Chapter 20: The Trainer

At four o'clock on Halloween, Camille's trainer walked into Silvan's backyard with a clipboard and a whistle.

A man in a gorilla suit walked in behind him.

Camille came next in a cream coat, with her cameraman at her heel.

A lawyer in a navy suit followed, carrying a letter and nothing else.

"This is a courtesy," the lawyer said. "Mr. Waverley has until five to prove the dog is safe."

"Gerald is safe," Silvan said.

"We'll see," said the trainer.

He was a broad man with a shaved head.

The first thing he did was set a plastic hand on a stick beside Gerald's dinner bowl.

"Resource test," he said. "I'll push the bowl away with the hand. A dangerous dog will bite it."

Gerald watched the hand come toward his dinner.

He waited. The hand pushed the bowl a foot to the left.

Gerald looked at the hand, looked at the trainer, and held up one paw.

"He's offering to shake it," I said.

"He's staring," said the trainer, and wrote something down.

"Staring isn't a bite."

"It's a threat posture."

"Then he's very polite about it," Silvan said.

Camille stepped forward with her warm mug and spoke to the lens.

"I just want everyone to know this is hard for me. Gerry is my baby."

I let it go by. I did not say a word.

Then I saw her chin tighten, and she tried again.

"Gerald," she said. "Gerald is my baby."

"Thank you," I said. "That's a dollar back."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're owed a credit for the correct name. You're now at four dollars even."

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