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Phryne was driving home from her milliner, enjoying a rare bright Melbourne spring day when she spotted a familiar profile standing with his hands in his pockets and his shoulder against a thin gum tree. Jack had his head tilted towards the ground, as if he was watching something obscured by the low shrubs surrounding the park.
Immediately curious, Phryne wrenched the wheel and brought her Hispano around in a sharp u-turn. She found a park behind some shrubbery, and secured her new hat before slinking past the low park fence and towards him.
As she approached, the reason for his apparent preoccupation with his knees became clear - a small, hairy dog was bounding around him, huffing and shaking its head with a yellow ball clamped between its teeth. The dog dropped its ball as Phryne stepped forward, and rocketed towards her, barking joyously.
“It seems that I can never sneak up on you, Jack,” Phryne told him, stepping over the enthusiastic creature at her feet to stand at his side.
A warm smile softened Jack’s face for a moment as he saw her, and then he nodded his head in greeting.
“Miss Fisher,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, you know,” she replied lightly, “just passing through. I saw that you had a new friend and thought I just had to stop and say hello.”
Jack eyed the dog with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s my sister’s mutt,” he told her. “I’m just watching him while she’s in Adelaide.”
They both watched ‘his sister’s mutt’, as he turned a circle around Phryne’s legs, his nose pressed into her stockings.
Phryne bent down and rubbed a thumb across the soft fluff of the dog’s ear. “What a sweet little thing. What’s his name?” she asked.
Jack squinted off into the distance and cleared his throat.
“My niece named him when she was four. She spent a whole week deliberating on the decision. Even made me read her some baby name books.”
Phryne smirked at him.
“It might have been the most important decision your niece had ever made,” she said, with mock seriousness.
Jack chuckled, and shrugged.
The dog rolled onto his back and showed Phryne his little pink belly, wriggling frantically in anticipation. Phryne shared an amused look with Jack before crouching to stroke at the dog’s soft skin and thick curls.
“So… what did she name him in the end?” Phryne asked Jack.
Jack shrugged again, and bent down to snatch the yellow ball off the grass. Phryne watched him lazily toss it, enjoying the lines of his thin broad shoulders and the play of his muscles under his shirt.
The dog rolled gracelessly to his feet and scrambled after the ball, leaving Phryne empty handed on the grass.
Jack offered her his hand, and pulled her to her feet.
“He’s a good dog really,” he told her apologetically.
The creature in question returned with his ball and dropped it at Phryne’s feet. Phryne claimed it, and pelted it across the park. The movement dislodged her scarf, and she eyed Jack thoughtfully as she tugged it back into place.
“Ja-ack,” she said, “you still haven’t told me the dog’s name.”
Jack cleared his throat and nodded.
“That’s true,” he said gruffly.
“Well?” Phryne demanded, gesturing in impatience.
“Booger.”
“What?”
“His name is Booger,” Jack explained with a sigh.
He squinted into the distance again, and dug his hands deeper into his pockets.
Phryne felt a gleeful smile curling her lips, and bit back the laugh that was bubbling up inside her.
“A dog named Booger?” she said, grinning. “I can see why you were being evasive.”
Jack winced. “I didn’t name him,” he protested.
Booger arrived at their feet with his ball, stumbling as he came to an abrupt stop. He immediately folded himself nearly in two and began nipping at one of his back legs.
“Well, Booger,” Phryne told him. “You don’t have a terribly dignified name.”
Jack snorted.
“It’s a good thing he’s not a terribly dignified dog,” he replied dryly.