“Unless Mr. Connelly doesn’t send them around the ring,” I said.
In bad weather, judges sometimes evaluated their entries in the small section of the ring covered by the tent. Showing a big breed in that reduced amount of space meant that the judge would never have a chance to see how the dogs really moved. His decision, therefore, would be based mostly on what they looked like standing still.
Now that she was fully mature and sporting a glorious coat, Coral looked impressive when she was stacked. But it was her fluid, ground covering movement that really made her stand out. Without that to set her apart, Davey would have to work twice as hard to draw the judge’s eye to his bitch.
“Don’t worry, he’ll send them around the ring,” Aunt Peg said firmly.
I wondered if she was planning to stand near the in-gate and glare at Mr. Connelly until he complied with her wishes. Aunt Peg had little patience for fellow judges who didn’t come prepared for adverse weather conditions. Rain boots, waterproof hats, and slickers were mandatory on a day like this. And woe to anyone who didn’t plan appropriately.
“Frankly, I’m more concerned about the major holding.” Aunt Peg lifted her head and gazed around the large tent as if she was counting Standard Poodle noses. “There better not be any wimps who looked at this ugly weather and decided to stay home.”
Today the major was in dogs. The six Standard bitches that had been entered would only earn the Winners Bitch two points. That bitch would then need to be awarded Best of Winners over the Winners Dog in order to win the four point major.
“All the dogs are here,” Sam told us. “I checked when I was at the ring.”
“Of course they’re here,” Terry said from two tables away. He was putting the finishing touches on Crawford’s Open bitch. “Majors have been scarce this year. Everyone needs this one just as badly as you do.”
I assessed the Standard Poodle Terry was working on with a critical eye. A white bitch with dark skin and a beautiful expression, she was dainty and ultra-feminine. Davey and Coral had beaten her two weeks earlier, but that was no guarantee of success today.
Judging dogs was a subjective exercise. Each judge weighed a breed’s faults and virtues differently. And a dog who’d given a sparkling performance one day could be unaccountably dull the next. Often a handler’s skill became the deciding factor that made the difference between winning and losing.
Davey was just fourteen, a talented amateur who still had a lot to learn. While Crawford was . . . well, what most other handlers aspired to be.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than Crawford came ducking under the tent. He had a silver Toy Poodle sheltered beneath his waterproof jacket. It was a good day to be showing a portable dog.
Terry glanced at his partner and raised a brow.
“Best of Variety,” Crawford replied. “But he now looks like a drowned rat. The wet grass in the ring was almost up to his stomach.”
At least we wouldn’t have that problem with our Standard Poodles.
“We’ll have time before the groups,” Terry said calmly. “I’ll be able to fix that.”
Crawford put the Toy dog down on a tabletop. He quickly rolled up the dog’s leash, then banded the wet hair on his ears. Crawford nodded toward his Open bitch. “The judge is moving right along. Is she good to go?”
“Ready as she’ll ever be.” Terry grinned.
Aunt Peg was standing beside Coral’s grooming table. Davey was just a few steps away. He’d already put on his slicker and stuffed his pockets with liver. Now he was attaching his numbered armband and checking to be sure he had a comb.
“How about you?” Aunt Peg asked him. “Are you good to go, too?”
Davey slipped Terry a wink. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.
Chapter 27
Getting Coral from the handlers’ tent to the covered area between the show rings was a production. Carrying her would crush her towering topknot. So the only option was for her to make the trip on foot—and quickly. That meant dashing across the grassy expanse with Davey on one side of her and Sam on the other. Aunt Peg would run along behind the trio holding a very large umbrella over the big Poodle.
Nobody cared if Sam and Davey got wet. Or me either, for that matter.
Once the important jobs had been delegated, I was tasked merely with bringing a dry towel, a pin brush, and a spare can of hair spray to the ring. I was also keeping a close eye on Kevin, who had a tendency to wander off whenever something interesting caught his eye.
“That was fun,” Kevin said when we’d all scooted under the long tent that ran between the two rows of rings. “Let’s do it again!”
“Not just yet,” I told him. “First, we’re going to watch Davey show Coral.”
Kev’s cheeks were glowing. He hopped up and down, enjoying the way his red rubber boots squelched in the soggy ground. Before I could stop him, he tossed back the hood of his slicker and shook in place like a puppy.
That earned us some well-deserved dirty looks.
“Sorry!” I aimed a general apology in the direction of . . . well, pretty much everyone. Then I took Kev’s hand and guided him over to the Poodle ring.
The rest of our group was already there. Sam and Aunt Peg were standing with Coral cocooned protectively between them, while Davey made minor repairs to her coat. Despite the mad dash across the field, the Poodle still looked great.
Terry and Crawford were nearby with their Open bitch. Crawford didn’t have a Standard Poodle dog entered today. Nor was he showing his special. Which meant his only opportunity to do well in the variety would be with his lovely white bitch. That didn’t help our chances at all.
“Why doesn’t Crawford have his special here?” I asked Aunt Peg quietly. He’d been winning with the big, white dog all summer.
“Last time Mr. Connelly had the dog in a group, he didn’t use him,” she replied. “There was no point in bringing him if the judge doesn’t like him.”
“Maybe Mr. Connelly doesn’t like white Poodles,” I said hopefully. It wasn’t unusual for a judge to have a color preference.
Aunt Peg slanted me a look. “No, that’s not it.”
I waited for her to tell me what was it.
Aunt Peg didn’t oblige me. She was too busy watching the Standard Open Dog class.
When I realized she was counting the numbers for the third time, I elbowed her in the side and said, “There were two dogs in the Puppy class. Now there are four Open dogs. That’s six. It held.”
“That’s six,” Kevin repeated. I had a death grip on his hand. He used it to tug me down to his level. “What held?”
“The major did.”
Kev’s eyes widened. “Davey won the major?”
“No!” I quickly shushed him before Aunt Peg could hear us and decide that we’d jinxed her entry. “Davey hasn’t even gone in the ring yet. See?” I gestured toward Coral. The Poodle was standing quietly while Davey combed through her ears. “He’s waiting for their turn to come.”
“It better come soon,” Kevin told me. “We’ve been standing here forever.”
Actually, more like ten minutes. The child lived his life in dog years.
Our judge, Mr. Connelly, was wearing both a raincoat and a hat. We were all happy to see that he was using the entire ring to judge his Standard Poodle entry. The dogs were lined up in the covered area for his initial perusal. But then the judge wanted to see them move—and he sent them out in the deluge to do so.
Winners Dog went to a handsome cream-colored dog in puppy trim. So much for my color bias hopes. I gulped when I realized that Coral—or whoever was awarded Winners Bitch—would also have to beat that striking puppy to secure the major.
With only a single puppy entered, the Puppy Bitch class went by in a flash. There were five bitches in Open. When the steward called the class to the ring, Crawford deftly maneuvered his bitch to the head of the line. Davey held back, waiting until the others had filed in. He and Coral would bring up
the rear.
The judge took his time making a first pass down the short line. He paused to take a long look at each bitch, obviously aware that this would be his only chance to see them with their stylized outlines intact. When Mr. Connelly reached Coral, he stopped beside her, then sent a swift glance back to Crawford’s bitch at the front of the line.
Aunt Peg drew in a sharp breath. Her reaction confirmed what I’d already suspected. Our judge two weeks earlier had made the Open class into a duel between Coral and Crawford’s bitch. Based on what we’d seen, Mr. Connelly appeared to be thinking along the same lines.
He lifted his hands, indicating that it was time for the class to gait around the perimeter of the ring. My gaze was focused on Davey and Coral, so it took me a moment to realize that nobody was moving. A chuckle from the middle of the group—quickly silenced—alerted me to the fact that something unexpected had happened. There was a delay at the head of the line.
When I looked to see what was the matter, I almost laughed myself.
Crawford’s white bitch had her feet planted determinedly in place. She was staring out at the rain-soaked ring with an expression of utter disdain on her face. Crawford and Terry must have figured out a way to get the Poodle to the ring without her feet ever touching the ground. But now her dainty toes were in the wet grass, and she didn’t like it one bit.
The white bitch had been happy enough when the class was standing under the tent. But, apparently, moving was another matter. She could see that involved going out in the downpour, and she didn’t want any part of it.
“Good timing for us,” Sam muttered under his breath.
I nodded in agreement. Best timing ever.
Crawford was the consummate professional. He never lost his cool. Instead, he merely turned the white bitch in a small circle to get her feet moving. Then he reached down and chucked her lightly under the chin to bring up her tail and focus her attention on him.
That did the trick. She was a Standard Poodle, after all. She might take a minute to make her displeasure clear, but she wouldn’t disobey a direct order. Finally, away the handler and Poodle pair went.
The rest of the class followed.
While the white bitch was hopping and skittering around up front, Coral treated the jaunt around the outside of the ring like her own personal picnic. She floated over the wet grass as if it was her preferred surface. And when she and Davey were once again beneath the tent, the Poodle treated the spectators to an exuberant four-footed bounce in the air—just to make sure everyone knew how much fun she was having.
This time I did laugh. Sam and Aunt Peg, both of whom believed in behaving with decorum at ringside, kept their reactions to a restrained smile.
“Did you see that?” Kevin’s eyes were wide with delight. “Coral can fly!”
“When she wants to,” I said. “That’s a happy Poodle thing. Now let’s be quiet and watch the rest of the class.”
One by one, Mr. Connelly performed the individual examinations. After that, it didn’t take him long to place Coral at the head of the line. Having reshuffled the bitches into his preferred order, the judge simply motioned everyone over to the place markers rather than sending them all out in the rain again. To my surprise, Crawford and his pretty bitch were placed fourth of the five.
“I thought he liked Crawford’s bitch,” I said to Aunt Peg. “I know she didn’t show well, but fourth seems like an unexpectedly steep drop.”
“A judge can overlook a lackluster performance if a dog is really deserving otherwise,” she replied. “But despite Crawford’s best efforts, that bitch simply refused to settle and cooperate with him.”
The first go-around wasn’t the only time the white bitch had balked at the rain. She’d also resisted during her individual examination. By the end of the class, both her head and her tail had begun to droop. Though Crawford had remained expressionless throughout, he’d probably felt the same way.
“You know how important it is that a Poodle have a superb temperament,” Aunt Peg continued. “One might even say it’s a defining characteristic of the breed.”
I nodded. I’d been lectured about this before.
“Mr. Connelly didn’t drop the white bitch down in place because she didn’t show well,” Sam put in. “He did it because he decided that her repeated refusals to work with her handler meant that her temperament was lacking.”
“And a lucky thing that was for us,” Aunt Peg said in a low voice. “Because I’m not sure we’d have beaten her otherwise.”
Davey stuffed the blue ribbon in his pocket and remained in the ring with Coral. As he set her up, the Puppy Bitch winner came back to join him. Mr. Connelly briefly gave both bitches a good look. Then he pointed at Coral for the win.
“Yay, Davey did it!” Kevin tilted his head up toward mine. “Can we go now?”
“Not yet,” I told him. “Davey still needs to win again.”
If he didn’t succeed in beating the Winners Dog for Best of Winners, all the effort we’d gone to today would be for nothing.
Crawford came over to stand next to Aunt Peg. Terry, his hand cupped about the white bitch’s muzzle, walked around beside me.
“Since I’m outside the ring rather than in, I might as well come over here and root for the competition,” Crawford said wryly. “I expected Connelly to love my bitch. I thought we might have a shot at taking the variety.”
“He did love your bitch,” Sam pointed out. “Until she decided to defeat herself.”
“Finicky female,” Crawford grumbled.
Terry snickered under his breath. Then he used his free hand to reach over and poke me. “Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” I flicked him a glance.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I said innocently. Finicky female, indeed.
Coral and Davey were once again at the back of the line. There were two Standard Poodle champions up front, followed by the Winners Dog. Coral, the Winners Bitch, was behind him.
The judge gave both specials a thorough examination. Then he turned to his two Winners. He compared the Poodles to each other standing still, then he sent the pair around the ring together.
The white dog puppy was striking, but so was Coral. They both possessed beautiful breed type, but she had him beaten on maturity and movement. To my eye, Coral looked like the easy choice.
Not that anything about winning a major was ever easy.
Aunt Peg was muttering directions at the judge under her breath. “Hurry up and do it,” she told him. “It shouldn’t be taking you this long to decide.”
Finally, Mr. Connelly rearranged his line. He placed one of the champions in front, then beckoned to Davey to bring Coral forward. She was put in the second spot. That meant Best of Winners. And since both specials were males, Coral would also be Best of Opposite Sex.
Outside the ring we all went still, holding our breath as we waited for the judge to point and make it official. When he did, the five of us erupted in happy applause. Kevin tossed in a few cheers for good measure.
After the long journey we’d undertaken as a family, it felt amazing to have reached our goal. There’d been stumbles and setbacks along the way, but Davey had persevered. And in the end, he’d accomplished a major feat by handling Coral to her championship himself.
Even Crawford was pleased by the outcome. “Thank goodness your bitch is finally out of my way,” he said to Aunt Peg. “Now maybe I can get something finished around here.”
We all laughed at that.
Kevin pulled his hand free and ran over to the in-gate. Davey and Coral were standing near the placement marker as the judge handed out the ribbons. Luckily, the quick-thinking steward caught Kevin before he could go flying into the ring.
“Did you win enough?” Kev asked his brother.
“We did.” Davey looked somewhat stunned by the outcome. He held up the two rosettes: blue and white for Best of Winners, red and white for B
est Opposite Sex. “We actually did.”
Nobody minded that it was still raining. After that, everything about the day seemed utterly perfect to us.
Chapter 28
Our show day concluded with a flurry of activity.
Finishing Coral’s championship was a big achievement. Despite the relentless rain, we were all determined to get a win picture taken to mark the occasion. The weather had wreaked havoc on the Poodle’s coat, however, and we only had a few short minutes to make repairs.
As soon as Davey and Coral exited the ring, Sam and Aunt Peg took over. Using combs, brushes, and hair spray, they went to work on Coral’s soggy mane coat and drooping topknot. Terry observed their frenetic activity only briefly before he thrust the white bitch’s leash into my hands and joined in. Even Crawford decided to get involved.
Meanwhile, Kevin and I just did our best to stay out of the way.
By the time the show photographer arrived, Coral’s impromptu glam squad had succeeded in making the Poodle’s show side—the only view that would be visible in the picture—look almost as good as she had when she’d first entered the ring. That was a truly masterful performance.
Davey led Coral back into the ring and posed her for the picture. The judge was standing beside them. Davey handed him the two rosettes, then paused and looked around.
“Aunt Peg, you have to be in the picture too,” he said.
“No, this is your moment,” she told him. “Yours and Coral’s.”
Davey shook his head. He’d battled with Aunt Peg plenty over the terms of their often uneasy partnership. And he’d lost as many skirmishes as he’d won. This time he was determined to prevail.
“No,” he said firmly. “There isn’t going to be a picture unless you’re in it, too. This is our moment.”
Sam reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. Maybe because he heard me sniffle and figured that might stop me from crying. It came close. Later, I would blame my teary eyes on the photographer’s flash.
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