Sit, Stay, Slay

by V. M. Burns

  Naomi Keller flipped a switch. Instantly, her facial contortions ceased. She plastered on a huge smile, and her voice became syrupy sweet. “Yes, dear. May I help you?”

  She pointed at Dixie. “She’s right. Bernie peed in the ring. He should have been disqualified.”

  The smile froze on Naomi’s face. “Nonsense. That was purely an accident. He’s young and energetic—”

  The woman merely shook her head. “Nope. I can’t take something I didn’t earn. It wouldn’t be right.” She placed the blue ribbon on the table, turned, and walked out.

  Naomi Keller scowled at Dixie. “You see what you did to that poor woman?”

  “What I did?”

  “If you hadn’t made such a fuss, none of this would have happened. It’s just a mock show, which doesn’t even count, but, as always, you have to be the center of attention.” She glanced around at the faces of the crowd that had gathered in the tiny office and gave a chuckle. “Dixie always did think she was the top dog when her skills were never quite up to par.”

  A flush rose quickly up Dixie’s neck, and she balled her hands into fists. “What does this have to do with me and my skills?”

  “They say, those who can’t do . . . teach, and I don’t see you entered.”

  Dixie reached across the table and grabbed a pen and a blank entry form. She scribbled on it and then handed the form to one of the startled women who was working the show. “I’ll see you in Utility.” The crowd parted like the Red Sea after Moses lifted his staff, and Dixie marched out.

  Chapter 3

  After a moment of shocked indecision, Monica Jill, B.J., and I quickly recovered and followed our friend. We didn’t need to see the interior lights on in the luxury RV that Dixie drove to dog shows to know where she was. Not bothering to knock, we hurried inside.

  Dr. Morgan sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee. Snoball and Aggie were curled up on the sofa with Max and Leia, one of Dixie’s two black Standard Poodles.

  My puzzled expression and body language asked the question, but before he could respond, Dixie and Chyna came from the bedroom of the RV.

  Dixie’s hair was pulled into a ponytail, and we knew she meant business.

  “Ah, you got your hair pulled back like you ready for a fight,” B.J. joked. “You need me to hold her down while you beat her, or you got this?”

  Dixie smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.” She pulled out a grooming table. “Chyna, up.”

  Champion Chyna, 9th Wonder of the World, was a beautiful black Standard Poodle, who had spent a good part of her life on a grooming table while she competed in conformation dog shows, like Westminster and Crufts, and she had a room full of ribbons to prove it. Despite the fact that she was now retired from competition and no longer had the mane, bracelets, or top knot from her glory days, she was well trained and obeyed. On the table, she lay down and settled in for what promised to be the hours of time Dixie would spend perfecting her coat.

  “What are you doing?” B.J. asked.

  “I’m getting Chyna ready to go into the ring.”

  We exchanged glances.

  I cleared my throat. “I think B.J. meant, why are you doing that? You’re not showing conformation, and it won’t matter if her coat is perfect in the obedience ring or not.”

  “Before we go into the ring . . . any ring, I always spend some time brushing and grooming my dogs.” Dixie brushed Chyna. “It relaxes the dog and helps settle my nerves.”

  We watched.

  “Are you nervous?” Monica Jill asked.

  Dixie gave Chyna several long strokes with the slicker brush. “I’m angry, and I’m hoping that doing something familiar, like grooming my dogs, will help me to calm down and remain calm.”

  We sat and watched. Eventually, Dixie told Chyna to turn over, and she started in on the other side.

  “Are you going to tell us about Naomi Keller, or do we have to wait until you finish grooming both dogs?”

  Dixie brushed a bit more and then took a deep breath. “Naomi Keller and I went to the same high school, although she was just Naomi Eastlake then. We used to be best friends. We were in 4-H, and we both competed in agility, conformation, and obedience. Sometimes she’d win, and sometimes I’d win.” She paused. “But as we got older, things changed. We both went out for the cheerleading team, and we both made it.”

  Monica Jill raised her hand. “Let me guess—you were head cheerleader?”

  Dixie nodded. “Honestly, I wasn’t even trying, but something changed after that. I started dating Beau.” She paused for a moment, as though remembering, then continued. “He was the captain of the football team.”

  “Did she have a crush on him?” I asked.

  “No. At least I didn’t think she did . . . not then, anyway.” She sighed. “I have no idea. If she did, she never said anything. In fact, she was dating someone else.”

  B.J. sipped her coffee. “The captain of the basketball team?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Girl, Stevie Wonder could have seen that coming.”

  “Anyway, she became jealous and competitive. Our friendship suffered—”

  “I’ll bet it did.”

  Monica Jill swatted at B.J. “Stop interrupting. So, what happened next?”

  Dixie took a deep breath. “Not much. We left for college. I went to school in Illinois, and she went to the University of Tennessee.”

  “With Beau?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Beau and I were pretty serious, but I wanted to get out of Tennessee and see the world. The last thing I wanted was to follow him around like some football groupie.” She brushed Chyna. “Anyway, Beau and I went through a rough patch and . . . well, she made a move on him.”

  “The dirty little b—”

  “B.J.!” Monica Jill yelled.

  B.J. rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee.

  Dixie smiled. “Nothing happened. Beau told me everything, and eventually, we made up and got married. When I started competing again, Naomi and I ran into each other at dog shows from time to time, but she showed Greyhounds, and I showed poodles. Poodles show in the Non-Sporting Group and Greyhounds are in the Hound Group. Unless we both made it to Best in Show, we weren’t in direct competition, but there was always something . . . whenever we found ourselves at the same shows.”

  “Something like what?” I asked.

  “If I left my RV or my grooming station unattended, something unusual would happen. My clippers or scissors would be missing. Or a dress I brought would suddenly have a tear or every pair of pantyhose would have runs. I can’t prove that she did anything, but if we weren’t at the same shows, I didn’t have those problems.”

  B.J. frowned. “Sounds fishy to me.”

  Dixie finished brushing her dog. “Chyna, off.”

  Chyna stood up, stretched, and yawned as though she’d just worked a double shift at a factory, and then jumped down off the table.

  “So, you think she disqualified all of us to get even with you?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  “I don’t want to think that, but there’s no other excuse for how she could qualify a dog that soiled the ring, and I didn’t see anything that you and Max did which would merit disqualification.”

  Dr. Morgan stared down into his cup. “Thank you, but you don’t have to do this.” He looked around. “Not for us.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “It’s just a mock trial and doesn’t count.”

  Monica Jill raised her hand. “Jac earned his disqualification fair and square.”

  Dixie glanced around at each of us. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

  I walked over to Dixie. “Given what she just did, you can’t believe she’ll give you a fair shot.”

  She smiled. “Actually, I’m rather hoping she
doesn’t.”

  “What?”

  Dixie went to a drawer and held up a video camera. She passed it to Dr. Morgan. “Do you know how to use this?”

  He took the camera and smiled. “You bet your bippy I do.”

  B.J. sat up. “Oh, I get it. You’re going to have him videotape it, and if she cheats you, then you have evidence to nail her.”

  Dixie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but judges are supposed to operate with integrity. Exhibitors need to be able to trust that we do the right things for the right reasons. Without integrity . . . well, we might as well not even bother.”

  I hugged Dixie. “Well said.”

  Monica Jill pulled out her cell phone. “We should all record it.”

  “I’m in,” B.J. said.

  “Okay, well, you all better get out of here and let Chyna and me finish our routine.” She opened a drawer and took out a small box, which I knew contained her equipment for Utility. “It’s been quite a while since Chyna retired from the obedience ring.” She glanced down at her dog and smiled. “I hope she remembers how to work.”

  “She’ll remember,” I said. “She’s got the best instructor on the planet.”

  We left, leaving our dogs to relax and lounge in the luxury of Dixie’s RV and letting Dixie and Chyna practice in peace and quiet.

  The East Tennessee Dog Club was sponsoring an official dog trial in two weeks. It would be Aggie and my first obedience competition, and my nerves were in overdrive. In fact, all of the members of Dixie’s class were anxious. We wanted to do a good job and make her proud of us. In an effort to help us calm down, Dixie had suggested this mock trial. The idea was to get experience with actual judges and to become familiar with the atmosphere of a real trial. It was supposed to be the balm that soothed our troubled souls. Unfortunately, this experience was having the exact opposite effect.

  Naomi Keller wasn’t the only judge. In fact, there were two others. When word got around that we were having a mock trial, people sent their entries in droves. Initially, Dixie was going to judge the entire event, but the sheer number of entries required additional help. I found myself wishing we’d never done this.

  We went outside to observe some of the trials that were going on behind the building.

  I hadn’t been competing in dog sports long, but I knew there were three basic classes for obedience: Novice, Open, and Utility. Within each class, there were multiple levels. Dixie’s class was at the bottom in Novice A, which meant that we were not only beginners but we had never had a dog achieve the Novice Obedience Title. Novice B was for people who had gotten a Novice title before on a different dog. This meant our group had true beginners.

  We walked around and observed Novice B and Open trials and then wandered off, each looking at something that interested us. I stood at the edge of the ring and watched as an older, gray-haired woman and a muscular Rottweiler competed in the exercises for the Open class.

  I got a nudge that sent me careening forward. I would have fallen flat on my face if someone hadn’t grabbed me. As I turned to thank my savior, I saw a familiar face. “Red.”

  Dennis Olson, Red to his friends, was five foot ten, stocky and rock solid. He had dark eyes and sandy red hair that he wore in a short buzz cut that screamed former military. He also had a long scar on the right side of his face, which hinted at a dark tale that was often reflected in his eyes.

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  He pulled me close and kissed me.

  “Don’t thank me too soon.” He glanced down at his dog, Steve Austin, who was a pit bull/Labrador mix who had adopted Red when his owner was murdered. “He goosed you.”

  I bent down and grabbed the big, droolly dog’s cheeks. “Did you do that to me?” I said in the baby talk I used with dogs, which I knew would thoroughly embarrass Red.

  Steve Austin’s tail wagged faster, which caused his back end to wag. When he couldn’t contain it anymore, he lay down on his back, belly exposed, and wiggled his entire body.

  Red shook his head. “Come on. Have some dignity.”

  Steve Austin and I ignored him. I scratched his belly, and the eighty-pound dog lay with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

  “We don’t care what the grumpy man says, do we?”

  The dog, with a look of utter delight, wiggled even more in the grass.

  “Great.” Red glanced around. “How long is this public humiliation going to last?”

  I chuckled, stood up, and linked arms. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Sorry I’m late, but we got here as quickly as we could. How’d it go?”

  “We?” I looked down at the dog.

  He shook his head. “No. We.” He pointed to a woman standing at a ring nearby, watching a Great Dane.

  “Madison. I’m so glad you brought her.”

  Madison Cooper was a beautiful young woman with long dark hair and dark eyes who we had met a few months ago when she was working at a pet spa. My son, David, took quite a shine to her and learned that Madison had skills as a computer hacker. Fortunately, she was a white-hat hacker who used her powers for good rather than evil, and she now worked with Red at the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.

  I gave Red a rundown on Aggie and my first time in the mock trial competition and our disqualification. Then I gave him a detailed play-by-play of Dixie’s altercation with the judge and the upcoming obedience smackdown.

  Red shook his head. “This sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

  “Isn’t it exciting?” B.J. said, having sneaked up while I was talking. “It’s like the Sharks and the Jets in West Side Story.”

  “What time is this obedience rumble going down?”

  I nudged him. “This is serious business.”

  B.J. clapped. “Dixie is going to mop the floor with that judge, and if she disqualifies her . . .” She cracked her knuckles and took a few jabs in the air like a prize fighter. “Well, then it’s on like Donkey Kong.”

  “It’s been a while since Dixie competed,” Red said. “You never know.”

  I stopped walking and stared at him. “What are you saying?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just suggesting that you two might want to keep an open mind. If Dixie is disquali—”

  “You can stop right there, Mister TBI Officer,” B.J. said. “Dixie is going to win, and that’s the end of that.” She gave him a stare that challenged him to argue the point. Thankfully, Red was smart enough to keep quiet.

  We went back inside to make sure we had ringside seats. The trial, which earlier had been poorly attended, was packed. In fact, practically everyone had heard of the argument between Dixie and Naomi Keller and had come to watch the showdown.

  We squeezed into the front row and got our cell phones out and pointed them at the ring. Red glanced in my direction several times, and he looked on the verge of speaking, but something held him back. I glanced in his direction. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need to ask you something.”

  “Okay, but can it wait? I need to record this.”

  “Sure.” He released a heavy sigh, and I was just about to apologize and give him my full attention when I saw Dixie and Chyna walk into the building.

  Naomi Keller was in the ring where Aggie and I had performed earlier. Dixie and Chyna approached the gate entrance, Dixie with her armband and her game face firmly in place.

  When instructed, Dixie and Chyna entered the ring and stood at the chalk line. Dixie stood tall and serious, and Chyna was as regal as ever.

  I had watched Dixie and Chyna perform various exercises, but today was truly a sight to behold. During the heeling exercises for Utility, Chyna put her right shoulder against Dixie’s left leg and performed the exercise as if she were glued to Dixie’s side. When Dixie signaled for
Chyna to stay and walked away, Chyna didn’t move one toenail until Dixie signaled her. Each and every exercise was done to perfection, and the knowledgeable crowd knew it, and struggled to contain themselves from clapping. There were two scent exercises coming up that worried me. Dixie handed the judge her box, which we’d seen in the RV earlier.

  “What’s that?” Red whispered.

  “Dumbbells, but they call them articles.”

  “Okay, but what’s happening?”

  Dixie and Chyna turned so their backs were to the ring and waited.

  “You have two sets of five dumbbells from two different materials.” I glanced at him to see if he was following. “The materials are wood, metal, or leather. Dixie has metal and leather. So five metal and five leather. You with me?”

  He nodded.

  “Dixie will be asked to take one metal and one leather. She’ll put her scent on it. The volunteer in the ring will put their scent on all of the others. The judge will place one of the dumbbells with Dixie’s scent in the middle of the pile, and then Chyna will need to find the one dumbbell that smells like Dixie.”

  “Wow.”

  We watched in silence as the volunteer, Lenora Houston, scented all of the dumbbells and then moved aside. Naomi Keller approached Dixie with a clipboard. Dixie placed the metal dumbbell on the clipboard. Naomi Keller took the dumbbell and dropped it in the middle of the pile. She started to step away but then reached down and touched Dixie’s dumbbell.

  The crowd gasped.

  “What?” Red asked.

  “She touched Dixie’s dumbbell.” I gazed from him to the ring and then looked around the crowd, which had started to rumble. “She’s not supposed to do that.”

  Naomi Keller finished adjusting the dumbbells and then stood up and smiled. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready,” Dixie responded.

  “Send your dog.”

  Dixie turned and pointed to the pile. “Find mine.”

  Chyna trotted to the pile and, in meticulous fashion, sniffed each article. She returned to the one in the center, picked it up, trotted back to Dixie, and sat in front of her.