Only the intervention of onlookers finally managed to pull the dogs apart, but not before Sam had sunk his teeth into his opponent’s shoulder and neck and after Cookie’s mistress had become tangled in the leash and fallen to the ground.

Martin’s first and fleeting impulse was to simply run with or without Sam. Civility and civilization were stronger than the impulse. After finally securing the enraged and wildly lunging Sam to the park bench, he joined the crowd now gathering around the two victims of the fracas. As he’d expected, the woman was furious over what she considered an unprovoked attack on her dog. Fortunately for all concerned, a burly male was now restraining the now bloody Cookie with an iron grip on his collar.

"My God," the woman was saying. "Look what your dog did to Cookie."

While Martin felt that Cookie had gotten exactly what he deserved, he also recognized that the rules of engagement for humans had little application to dogs. Had they been two children, the question would have immediately focused on who had hit whom first. But with dogs, there was no point in trying to determine who the aggressor had been. The only fair thing was for Martin to take full responsibility for the wounded. He still found it difficult to understand how anyone could be so affected about anything happening to a dog, especially one possessing Cookie’s obviously murderous nature. The woman was clearly upset and concerned about the creature.

Martin would have volunteered to take Cookie to the vet, under suitable and close supervision of course, but the diminishment in the flow of blood indicated that death was not imminent. Christine Trotter—an exchange of cards had followed Martin’s acceptance of total responsibility for the damage done to Cookie—indicated she would drive Cookie off for treatment, and Martin agreed to pay the vet. He would have agreed to practically anything by now in order to get Sam home and retreat to a lonelier but far more peaceful existence.

The return was uneventful, since Sam showed as little interest in his surroundings on the trip home as he had on most of his jaunt through the park. With relief, Martin swung open the gate to the Willard’s yard and released Sam who promptly stretched out in the path.

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It was during the noon news that the phone rang. Christine was reporting back from the vet’s. Despite appearances, damage had been minimal. Martin was relieved to hear that the bill came to only forty dollars, having prepared himself to find out that Cookie would need major surgery and a week’s rest and recuperation at the vet’s. Christine told him she would send him the bill. Martin, feeling it was only fair to save her this additional inconvenience and by now having decided that Sam probably had been the aggressor, asked to meet her at a nearby café for coffee.

Initially, the best part of this second encounter with Christine was Cookie’s absence, but as coffee burgeoned into lunch, Martin found himself caught up with his companion. The conversation shifted very swiftly from Cookie’s medical condition to other topics.

Occupation? Insurance adjuster. Martin had only the dimmest notion concerning what insurance adjusting entailed, but was also aware that "civil engineer" probably meant even less to Christine. Soon they were talking about common interests. They skirted around politics and found that neither was much concerned, committing themselves to performing their civic duties entirely at the ballot box. Neither had either religious fervor or religious preferences. Mutual addictions consisted of black coffee and TV-quiz shows. The hour was a pleasant one. Vague promises of keeping in touch were made.

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Monday morning at work, Chuck came by Martin’s office for a report on his adventures with Sam. Martin soon made it clear that the experiment with Sam had not been a glowing success as he gave Chuck the details of the canine combat.

"I can’t believe it," Chuck said, shaking his head. "Sam has never so much as growled at another dog never mind attacked one. You sure you were walking the right dog? Look at it this way, you met someone and she looks good—no eye in the middle of her forehead or anything like that."

Martin admitted that Christine looked very good. She had considerable charm and had a series of compatible values and interests. She probably wasn’t married since she wasn’t wearing a ring. Christine had a lot going for her. But she also had a dog whose dislike of Martin seemed matched only by Martin’s dislike for Cookie.

"She might be willing to part with the dog," Chuck suggested.

"No way. She was really upset at what happened to that monster," Martin said. "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. 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, they had met downtown for two dinner dates and an evening at the theater. Martin had to admit there was positive chemistry there, and he was reasonably certain Christine felt it too.

The Matchmaker -3 >>>(Continue)