by Jerold Last
Bruce gave a gentle tug on the Flexi-lead and turned back towards the parked minivan. “I think Juliet’s good to go, so let’s get going. I’d just as soon get settled into the motel before it gets dark.”
Five hours or so northwest of Los Angeles on Interstate 5 is Stockton, a large industrial city in the San Joaquin Valley about an hour or so south of Sacramento. It has a big deep-water port connected to San Francisco Bay by the deep-water channel of the San Joaquin River. Constant dredging of the river allows large cargo ships to reach the inland port city, a major facility for shipping agricultural products from the San Joaquin Valley via the Pacific Ocean. Despite the busy port, Stockton has serious financial issues and one of the highest homicide rates in the United States.
Stockton annually hosts a large dog show the fourth weekend in November, which is usually after Thanksgiving. We had driven up to Stockton on Friday for the Saturday and Sunday shows, which were held at the San Joaquin County Fairgrounds. The large venue has plenty of space for a thousand dogs and their associated owners and handlers, as well as thousands more spectators who came to watch the dogs and the competition. Sherry had arranged rooms for us at a local dog-friendly motel. It would be Bruce’s first and second chances to show Juliet.
The motel manager recommended a restaurant half a mile or so from the motel for dinner. It was part of a chain of places called “The Feedlot’s Finest”, celebrating the local beef cattle industry. The steaks and roasts were especially recommended, and by L.A. standards a real bargain. For about $25 each we had a very, very good steak dinner with all the trimmings and a couple of beers. Our discussion was unusually personal, which was not our usual way of interacting. Bruce kicked things off by reminding me of our day of fun and games together in Montevideo a few months ago.
“Do you think things are likely to get physical during this case, Roger, like they did the last time? I wouldn’t mind a little physical action again.”
Bruce was reminding me of our visits to several drug dealers while we were solving the case we called The Matador Murders. “Not at this stage of things, Bruce. I think you’re about to learn that the life of the Private Detective doing undercover work is mostly just kind of boring. As far as I can tell, we’re just looking at shadows and suspicions now. If we succeed in this investigation, we’ll most likely find some white-collar crime at worst. But what makes this kind of life fun is you never know for sure, and it’s a real good idea to stay alert if you want to live into old age.”
“You never told me how you got into this line of work, Roger. I’ve just picked up bits and pieces, like you used to be a cop. What’s your story?”
I speared a piece of steak onto my fork and chewed my T-bone. Then I drank a little bit of the beer. “My dad was military police in the Navy, then civilian police in San Diego. I grew up in San Diego with everyone in the family assuming I’d follow in his footsteps and become a cop, but I wasn’t ready for that when I graduated from college where I majored in chemistry. So for my next step I went to law school at UCLA. The law degree and my B.S. in chemistry got me into patent law, where I made a ton of money and was bored stiff with my job. By that time I was ready to follow in my Dad’s footsteps. At the time the Los Angeles police department was hiring and I was qualified for the police academy, so that’s where my police career started. I was good at it and had the law degree so moved up to homicide detective pretty quickly. With real good case clearance rate, I was fast tracked for success by the time I realized it was the wrong job for me. Too much political B.S. and too many rules for someone like me who needs to be his own boss. I had some money saved up and a bunch of nice office furniture from the former law practice that belonged to me, which along with my police experience was all I needed to get a P.I. license and here we are.”
Some more steak with a forkful of mushrooms got chewed and swallowed, followed by another drink from my glass of beer. “Nothing much happened for the first six months or so after I opened my P.I. office. Then I lucked out and had a bunch of business come to me all at once, mostly stuff I could do anywhere I had access to a computer. One of my first big cases was a client who walked in off the street and asked me to go with her to Salta, Argentina to investigate who murdered her father. That’s how I first met Suzanne and that’s how we both got interested in South America. I fell in love with her less than 30 seconds after she walked into my office, and we clicked as a couple. Her father left her a ton of money, plus the house in Beverly Hills free and clear, so we can afford a full-time Nanny and the occasional trip to interesting places. Neither of us would know what to do with ourselves if we weren’t working, along with our quality family time and the occasional murders in Montevideo. And that’s how we got to this point in our lives.”
I slathered a generous amount of butter on a slice of some superb warm sourdough bread and took a bite. “How about you, Bruce? Have you figured out where you want to be in 5 years?”
Bruce pondered how he should reply for a moment, then looked directly at me and smiled as he answered my question. “I’m not sure what I want to be in 5 months, much less 5 years from now, Roger. I’m just taking life as it comes these days. Right now life is good with you guys and I love Robert. I’m kind of hoping he’ll get a little sister in a year or two so I can hang around a while and maybe become their Uncle Bruce, but that’s kind of up to you guys. I don’t see a college degree in my future because I don’t like school and tests, which puts some limits on what I can be and do, but that doesn’t bother me too much. I’m enjoying the whole private detective thing, when you give me a chance to help out. Lately, I’ve really enjoyed the chance to train Juliet. For now, the dog shows thing sounds like a lot of fun”
Bruce glanced at his watch. “We have an early call tomorrow morning and it’s getting late. We still have to walk Juliet. Are you ready to head back to the motel yet?”
The next morning we had an early breakfast at one of a well-known chain of restaurants near our motel famous for their big breakfasts and headed to the Fairgrounds.
Bruce and I went through the orientation, which was run by Sherry. We learned not only the rules for the dogs and handlers inside and outside the ring, but also such essentials as where the food and bathrooms were in relation to the show rings, and the location of ring #7, where Juliet was scheduled to compete on Saturday. We were given a quick tour of the fairgrounds as part of our being oriented to find our way around this huge show venue. The county fairgrounds was a sprawling area of grass, dirt and gravel roads, paved parking areas, and buildings to support the county fair, an annual event to showcase the agricultural productivity of California’s vast Central Valley. The dog show used a small fraction of the total space, with parking for RVs, trucks, and cars radiating outward from the core area where the show rings were set up.
We learned the RV parking areas were very expensive to rent space in, but included convenient hook-ups for electricity and water. There was plenty of unused space on the fairgrounds for walking and exercising dogs and to empty them. These areas were not fenced and dogs were expected to be on leashes at all times. Just about all of the regulars who camped in their RVs at the fairgrounds had exercise pens in their vehicles for the dogs to use while waiting to be shown. These collapsible metal devices were open wire mesh enclosures that set up securely on grass or dirt. They gave the dogs plenty of space to move around or to lie down and spread out, relax, and occasionally socialize with other dogs through the openings. Larger exercise pens could accommodate several dogs in a single structure.
Sherry and I stood together out of Juliet’s line of sight watching Bruce’s inaugural appearance on Saturday. Sherry maintained a running commentary, initially for my benefit but later on to vent her frustrations about what was happening, while we watched. Bruce did a pretty good job of stacking Juliet for her detailed examination by the judge. Juliet’s tail and head were held high and her ears were eagerly perked forward as she looked for treats that were not forthcoming. “Give her the
liver now, Bruce,” Sherry implored under her breath. “You’re supposed to be baiting the dog when she’s stacked the way you want her to look.”
However, disaster loomed when Bruce was asked to gait her across the ring and back. In this maneuver the judge can see whether the dog’s movement is consistent with what they would predict from her structure when stacked. Halfway to the other side of the ring, Bruce gave a quick jerk on the leash to adjust Juliet’s position. Juliet’s tail and ears drooped and she dropped into a “heel” position, moving slowly beside him. I heard Sherry saying “No, no, Bruce. This isn’t obedience training. You want her out in front of you looking eager and perky. Bait her with some liver to get her head up and get her moving! Oh no, Bruce, don’t correct her. Encourage her. Play with her.”
When Bruce tried to speed her up with another quick jerk on the lead, her nose dropped to the ground and her strides became even shorter. By this time they reached the end of the ring and turned back. Juliet was completely confused as to what Bruce wanted her to do, so she ducked under his arm behind him to get back to the judge by the most direct route possible rather than going around Bruce as half of a dynamic pair. “He needs a lot of work with her,” Sherry mumbled. “He’s got it all wrong, but it should be easy to fix.”
The next maneuver, a big circle around the ring, didn’t go any better. Juliet trotted slowly and dispiritedly around, showing none of her ability to fly when moving. She looked very ordinary, not like a dog shouting to the judge and spectators “look at me. Look at me.” Every time Bruce tugged at the lead to lift her head up and quicken her pace, she responded by dropping her nose to the ground and slowing down. You could almost see and hear her asking Bruce, “What do you really want me to do here?”
Bruce is a quick study. He didn't win any points with Juliet that weekend in Stockton, but he quickly transitioned from looking like he wasn’t sure what he was doing on Saturday to just another professional handler in serious competition with some of the best German Shorthaired Pointers in the United States. Saturday afternoon, after the competition, Sherry had taken Bruce aside to show him the different responses Juliet had, depending on how she was handled. A strong man with perhaps too firm a hand appeared to Juliet as a dominant male, so she responded with submissive behaviors. By contrast, Sherry, who she trusted, guided her using positive reinforcement, praise, and a happy upbeat attitude. Juliet responded with exactly the correct mix of sassy self-confidence and showmanship in the ring. Juliet was actually being seriously looked over and considered for the points by the judge on Sunday. As Bruce's confidence and understanding of the human-dog dynamic increased, he guided Juliet with a much lighter touch and positive rewards. Juliet went from looking confused and having her tail tucked under her butt on Saturday, to having fun in the ring on Sunday and clearly telling everybody to look at her as she trotted around the ring with her head and tail in the air.
This time Sherry’s comments while Bruce showed Juliet sounded a lot better to me. “That’s the way to bait her. Good job! Very gentle hands, don’t tug on the lead. Look at her. She’s actually having fun in there. Great job of moving her out!” The transformation in Bruce clearly pleased Juliet, who put her front paws on Bruce’s shoulders after the competition and planted a great big slurpy kiss on his face to encourage his new behaviors.
When I wasn’t watching Bruce and Juliet in the show ring, I spent my time just walking around, listening, and absorbing the vibes at the show. I had several impressions from what I was seeing and hearing. Just about every dog or bitch had a rooting section among the audience: owners, family, and fans. Many of the handlers were professionals, leaving the dog’s owners as part of the audience. When an owner handled their own dog in the ring, they usually had pertinent others or family and friends in the audience to cheer them on and perhaps help to favorably influence the judge’s opinion. There was a lot of excitement during the judging, with smatterings of applause and cheers for individual dogs as they came under the judge’s watchful eye. After the judge’s decisions were made, there seemed to be a lot of second-guessing and bitching by the fans and owners of the losing dogs who weren’t selected.
After each of Juliet's ring appearances, Bruce and Sherry got together for her to critique in great detail his handling in the show ring and to discuss what had occurred. I sat in on these talks and learned a lot.
"There's no shame in being on a learning curve, Bruce," Sherry told him. "We've all been in that situation when we started out. I'm amazed at how fast you're picking this stuff up. The judge yesterday would never have picked Juliet as a winner, no matter how well you showed her. He's looking for a tall, long legged bitch who pushes the breed standard for height. Juliet is 22.5 inches at the shoulder, 0.5 inch less than the breed standard and 1.5 inches shorter than the maximum allowable height. Part of what I love aboot her conformation is how compact and muscular she looks and how fast and effortlessly she can run. Today's judge tends to pick Juliet's type more often than yesterday's judge, but he wasn't ready to pick her at this level of competition with a less than perfect job of handling. He gave her a good looking over, though, which is encouraging. You must have done a good job of handling her in the judge’s eye to get her noticed.
"During my next break, let's go over a few tricks you can do with Juliet to make her show better, and in the next two weeks before the Woodland shows, let's have a practice session with her. Juliet knows what she's supposed to do in the ring. A lot of how she actually performs relates to her level of comfort with her handler. The more you two can practice together and get used to each other, the better. You’ll get her best effort if you can make the entire show experience into a big game for Juliet to have fun. I think we can get you up to competitive speed by the next show or two if you keep practicing with her between the shows.
Sherry turned directly towards me. "Both judges picked excellent dogs to get the regular points and the grand Champion select points, Roger. I didn't see anything particularly hinky going on concerning which dogs were picked. The judging for this breed seemed to be fair and honest, and well within the range of differences between what each judge likes and is looking for."
This seemed to be a good time to clarify something, so I asked Sherry a question I’d been wondering about for the last couple of days. “I’ve heard a lot of complaining about the judging results. A lot of owners are saying they’re ready to quit the whole thing and stop spending tons of money just to lose because the judges are so wrong about who they pick as winners. If dog owners are dropping out of competition, it could account for the decreased revenues and higher costs the AKC thinks it’s seeing this year.”
Sherry looked thoughtful for a moment or two before answering me. “People, especially owners, have been complaining about the judging for as long as there have been dog shows. Judging a dog show is pretty subjective. The old saying aboot beauty being in the eye of the beholder means that you, me, and the judge could pick three different dogs as the winner and we’d all be right. Two owners would complain and one would approve. I don’t think there’s any more or less complaining about the judging this year than I expect to hear, and I expect a lot.”
She paused for dramatic effect or to gather her thoughts. “California, and most of the rest of the country, is just beginning to recover from a major recession. A lot of people can’t afford the gasoline to drive around to dog shows, the entry fees, and all the other costs of this very expensive hobby. I suspect that’s the reason for lower revenues. You have to remember the overpaid New York City executives like the AKC bunch aren’t in touch with the real world economy. I just don’t think they understand how real people live when they suggest that fluctuations in income and expenses aren’t just a reflection of what’s going on in the broader economy.”
Obviously, just listening to chatter in the stands wasn’t going to get this job done. I decided Bruce and I should play our undercover roles cool, allowing the veteran owners and handlers to come to us. It might take a wh
ile before they were convinced we’d be regulars on the circuit, but it seemed to be the best strategy if we wanted to be convincing in our roles. It was OK for us to be perceived of as close to Sherry, since all of the regulars, and anyone who read the program, would know that Juliet was her dog, which she had bred and shown. It was natural for her to introduce us into this world as her new sponsors.
We returned to Los Angeles late Sunday night. Suzanne was in the living room sitting in a large wingback chair with all of the lights in the room turned on, reading a biochemical journal. She looked up at us with a little concern in her expression.
As she reached out to absentmindedly pet Juliet, Suzanne let out a big sigh and looked right at me. “Everything was OK here except I missed you a lot, Roger. I missed you too, Bruce. I also got a weird telephone call. At first I thought it was just a wrong number, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am. I answered the phone and there was somebody on the other end who didn’t say anything. He just breathed into the phone for half a minute or so before hanging up. It could have been a wrong number, but it just didn’t feel right.”
It wasn’t like Suzanne to be bothered by what could have been just a wrong number. “Could you tell whether the caller was a man or a woman?”