I tuned back into the conversation next door.
“Now about the group . . .” Angie was saying.
“Don’t even think it!”
“Why not?” She placed both hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. “I won the variety. I can win the group too. Admit it, you never would have given me a chance to show Charlie. But I did show him and I did great.”
“You won the variety by the skin of your teeth. And you weren’t great. You were good enough to win on the day, that’s all. Mr. Dean’s judged Charlie with Jenny, and he knows you were sisters. This was probably his way of expressing his sympathy.”
Angie’s lips drew together in a tight line. Clearly she didn’t agree with Rick’s assessment. “Mr. Dean’s doing the group, too. Whatever the reason, he liked Charlie with me this morning. He’s already put us once. It would be stupid to try something different later.”
“We’ll see.” said Rick. “Right now I’ve got to get over to Beagles. You start working on Rugby.”
“No prob, Bob.” Angie was grinning again. No doubt she figured she’d won the argument. I wasn’t so sure. The Sporting group would be judged in early afternoon. If Davey didn’t get too bored, I wouldn’t mind staying to see what happened.
There was one good thing about the events playing out next door. They were interesting enough to make me forget just how nervous I was about taking Faith into the ring for the first time. But when things slowed down at the Shamrock set-up and Aunt Peg finished trimming, the butterflies returned in a rush.
“I’m not ready,” I told her. “This was all a big mistake.”
“Nonsense. Turnbull women can handle anything. Besides, this is only a puppy class at a small show. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could trip and fall down. No, I could trip over Faith and we both fall down. Even worse, I could trip over the judge—”
“You could try tripping over the tent post,” Aunt Peg said dryly. “That way you might be able to work a falling tent into your path of destruction.”
“Maybe I could,” I said stubbornly, even though we both knew that the tents were held in place by dozens of sturdy spikes.
Aunt Peg looked over my shoulder, her eyes focusing on someone behind me. “Good, you’re just in time. Melanie’s suffering from a severe case of cold feet. Maybe you can prod her along.”
I turned and saw Sam approaching. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t think I’d miss your debut, did I?”
Actually, that’s exactly what I’d been thinking. I knew from handling class that this dog showing business was something that took practice. And while I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d probably look like an idiot on the first several tries, there was no way I’d intended to do so in front of Sam Driver, a man for whom I was trying to showcase only my best attributes.
But when Aunt Peg got a notion in her mind—like the one she currently had, that Sam and I ought to be together—denying her what she wanted was like standing in the way of a steamroller. Either way, you were bound to get flattened.
Sam stepped past me and had a look at Faith. “Want some help with your topknot?”
I mustered a smile. At least with Sam’s expert help, the puppy would look first-rate. “Sure.”
“You can spray her up, too,” Aunt Peg offered. “I’m going to be pressed for time.”
Pressed for time, my fanny. The schedule she’d laid out for our preparations was more detailed than the one Rommel had used to invade Africa. “You’re not very subtle, Aunt Peg.”
She watched me move in close to Sam as he began parting the hair for topknots on Faith’s head. “I’m not trying to be, dear.”
In principle, I’m against hitting old ladies, but if I’d had a free hand, I might have considered it. Sam, who’d placed one of my palms under Faith’s muzzle and had the other tamping down the hair behind her occiput, just whistled under his breath and kept right on working. He parted, he banded; he fluffed and sprayed. And when he was done, even I had to admit that Faith looked gorgeous.
“Got your number?” he asked.
I gulped and nodded.
Showtime.
Eleven
After all that it turned out I’d done a lot of worrying for nothing. Faith was fine. I was fine. It wasn’t an accomplished performance, but we didn’t bring the tent down either. Or the house, for that matter. Aside from Davey and Sam who stood at ringside and cheered our puppy class win with total lack of dignity, I doubt that anyone else even noticed us.
Did I mention we were the only ones in the class?
Even so, the blue ribbon looked pretty good to me. It also meant we got to go back in the ring again to try for Winners Bitch. Six-month-old Standard Poodle puppies have a lot in common with Gumby. The chances of winning with one are roughly comparable to those of finding comfort in a pair of stiletto heels.
Still, once I’d decided the whole exercise wasn’t going to kill me, it even became kind of fun. Aunt Peg won the open class with Peaches and when she took the points, I was the first to congratulate her. After the rest of the judging was over I stood by the gate with Sam and Davey, watching as she posed her Poodle for a picture with the judge.
“Feel better now?” asked Sam.
“Much.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Davey. “Did you have a tummy ache?”
“Kind of.” I smiled down at him. His small hand was tucked trustingly inside Sam’s larger one and the sight gave me a pang. How could I feel my way through relationships with men when my feelings weren’t the only ones involved?
“Do you want to hold Faith’s leash?” I offered.
“Yeah!” cried Davey, his eyes lighting up. “Can I wear your number, too?”
I slipped off the armband and fastened it on over his sleeve, then handed him the looped end of the lead. “Use both hands, okay? We wouldn’t want her to get away.”
He was happy to comply. Sam was holding a comb and a can of hair spray in one hand. The other, newly freed, he slipped into his pocket. So I was the one left standing there twiddling my thumbs. That annoyed the hell out of me, which made no sense either. I wasn’t happy when Davey and Sam were holding hands, and I wasn’t happy when they weren’t.
What kind of person did that make me? Hormonal, probably.
“I’d say we did rather well for ourselves,” said Aunt Peg, exiting the ring.
“You would,” I teased as we all headed back toward the grooming tent. “You’re the one holding the purple ribbon.”
“Nonsense. Faith acquitted herself quite well for her first try. And so did you.”
Coming from Aunt Peg, that was high praise.
“Really?” I asked, eager to hear more.
“Which isn’t to say there aren’t a few things you could work on for next time. . . .”
I never should have pressed my luck.
“I’m hungry!” Davey announced. We were passing by the food tent. The aroma wafting from the large grills had no doubt cued his remark. “When are we having lunch?”
“Soon,” I told him. Faith had to have the tight, show ring topknots taken down and replaced with looser, more comfortable ones. Her ear hair needed to be wrapped in its protective plastic wraps; and the hair spray in her neck hair needed to be broken apart and brushed out.
“But I’m hungry now!”
I hesitated just long enough to check out the length of the lines. They wrapped twice around the tent.
“You two go on,” said Sam. “Start brushing out. Davey and I will pick lunch for everyone and meet you back at the set-up.”
“Yeah!” cried my son, the shameless manipulator.
“You don’t have to do that—”
“I know I don’t.” Sam piled his grooming supplies into my arms as Davey handed me Faith’s leash. “See you in a few minutes.”
“Well?” Aunt Peg said as we continued walking.
“Now what?” I snapped. She was about to reel o
ff a list of Sam’s virtues, I just knew it.
“Nothing,” Aunt Peg permitted herself a small smile. “Nothing at all.”
We went back to the grooming tent and got the Poodles undone. Now that we were finished showing, tension dissolved and nerves went back to normal. Over at the Shamrock set-up however, the maelstrom of activity continued.
From the look of things, Angie and Rick had brought more than a dozen dogs to the show. I knew that the large strings were necessary since professional handlers got paid by the dog. But without Jenny on the team, not only had they cut their manpower by a third, but they’d also lost their most valuable member.
Every handler works to present a facade of calm and capable efficiency. But at the Shamrock set-up the cracks were showing. Rick had two Brittanys out and ready to go up to the ring; but Angie who would normally have provided the extra hands he needed, was doing Jenny’s old job of scissoring a Bichon Frise.
Aunt Peg was still working on Peaches. Faith who had much less hair was just about ready to go back in her crate. Sam and Davey weren’t back with the food yet. From the look of the lines, they’d probably still be a while.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“Would you?” Rick said gratefully. As I stepped around the crates separating us, he was already thrusting a leash into my hands. “All you have to do is come up to the ring with me and hold the bitch while I show the dog, then hold the dog while I’m in with the bitch. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes, tops.”
Easy as pie. Even a novice like myself could handle that. Rick took off at a jog and I fell in behind him. The leggy, compact bitch he’d handed me came just to the middle of my thighs. She was liver and white with a short tail and high-set ears. Not at all perturbed to have been consigned to a stranger, she bounded energetically across the field.
At ringside, Rick picked up both numbers. His class was called almost immediately and all I had to do was mind the bitch and watch. In handling class, Jenny had done most of the handling demonstrations and I knew how good she was. But now I realized that although Rick lacked some of her magic, he was an excellent technician.
Though the dog went reserve which meant that it didn’t win any points, Rick accepted the ribbon with a smile and a nod. We switched Brittanys at the gate and he went back in with the bitch. The entry in females was larger and Rick looked more determined. Time and again, he used subtle shifts in positioning and graceful cues from his hands to draw the judge’s attention to his bitch’s best points. Watching his masterful performance, I wasn’t at all surprised when the judge awarded him Winners Bitch and then, in the Best of Breed competition, Best of Opposite Sex over two specials.
“That’s good, right?” I said when he came out. Even though Aunt Peg wasn’t around to jab me, I still didn’t want to repeat my earlier mistake.
“It’s great!” Rick was beaming. “Going Best Op from the classes gave her a major. Her owners will be thrilled.”
“Congratulations, then.”
“Thanks.” Rick glanced over at the schedule posted by the gate. “You can take the dog back if you want. I’m going to wait and get a picture. The judge will break after she finishes Gordon Setters and I’m sure the owners will want one.”
“I’ve got time to wait with you,” I said. This was just the opportunity I’d been looking for. “You look pretty busy today.”
“It’s always hectic at a show.”
“I guess most of your clients must have decided to hang on after . . .”
“After Jenny died?” Rick faced me squarely. “Don’t be afraid to say it. I’m not. In the beginning I thought maybe if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t really be true. But then I realized it was, and nothing I could do or say was going to change that. And yes, thank God, most of the clients did stick with me. I’d rather be busy. It’s the only thing that helps.”
Rick glanced around and checked the ring. The judge was taking her time deciding between two Open bitches.
“I met a friend of Jenny’s the other day,” I said casually. “A woman named Crystal Mars. Maybe you know her.”
Rick’s features tightened. “She may have been an acquaintance of my wife’s, but she certainly wasn’t any friend.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I am.”
His vehemence was surprising. Especially in light of the fact that Crystal had Jenny’s dog. She had said Rick knew nothing about Ziggy and at the time I hadn’t really believed her. Now it looked as though she might have been right.
In the ring, the judge had finished with the Open Bitch class in Gordon Setters. Winners came next, then Best of Breed. I only had another minute or so and I needed to make it count. “Were you there the day that Ziggy got run over?” I asked.
“No, I wasn’t. I’ve thought about that a lot. Who knows if maybe there was something I could have done. But Jenny was home by herself.” Rick’s frown deepened. “God, I can’t believe I lost both of them at once. Sometimes life really stinks, you know?”
Score one for Crystal.
“But Ziggy was Jenny’s dog, right? So it’s not like you were really attached to him.”
“How can you say that?” Rick looked surprised. “Ziggy was Jenny’s and my pet. We had a running joke about how he was our only child. That Mini went everywhere with us and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Did Jenny ever tell you where Ziggy came from?”
I shook my head.
“I got him for her as a wedding present. I knew she’d always wanted a Poodle, but she felt she had too many other dogs to take care of to be able to afford the luxury of having one of her own.” Rick half smiled as he thought back. “I didn’t know the first thing about Miniature Poodles and I spent six months researching lines until I’d found just the right puppy.
“Then I tied a big blue bow around his neck and delivered him to her in a basket the morning of our wedding. He got all excited and peed on the new shoes she’d bought to go with her dress. Jenny just laughed and laughed. She said that seemed like a fitting way for us to begin our lives together.”
The Brittany nudged against my legs and nosed my pocket for liver. I reached down and scratched beneath its chin, grateful for the distraction.
“Over time I guess Ziggy became more Jenny’s dog than mine,” said Rick. “But that was his choice, not ours. We both loved him. After he died, I was looking into buying another puppy.”
“You were?”
“Yeah.” Rick shrugged. “Some couples have babies to keep them together. I guess we had dogs.”
“Sir, are you waiting for a picture?” While we’d been talking, the Gordon Setters had finally finished. Walkie-talkie in hand, the steward was leaning out of the ring and beckoning to Rick. “I’ve called for the photographer if you want to come in and get set up.”
“Thanks.” He smoothed the Brittany’s coat. “Be right back.”
I watched him walk away. Why didn’t anyone give me any answers? I wondered. All I ever got was more questions.
When we got back to the grooming tent, lunch had arrived. Aunt Peg was munching daintily on a hamburger. Sam was sharing a hot dog with Peaches; and Davey was up to his elbows in a sausage and onion grinder.
“Look what Sam got me!” he said happily.
Another case of good intentions run amok. I knew I was the only parent in the group, but was I also the only one with any common sense?
“Sausage and onions?” I tilted a brow in Sam’s direction.
“Sure. My nephews love them.”
Ah yes, I remembered these children. The nephews who lived at other ends of the country that he only got to see once or twice a year. Presumably their mothers spent the other eleven months recovering from his visits.
“You’ll be up all night,” I told Davey.
“Yippeee!” he cried. So much for suffering the consequences.
“He’ll be fine,” said Sam. “Trust me.”
“She doesn’t trust anyone with that child,”
Aunt Peg confided. “She’s over-protective.”
“Can’t you at least wait until my back’s turned to talk about me?”
“How do you know we weren’t?” Aunt Peg said mildly.
Well, that made me feel much better.
I thought I heard Sam chuckling, but when I turned to look, he merely pointed to a cardboard box that was sitting on top of my grooming table. “We’ve got a hamburger and a hot dog left. Which do you want?”
“Hot dog. Thanks.” I helped myself and Sam took the last burger.
“Is it time to go home yet?” asked Davey.
“Almost. There’s just one more thing I want to see.”
“What’s that?” asked Peg.
“The Sporting group.” I glanced toward the Shamrock set-up. For the moment, Angie had disappeared and Rick was busy talking to a client. “It’s scheduled for two-thirty, right?”
Sam consulted the judging schedule. “Right. When did you develop an interest in sporting dogs?”
“Fairly recently.” Rick didn’t seem to be paying any attention to us, but I still had no intention of explaining while he might overhear. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
After we finished eating, there was just enough time to hop Davey down off the crate, clean off the worst of the sausage and onions that now decorated his shirt, and take him for a walk around the back parking lot. When I was little, I was fixated on horses. For Davey, it’s cars and trucks. He loves everything about them. And as far as he’s concerned, the best thing about dog shows are the fancy vans, motor homes, and converted buses that many of the professional handlers use to transport their dogs.
He and I have a deal. When he comes to a dog show, he’ll be patient while I do what I need to do; then I’ll be patient while he oohs and aahs over the big rigs. The arrangement suits both of us pretty well.
We got back to the rings just as the Terrier group was finishing. Harry Flynn won it with a Scottie, then reappeared only moments later in the Sporting group with a Springer Spaniel. The group dogs arranged themselves in size order. Several places in line behind Harry stood Angie and Charlie.
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