A Pedigree to Die For
Page 25
I took one last look, then went inside to call Aunt Peg. The machine was on, taking messages. No doubt she’d guessed I was going to be steamed over her high-handed tactics and made herself scarce. It’s hard to work up a good head of anger on a recording and I didn’t even bother to try.
She couldn’t hide forever, though, because two days later we had breed handling class together. Among the new things I’d discovered since Faith became part of the family is that there are all sorts of classes dog owners can take their pets to: everything from puppy kindergarten, to agility, to advanced obedience training. The purpose of our class is to teach a dog and its owner how to present themselves correctly in the conformation ring.
Class is held at the Round Hill Community House in back country Greenwich. Despite its auspicious address, the white clapboard building is durable rather than pretentious. Things in New England are built to last and the community center has been around for more than a century, serving as a gathering place for several generations of Fairfield County residents. On Thursday nights, it goes to the dogs.
The class is run by a husband and wife team named Rick and Jenny Maguire. Both are professional handlers. Their specialty is sporting dogs and according to Aunt Peg, they maintain a large and successful string serving a variety of clients. Luckily for me, they also like to teach beginners.
Judging by the cars in the parking lot, I’d gotten there before Aunt Peg. Davey was home with a sitter, so that was one less distraction to worry about. I parked just beyond the door, slipped on Faith’s leash and collar, then exercised her on the grass for a few minutes before going in.
I had more practical things in mind, but the puppy sniffed, and scampered, and danced playfully at the end of her lead. All Poodles are clowns at heart and Faith was no exception. Of the three sizes of Poodles—Toy, Miniature, and Standard—Standards are the biggest. Faith wasn’t going to be large for a bitch, but already her head was level with my hip.
Her ancestors had been bred to retrieve and I could see how that capability had been preserved through the generations. Her beautiful head had a long muzzle, strong underjaw and even white teeth. Faith’s dark brown eyes were meltingly expressive, and her compact body was covered with a plush coat of dense, coal black hair.
Poodles are certainly among the most intelligent breeds; but what really sets them apart as companion dogs is their inate desire to please and an almost intuitive connection to their owners’ needs. When I glanced at my watch, Faith knew it was time to head inside. Don’t ask me how. I’m new to this dog owning business. I gathered the leash in my hand and followed along behind.
Before class starts, Rick gets the room ready by laying down the mats the dogs need for traction, while Jenny takes attendance and collects fees in the lobby. A long line had already formed and Faith and I took our place at the end.
I hadn’t known Jenny Maguire long, but already I liked her a lot. She was bright, and funny, and had a wonderful hand on a dog. I was also intrigued by her viewpoint on the sport of dogs since I’m a real neophyte and she’s been around forever. I’m not tall, but Jenny is truly petite. She has shiny, seal brown hair and an engaging, dimpled smile. She’s the kind of girl I’d spent my high school years envying: the one born to be a cheerleader and have all the boys think she was cute.
She and Rick make a great pair. Even after seven years of marriage, his eyes still follow her around the room. His sturdy build compliments her slender frame and they often teach the class standing side by side, with one of his arms draped protectively over her shoulder. I should be so lucky.
Slowly the line inched forward. Faith was busy touching noses with the Pointer in front of us and eyeing the male Beagle to the rear. She’s a natural born flirt and the more I thought about that, the more I realized that maybe I shouldn’t be so upset about the fence.
When we’d almost made it up to the doorway, I started looking around for Jenny’s dog, Ziggy. Despite her background in setters and spaniels, her pet is a black Miniature Poodle. That’s probably one of the reasons why we hit it off so quickly. Jenny was delighted to find two Poodles signed up for her class along with the usual assortment of Cocker Spaniels and Bichon Frises. I told myself that that was why she’d singled me out for extra attention, and not because I’d looked as though I’d needed it so badly. She’s also been generous with lots of Poodle specific advice about top-knots and coat care and feeding.
While things are getting organized, Ziggy’s usually racing around the room. His favorite game involves tossing his stuffed rat high in the air and catching it on the fly. Even though he’s seven—middle age for a dog—he hasn’t lost a step. Once the class gets down to business, Jenny settles Ziggy on the stage, where he lies down to oversee the proceedings.
But when Faith and I finally reached the front of the line and I got a look at Jenny, I knew immediately that something was wrong. Her hair was pulled back into a careless ponytail; her eyes were red rimmed and downcast. When I held out a ten dollar bill, she made change without even looking up.
“Jenny?” I said. “Are you all right?”
Wordless, she shook her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ziggy.”
The word was so soft, I could hardly hear it. I looked around the room but didn’t see the little black Mini anywhere. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?” As if repeating the terrible news would help. “What happened?”
“It was all my fault.” She bit down hard on her lower lip. “He’s always so good. You’ve seen him. He would never run away.”
“Of course not.” I tangled my fingers in Faith’s topknot, looking for comfort, or maybe just the reassurance that she was all right. Sensing I was unhappy, the puppy pressed against my legs. She tipped her muzzle upward and licked the inside of my wrist with her tongue.
“I was out in the kennel and he was back at the house. I guess the front door wasn’t latched securely because it must have blown open. Ziggy got out and he was run over on the road out front.”
“Oh Jenny, I’m so sorry.” The words were hopelessly inadequate, but I couldn’t think what else to say. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I’m dealing with it.”
I stepped out of line and the Beagle man took my place. He paid for the class and moved on. Two other students followed, then we were alone.
“Where are you and Rick showing this weekend?” I asked.
“Northern New Jersey. Why?”
Good, that meant the shows would be day trips. “Come to my house for dinner tomorrow night. I make a great lasagna. We can drink a little wine . . .”
Jenny smiled wanly. “And forget all about our troubles?”
“Something like that.”
She thought about it for a minute. “Sure. Why not? I’d like that.”
I scribbled directions down on the back of the sign-up sheet and we decided six o’clock would work for both of us.
“Come on people!” Rick clapped his hands loudly. “Let’s get ourselves into some kind of order or we’ll be here all night. Everybody line up along the side. Big dogs in front, please.”
I was moving to comply when the front door opened and slammed shut in the outer hallway. “I’m here! I’m here!” called Aunt Peg. She and Hope came barreling into the room and she was shedding her coat as she ran. “Don’t start without me!”
Rick grinned and shook his head. Even Jenny managed a small chuckle. Good old Aunt Peg. Never let it be said she didn’t like to make an entrance. She stopped grandly in the middle of the mats.
“Where do you want me?”
I’d taken a place about halfway down the line. Aunt Peg purposely avoided looking my way.
“How about right up front?” said Rick.
Some things never change.
Davey and I spent most of the next afternoon after school raking leaves. The yard i
sn’t that big and the job wouldn’t have taken so long except that every time I got a decent sized pile together, Davey and Faith dove in. They were so cute together that I had to go into the house and get the camera. Now I’d have to be sure that Aunt Peg never saw the pictures of her show puppy with leaves intertwined through that all important coat of hair.
We finally bagged the last of what was on the ground and while Davey was taking a bath, I brushed through Faith’s coat with a pin brush, then took down her topknot which is the hair on the top of her head. If a Poodle is going to be shown, that hair is never cut. Eventually it will grow nearly a foot long. To keep it out of the dog’s face, the hair is gathered into a series of small pony tails which are held in place with tiny colored rubber bands. I cut loose the old bands, brushed through the hair, then reset it with new ones. I was just finishing when the phone rang.
It was Aunt Peg. “This is so awful,” she said.
“What is?”
“I was just talking to Rick Maguire.”
As I waited for her to continue, I slipped Faith a piece of cheese as a reward for being good, then hopped her down off the portable grooming table I’d set up in the kitchen.
“What?” I asked again when a moment passed and she still hadn’t said a word.
“I just can’t believe it.” Peg’s voice was oddly flat. “Rick was so upset I could barely understand what he was saying. Melanie, Jenny Maguire is dead.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 1995 by Laurien Berenson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-8065-3651-4