Nobody was surprised when Bubba made the cut after his individual examination. Good as that was, however, it was only the first baby step in the long road to success that Edith Jean hoped to see her puppy travel. Mr. Mancini quickly finished going over the rest of his class, dismissed the ones he wasn’t interested in, and settled down to have another good look at the eight he’d kept in the ring.
Due to his number, once again Bubba was positioned at the end of the line. Another handler might have been content to bide his time and wait to be noticed. Not Roger. The other seven exhibitors were on their knees in the grass behind their small charges, stacking them in anticipation of the judge’s next pass. Roger was on his feet.
Standing slightly in front and off to the side of Bubba, baiting the puppy with a piece of liver, he accomplished two things. One, he showed the judge that he didn’t have to prop his puppy up with his hands to make it look good. And two, by angling his body away, he forced Mr. Mancini to step out of his path, walk around, and take a deliberate look at the puppy
Mr. Mancini smiled slightly as he acquiesced. Every person in the ring, and most of those standing ringside, knew how the game was played. Besides, Bubba was doing his part as well. Standing like a statue at the end of his slender show lead, he had his head and tail bang up, his tiny feet planted solidly on the ground, and a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
He was worth a special look.
Bubba cocked his head and gazed at the judge as he approached. The Toy Poodle’s expression was charming, the contrast between his silver skin and deep black eyes and nose, irresistible. His tail whipped back and forth in greeting, drawing a burst of appreciative laughter from ringside.
Leo Mancini had a lot of Poodles to judge that afternoon. He wasn’t about to waste anyone’s time. With a flick of his finger, he pulled Bubba out of line and sent him to the other side of the ring. Four more picks followed, until his top five choices had been arranged in the correct order. The remaining three filled in at the end.
There’d been a smattering of applause when Bubba was placed at the head of the new line. When the judge raised his hands, telling the handlers to rise to their feet and gait around the ring for the last time, the applause swelled. Spectators sitting by the Standard Poodle ring next door, looked over to see what was happening.
Still standing on my chair, and for once in my life head and shoulders above everyone in the crowd, I searched the throngs for Edith Jean. I knew she was tucked away out there somewhere. As the line began to move with Bubba dancing exuberantly in first place, I found her. The older woman was flushed with excitement. She held up one hand to cover her mouth, the other wiped a tear from her eye.
Then Mr. Mancini pointed, officially awarding the blue ribbon to the little silver Toy, and brought the house down.
After that, it was hard to settle down and go back to work. It would be at least a couple of hours before Bubba would return to the ring to compete for Winners Dog. In the interim, Mr. Mancini had five more classes to judge: 12 to 18 Months Dogs, Novice, American-Bred, Bred by Exhibitor, and of course, Open, where Harry’s puppy, The Vindicator, would be in competition.
In theory, any one of those intervening classes could contribute the day’s eventual winner. Everyone who’d witnessed Bubba’s performance, however, knew they’d seen a dog who was going to be a contender. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
An hour later, Bertie wandered by. “This show rocks,” she said. “How come you never made me come sooner?”
“You were always busy.”
“You might have insisted.”
“You weren’t that interested in Poodles.”
“There was that,” Bertie admitted. She pulled out a chair and sat for a minute. “I guess it only goes to show how wrong a person can be. Maybe I’ll specialize in Toys. Did you see that silver puppy? Wasn’t he the cutest thing?”
“Absolutely. That was Edith Jean’s puppy, Bubba. Remember, you saw him the other night in the grooming room?”
“I guess.” She gave her profession a plug. “He looks different with a handler.”
Sad to say, that was true of almost every show dog.
“I suppose I need to buy some raffle tickets.” Bertie perused the table with the practiced eye of someone who’d been to many specialties. “Any chance I might win something that doesn’t have a Poodle silk-screened, appliquéd, or embroidered on it?”
“There’s a money tree,” I said. “But to get that, you have to have one of the first tickets pulled. It goes pretty fast.”
“How about if I know the person drawing the tickets, does that help?”
“Not much. Ask Sam. Last year he went home with Poodle pot holders.”
Good sport that she is, Bertie got out her wallet anyway.
Next person to stop by was Aunt Peg. “Why aren’t you stuck like Velcro to the Standard ring?” I asked.
“Mr. Lamb took a bathroom break. I thought I’d come over and congratulate Edith Jean.”
“She hasn’t won yet,” I pointed out.
Aunt Peg looked faintly outraged. “Bubba won his class. At a show of this caliber, that is an enormous honor.”
It wasn’t as if I needed to be reminded of that. But Edith Jean had made it clear that she had bigger honors in her sights.
“Do you want to hear something interesting?” I asked. “Harry Gandolf offered Edith Jean a whole lot of money to pull that puppy from the competition.” I related the conversation I’d overheard.
“How very odd,” Peg said at the end. “Why on earth do you suppose Harry would do something like that?”
“Because he was afraid Bubba would beat his Toy dog, obviously.”
“Even so. There are sixty-five Toy dogs in contention today. Any one of them might beat Harry’s puppy. All it takes is one.”
“Yes, but none of the others has as good a chance as Bubba does. Anyway, if you still want to find Edith Jean, try looking in the grooming area. She left me in charge here. I’m not expecting her back all afternoon.”
“I started in the grooming area,” said Aunt Peg. “Roger’s setup is being mobbed by well-wishers, but Edith Jean wasn’t among them. Not surprising when you consider that Roger wouldn’t want her there distracting the puppy when he has to go back in the ring later.”
The announcer called Standard Poodle Open Dogs to the ring and Aunt Peg vanished. Several more Toy classes were judged. I left Charlotte watching the raffle table briefly and ran outside to give Eve another walk. Thank goodness my Poodle had an understanding nature.
When I returned, Winners Dog was being judged in Standards. Due to the importance of the award, the Toy ring had shut down for the duration. Every spectator in the arena was giving the Standards their full attention.
Tommy Lamb was a judge who thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of showing. Obviously he intended to give his audience a class to remember. There were seven Standard Poodles in contention, one to represent each of the earlier classes, and he made each of them feel like a winner.
Factions quickly sprang up among the audience. Applause accompanied the Poodles’ every move. And through it all, Mr. Lamb kept his own counsel, giving no hint of whom he favored until the end when he pointed, finally, at a sparkling white dog from the Bred-by-Exhibitor class.
The crowd, who’d been holding their breath, all exhaled at once. Thunderous applause followed. The owner-handler wept. Mr. Lamb gallantly offered her his hand-kerchief.
As they set up to take pictures, the interrupted judging in the Toy ring resumed with the Open Class. At most dog shows, Open is the strongest class. At national specialties, however, there was so much quality to go around that it tended to get spread out. Now I saw that there were fewer entries in Open than there had been in Bubba’s class.
Ro-Mac’s The Vindicator looked good. I thought so, and so did Leo Mancini. The black puppy was well up to the competition offered by the twelve adult Toys in his class. Vic wasn’t as flashy as Bubba, but he didn’t have to
be. The quality was there in spades. The puppy, quite simply, shone.
The Vindicator prevailed in what looked to the ringside like an easy decision. Harry pocketed the blue ribbon. He took a minute to brush out the puppy’s ears and fluff the pompon on his tail. Then he calmly took his place at the head of the Winners’ line. One by one, the earlier class winners filed into the ring to join him.
Once again, all activity outside the ring came to a halt. All eyes were drawn to the competition within. The moment of truth had arrived.
14
“Mind if I join you?”
I’d been staring so hard at the ring, I hadn’t even seen Sam approach. I was, of course, still standing on a chair. For the first time in my life, rather than being eight inches shorter than Sam, I was nearly a foot taller. That didn’t last, however, as he was dragging over a chair of his own. When he stepped up next to me, the added height made him tower above the crowd.
“If Aunt Peg sees us, we’ll probably catch hell,” I mentioned. My aunt doesn’t take anything lightly when it comes to decorum and her favorite dog show.
“She’s already seen you.” Sam was grinning. “Hard not to, the way you’re sticking up over here.”
He reached over and took my hand. His fingers laced through mine and held on tight. I decided to interpret that to mean that if I had to suffer the consequences of Peg’s wrath, Sam would be at my side.
“Who are we rooting for?” he asked as Mr. Mancini sent the line of Toy Poodle class winners around for the first time. Sam had been watching Standards all day with Aunt Peg and was oblivious to the drama unfolding in the Toy ring.
“The silver puppy, second from the end. That’s Edith Jean’s Bubba. The one I told you about last night.” Over dinner, I’d filled Sam in on everything that had transpired before his arrival.
“The black puppy at the head of the line is gorgeous. The one with Harry Gandolf.”
I nodded, not taking my eyes from the ring. “That’s Ro-Mac’s The Vindicator, probably Bubba’s chief competition, though I didn’t get to see the rest of the classes. Harry wants desperately for his puppy to beat Bubba. Earlier I overheard him offering E.J. money to withdraw her dog from competition.”
Sam didn’t comment. He’d been involved in the dog show world long enough to know that just about anything was possible. He and I watched as, one by one, the Toy dogs were brought out of the line and moved again. That exercise was performed partly to refresh the judge’s memory, partly to honor each one as a class winner, and partly to allow the ringside to show support for their favorites. Each of the Toys was drawing applause from the crowd, but Vic and Bubba were clearly the two favorites.
Harry’s puppy, first to go, seemed to feed off the spectators’ enthusiasm. The louder the response, the more he began to sparkle. Harry, too, reveled in the audience’s attention. As the pair stopped in front of the judge, he pulled a furry stuffed mouse from his pocket and encouraged the little black dog to play.
“That’s going to be hard to beat,” Sam said as the puppy gaited to the end of the line accompanied by appreciative applause.
I had to agree, though I wasn’t about to abandon hope yet. “Wait until you see Bubba. That puppy shows like a pro. If nothing else, he’ll make a tight race of it.”
Four dogs later, it was Bubba’s turn. The crowd was waiting for him, hands poised in anticipation. The silver had barely stepped out of line before someone high up in the stands whistled loudly. The shrill sound echoed throughout the arena. A few people laughed at the over-the-top commendation.
In the ring, Roger’s head snapped up. He looked around as if seeking the source of the sound. At the same time, Bubba scampered forward several steps, crossing in front of his handler’s feet. Distracted, still walking, Roger didn’t see him in time. One loafer-clad toe kicked the puppy squarely in the ribs.
The blow was only a glancing one; nevertheless, it lifted the tiny Poodle up off the ground and tossed him nearly a foot. The spectators gasped audibly.
Bubba landed, bounced, seemed to recover. Then he scooted in a small circle at the end of the lead and dropped his tail. A horrified silence fell over the crowd. They clung to the edges of their seats as Roger immediately dropped to his knees beside the Toy puppy.
Dog shows operate on the premise that judges compare every dog before them to a breed standard. These written standards are the bible according to which every purebred dog is measured. Aside from offering a physical description, the standards also attempt the difficult task of defining what the essence of each breed should be. In Poodles, a dog bred primarily to act as a companion, temperament is considered to be paramount.
Poodles are naturally happy dogs. They should be outgoing and friendly, never shy or nervous. Poodles are meant to enjoy being shown, to have fun in the ring with their handlers. It’s expected that one of the ways they’ll demonstrate that enjoyment is by holding up their tails.
Old-timers have an expression that puts it more succinctly: “No tail, no Poodle,” they say.
So the fact that Bubba had gotten spooked was a big deal. If the puppy was to have any hope of winning, he needed to recover, and quickly. Roger chucked the small dog under the chin. He tickled his back. He took a small red ball out of his pocket and bounced it in front of Bubba’s nose.
The puppy’s ears pricked. His tail began to wag. Roger handed him the rubber ball, then snatched it back. Legs stiff, Bubba bounced up and down in place. His tail snapped up. He barked twice. The puppy wanted to play.
The crowd laughed in relief. They didn’t dare applaud yet. Just in case. Roger stood up and walked the puppy over to the judge. Bubba danced at the end of the slender leash. Mr. Mancini sent him down and back. The puppy strutted his stuff.
“That was close,” I said.
Sam was looking up into the stands. Tiers of mostly empty seats rose above us in all directions. Nearly all the show spectators preferred the close-up view from down on the arena floor. From even the lowest of the permanent seats, a Toy Poodle would look like little more than a moving ball of fluff.
“I wonder who whistled,” Sam said.
Good question. Especially since you don’t hear much stuff like that at dog shows—even big ones like PCA. Considering the outcome, I had to wonder whether the whistler had been looking to support Bubba as it had originally seemed. Or had the gesture been intended right from the start to produce an entirely different result?
In the ring, Mr. Mancini gaited his final class winner. He walked slowly up and down the line one last time. Applause swelled and dipped with his progress. The audience wasn’t the least bit shy about making their preferences known; and if they could manage to sway the judge’s opinion in the process, so much the better.
Leo Mancini, however, looked like a man with firm opinions of his own. He pointed toward Vic and asked to have the puppy put back on the table. As Harry swept the Toy dog up off the ground and moved to comply, the judge called for Bubba. He repeated his request. Both Poodles were to go on the rubber-matted table simultaneously for a side by side examination.
“I wish he’d hurry up,” I said. The suspense was killing me.
Sam, as usual, was more patient. “Give him time. This is the toughest decision he’s had all day.”
On the table in the middle of the ring, Vic stood like a rock. Bubba wasn’t so happy. Poodles are seldom called upon to share a table and the silver Toy didn’t like it. As he had earlier, Roger stepped back and let the puppy show himself. Then it had worked; now I wanted him to stand in close and offer Bubba more support.
After a minute, the judge returned the two Toys to the ground. Now he asked them to move together. Harry’s puppy seemed to think that was a fine idea. Bubba, perhaps still flustered by what had occurred earlier, saw four human feet around him when he’d been expecting two, and balked.
It was only a momentary hesitation, and Roger covered it well. Still, I knew if I had noticed, the judge most certainly had.
Bubba tr
otted out and back. This time his movement was more perfunctory than electrifying. Beside him, Vic was having the time of his life. Roger looked grim, his features set with concentration. Harry was smiling; he knew which way this wind was blowing.
The two puppies stopped and stacked in front of the judge. Mr. Mancini took one last look, then sent them both back to their original positions in line. That put Vic in front, and Bubba back near the end. That didn’t bode well.
The judge raised his hands and sent the line around. He let the Toys gait half the length of the ring, then lifted his arm and pointed. The coveted Winners Dog award went to Harry and The Vindicator.
Cheers erupted from around the arena. Harry pumped a fist in the air. Even though I’d been pulling for Bubba, I had to applaud the black puppy’s performance. Roger came forward from the back of the line and shook Harry’s hand.
“From here, that looked like the right decision,” Sam said.
I thought so too. In the end, Vic had asked for the win and Bubba hadn’t. That one small difference had been enough to determine the outcome.
The Toy dog who’d been second to Vic in the Open class came back to the ring to compete for Reserve Winners. No points would accompany this award, but at the national specialty the win would be an honor nonetheless. Indicating once again how close his previous decision had been, Mr. Mancini made short work of this one. He simply motioned Bubba to the head of the line, sent the dogs around and pointed immediately.
Roger scooped up his puppy and carried him over to the marker. He looked well pleased with the result.
“I’ve got to go,” Sam said, hopping down. “A friend of mine has two Standards in the parade. I told him I’d handle one for him.”
I knew Aunt Peg had Hope entered in the Parade of Champions as well. Now that Bubba was finished showing for the day, I hoped Edith Jean would come back and relieve me so that I could watch from ringside.
Best in Show Page 12