Chapter 5

“Min-pin.”

“What?”

“Miniature Pinscher.”

“What? Like a miniature Doberman?”

“Actually,” I said, but then hesitated. I’d had a bad reaction to my previous explication. But when he turned to me, his eyebrows raised, I continued, “Min-pins are an older breed than Dobermans. Pinschermeans biter—like terrierin English.” I stopped, biting my tongue, unsure about whether terrieractually had anything to do with biteor tear

But he looked at me, and nodded, seemingly impressed. Then, looking at the picture again, he reached up and stroked Nikki’s image with a finger. I felt myself choke up a little—Nikki was always a slightly painful topic for me, given that she had been hit by a car.

“Uh, would you like a beer?” I said, more to change the subject than for any other reason.

He turned slowly, his mind obviously elsewhere, probably with Dude. Then he seemed to focus, and his lip curled slightly.

“Youhave beer?”

He had me, of course. I don’t actually like beer.