height-adjustable grooming
tables, but the third table no longer adjusted without several people grunting and hauling and twisting it,
so they kept it at the lowest height and used it for the largest dogs. Other than that, it usually held a
fishbowl full of tiny handmade bows, with the bows-in-progress beside it. There was a short set of corner
shelves and two rolling carts crammed with grooming equipment; the tub room held the shop vac and a
plain grooming table where they towel-dried the dogs before popping them into crates to sit before
powerful crate and stand dryers. Three tables but not quite enough space for three active groomers; they
never had more than two on shift at once, with only three on the payroll and Brenna as senior.

"Just signed up another one for you," Roger said, and his voice held that tone, the one he used when he
knew he'd done something to ruin her day but had done it anyway because it would make a happy
customer. Or so he thought, with the giant assumption that things would turn out his way.

They weren't likely to. Not this time. "I can't fit in any more dogs today. I can't do any more dogs than
this in one dayever , unless you get me experienced help."

"I gave you Katy," he protested, throwing his arms out wide.