Underdog Page 2

  Two

  We started by gaiting around the room in a circle, just as a class would begin in the dog show ring. More than a dozen dogs were present and once we all got moving, the old wooden floors shook. When we were back where we started, Rick and Jenny began the individual examinations: Rick up front with the big dogs that were to be gone over on the ground, and Jenny in the back with the smaller dogs on the table.

  That gave those of us in the middle a chance to relax, play with our dogs, and talk to our neighbors. People come to breed-handling classes for one of two reasons. Either they know what they’re doing and they’re trying to train a new puppy; or they haven’t a clue what the dog show business is all about and they’re hoping to learn. Our group was pretty much evenly divided along those lines, which was good because it meant I wasn’t the only beginner.

  I watched Aunt Peg go through her routine with Hope. As usual her handling was both graceful and effective. Even though the Standard Poodle puppy was obviously inexperienced, they still made an impressive team. One thing I’ve learned so far is that handling a dog correctly is much like rubbing your stomach while patting yourself on the head. There are moments when it seems as though your hands—and your attention—must be everywhere at once.

  And I’ve only tried it in practice. I hated to think how I might perform in the actual show ring with the added pressure of nerves and competition thrown in.

  When Rick was finished with Aunt Peg, she and Hope came back to join those of us waiting our turn on the sidelines. But now that I finally had a chance to yell at her for the sneaky way she’d outmaneuvered me, the news about Ziggy had pretty much taken the wind out of my sails.

  I went over anyway. Hope and Faith immediately touched noses, wagged their tails in happy recognition, then leapt up to air-box with their front paws.

  “Go ahead,” said Aunt Peg, juggling her lead from hand to hand so the puppies wouldn’t get tangled. “Spit it out and get it over with. But bear in mind that the job needed doing and I didn’t see you getting anywhere with it. You know perfectly well I don’t sell my puppies to people without fenced yards. Just because you’re family doesn’t mean I was going to make an exception.”

  I was pleased to see she was on the defensive. That probably meant she was feeling guilty. “I wish you hadn’t done it, but I am grateful. I’m also going to pay you back.”

  A brow lifted. No doubt she’d expected me to make more of a fuss. I would have, too, if I hadn’t just heard about what could happen to dogs whose yards weren’t fenced.

  “Finish Faith to her championship. That’s all the payment I require.”

  Not exactly a small order, but one I was already pretty much resigned to. “Have you heard about Ziggy?”

  Automatically her gaze went to the stage. “No. Where is he?”

  “He was run over.”

  “Killed?”

  I nodded, and she harrumphed under her breath. There’s nothing Aunt Peg hates more than people who are careless with their dogs.

  “So that’s how I got off the hook.”

  Was I that transparent? I guessed so.

  “Jenny must be devastated. She adored that dog.”

  We both looked toward the other end of the room where the handler had a Dachshund up on the table. She was running her hands down its long sides and chatting happily with the little hound’s owner.

  “She’s covering it up,” I said, thinking of the near-tears I’d seen earlier.

  “Poor girl. I guess she’s had a lot of practice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I gather she didn’t have the happiest of childhoods. Her parents were handlers, too. Did you know that?”

  “She told me when I signed up.”

  “Roger and Lavinia Peterson. They’ve retired now and gone on to judging, but that pair was one of the strongest handling teams in the country for several decades. As children, Jenny and her sister, Angie, were always at the shows with them. Everyone just assumed that someday the girls would take over the family business.

  “But the moment Jenny turned eighteen, she moved out and started up on her own. That wouldn’t have been so odd, there’s no rule that says parents and children have to agree all the time. But what made people wonder was that a few months later, Angie joined her. The girl was barely sixteen at the time.”

  I glanced once more toward the back of the line. Jenny was repositioning a Cocker and talking about cow hocks. She seemed to have forgotten about Ziggy, at least for the time being. That was probably just as well.

  “Do you know what the problem was?”

  “No. They weren’t Poodle people,” she said, as if that explained why she’d missed being privy to the best gossip. “But there definitely was some sort of estrangement there. I don’t think they talk to this day.”

  A throat cleared loudly in front of me and I turned to find that while Aunt Peg and I had been chatting, the line had moved on. Faith’s turn was next and while Rick was moving the dog ahead of me, I was supposed to be getting ready and setting up. I led Faith up to the front of the mat. Taking control firmly but gently, as I’d been taught, I stacked the puppy, which means I set her up in the four square position that best showed off her conformation and balance.

  When I was done, she looked terrific. Unfortunately, the effect only lasted about ten seconds. That was how much time Faith gave me before deciding she’d held the pose long enough and demonstrating her feelings by leaping straight up in the air. She landed just as Rick turned our way. Perfect timing.

  “Ah, the flying puppy. I believe I saw your sister earlier.”

  “Yes,” I said, mortified. “But she behaved.”

  “Wouldn’t you with Margaret Turnbull on the end of your lead?” Rick slipped me a wink, and I immediately felt much better. But when I started to reset Faith’s legs, he reached out and stopped me. “Rather than fussing with her again right here, walk her in a small circle and start over. We want her to learn how to do this right from the beginning.”

  I followed his advice and, of course, it helped. Faith stood for his examination and we performed our triangle—trotting down one side of the mats, around the end, then back across the middle—smoothly and steadily. Faith even stood and baited for a piece of liver at the end.

  “She’s learning,” Aunt Peg said when I’d rejoined the line. “And so are you.” Coming from her, that was high praise.

  Satisfied with what we’d accomplished, I watched the last of the big dogs take its turn. The sleek gray Weimaraner was being handled by Jenny’s sister, Angie. Since she worked as Rick and Jenny’s assistant, that probably meant he was a client’s dog that was being tuned up for the shows.

  Angie Peterson was a taller, paler version of her sister. Her medium brown hair fell to below shoulder length, but I’d never seen it hanging free. Tonight, as usual, it was fastened back with a clip. Her eyes were nearly the same shade of brown as Jenny’s—soft cocoa with amber highlights. A spray of freckles stood out against her fair skin.

  She wasn’t plain so much as unremarkable, and the same held true of her handling. She presented the Weimaraner well, but it was easy to see why Jenny headed the operation and Angie was the assistant. Though technically proficient, Angie’s handling skills lacked the intuitive magic of her sister’s. Although to be fair, so did most everybody else’s.

  Even my untrained eye could see that Jenny was one of those rare people who could pick up a leash and have the dog at the other end suddenly appear two hundred percent better than it had only moments before. It was as though an electrical current passed between them, and magic was the only way I’d figured out to explain it. I’d seen her take class dogs in hand to illustrate a point and within seconds, the animals were transformed from everyday hounds into show stoppers.

  It was a gift, Aunt Peg had told me. Unfortunately it was one I didn’t share.

  Faith, being a puppy and having a Standard Poodle’s sense of humor, felt honor-bound to demonstrate that
to me repeatedly over the course of the next half hour. I prayed for patience and wished for invisibility. Class clown was not a role I intended to assume willingly.

  “Don’t worry,” Aunt Peg said, when Rick finally called a halt to the proceedings and I celebrated by sinking in an exhausted puddle into one of the chairs that lined the walls. “It will get much easier as it goes along. The problem now is that you and Faith are both trying to learn together.”

  “No, the problem is that she’s faster than I am and has more energy.”

  “You’re raising a child. Puppies are easier than that.”

  “Only because when you really get worn out, you can put them in a crate and take a break.”

  “I’ve seen children I thought deserved the same.” Never a mother, Aunt Peg had wasted no time mourning the loss. She tolerated children politely, but I’d never yet seen her clasp one to her bosom.

  “Not Davey, I hope.”

  “Not usually.”

  Well that was comforting. “Jenny’s coming to dinner tomorrow night. Why don’t you come too?”

  “Tomorrow?” Peg thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Got a date?”

  “I should be so fortunate.” Her look was stern. “And now that you mention it, so should you.”

  Aunt Peg heartily disapproved of the fact that since my divorce, my relationships with men had been sporadic and largely unsuccessful. Not that that was my fault. I was hardly the first thirty-year-old woman to discover that all the good men were already spoken for. And adding a young child into the mix didn’t improve my chances.

  Then last spring, I’d met Sam Driver. Even though I’d suspected he might be involved in the theft of one of Aunt Peg’s Poodles, I’d still been intrigued. Luckily my suspicions had been wrong, and things had progressed from there. Neither one of us was sure where the relationship was headed, and we were enjoying taking our time about finding out.

  Try explaining that to Aunt Peg, however, whose two speeds in life were full throttle and fast forward. She had a soft spot for Sam because he was a fellow Standard Poodle enthusiast and she’d taken an interest in the relationship from the beginning. Which is another way of saying that she’d pushed us together repeatedly without finesse or subtlety, neither of which was her strong suit.

  I knew what she was asking and it was easier just to give it to her. Persistence must run in the family because I’d seen Davey use the same method to get Popsicles before dinner.

  “Sam’s traveling,” I said.

  “Business, I hope.”

  “Either that, or he’s meeting his new girlfriend in L.A.”

  “You needn’t be so flip, Melanie. I’m only trying to look out for your best interests.”

  That was precisely the problem. When it came to my love life, I wasn’t sure my interests needed quite so much attention.

  “Did you say Jenny was coming over?” asked Aunt Peg. “Just Jenny? What about Rick?”

  “He can come along too if he wants. I asked her on the spur of the moment. Jenny seemed so down over Ziggy, I was looking for a way to cheer her up.”

  “She seems fine now.”

  I turned in the direction Aunt Peg was looking. Jenny was talking and laughing with a young man who handled a Smooth Fox Terrier in class. As they chatted, the terrier was busy wrapping his leash around their legs, binding them together.

  Angie and Rick were on the other side of the room, rolling up the mats. Rick must have looked up about the same time I did because he got up and went over to help Jenny. Taking the leash, he disentangled dog and people then hooked an arm over his wife’s shoulder and drew her to his side. The terrier man stayed on only a moment longer. When he left, Rick and Jenny headed our way.

  “What’s this I hear about my wife coming to your house for dinner?”

  “Girls’ night out,” I said, teasing him.

  Was it my imagination, or did Jenny stiffen slightly? There was no mistaking Rick’s frown.

  Too late, I began to back-pedal. “Just kidding. Of course you’re welcome too. I’d love to have you come.”

  “The night before a show weekend? I don’t think so. There’s too much to get done at home.”

  If I put my foot in my mouth one more time it would be a wonder if I could still talk. “I guess I wasn’t thinking,” I said to Jenny. “I’m pretty new at all this. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. If you’d rather make it another night. . .”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Tomorrow’s good. Really. I’ll see you then.”

  “Angel?” called Rick, turning away. “How are you coming with those mats?”

  “Almost there.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Why don’t you bring the van around and you can help me load.”

  “You got it.”

  The room was nearly empty by now. I got up and Aunt Peg and I headed for the door. “He didn’t look happy, did he?” she mused.

  I’d noticed the same thing, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. One thing about Aunt Peg—hand her the ball and she’d surely run with it.

  “Clearly you need a man of your own,” I said pointedly.

  “I might take yours. You don’t seem to be getting much use out of him.”

  She led the way out the door and there was nothing I could do but follow. This business about always getting the last word was just like handling. It was a gift. It had to be.

  Three

  Five days a week from nine until three, I work as a special education teacher in Stamford’s public school system. I still think of myself that way because back when I got out of graduate school, that’s what we were called. Since then, in an ongoing effort to make everything as needlessly complicated as possible, my title has been modernized. I am now known as a Learning Disabilities Resource Room Teacher.

  Same job, same pay; bigger sign on the door.

  I’m lucky in that most days I really like my work, especially when I’m with the kids. I could do without some of the administrators and most of the politics, but I’ve been at Hunting Ridge Elementary long enough so that I don’t have to deal with either too much if I don’t want to.

  Davey started kindergarten in September. After five years of juggling daycare, pre-school, car pools, and baby sitters, not to mention sick days, snow days, and holidays, we are finally both on the same schedule. What a relief. Not only that, but if he sits on his lunch somewhere along the way, I can usually slip him part of mine in the cafeteria. My stomach may growl a bit, but my thighs appreciate the sacrifice.

  On Friday, Davey and I went straight to the supermarket after school. I envy women who make dinners ahead and freeze them. At my house, I’m lucky to have the ingredients for a meal on hand, much less the finished product. Impromptu guests get nachos and salsa if they’re lucky; Pop-Tarts if they’re not. Aunt Peg has been known to solve this problem by bringing her own pastries. Either she has to find a low-fat bakery, or I’m going to have to develop some self-control.

  Jenny arrived promptly at six. I was back in the kitchen, but my early warning system spoke up loud and clear. First Faith began to bark, then Davey ran to the front hall, jumping up and down and yelling, “She’s here! She’s here!” From the way these two were carrying on, you’d think we never had company.

  With that much notice, I had time to get the door open before she could even ring the bell. Jenny stood on the top step with her hands full.

  “The wine’s a gift,” she said, handing me a bottle of cabernet sauvignon on her way in. “The book’s a loan. It belongs to Rick and he’d kill me if I gave it away. But there are a lot of good tips in here, and I think you might enjoy reading it.”

  The book was called An Owner’s Guide to Successful Dog Showing. I tucked it under my arm. “Thanks. I’ll give it back to you next week.”

  “No hurry.”

  “Hi,” said Davey, thrusting himself forward. There’s nothing he hates more than to be left out of a conversation. “I’m Davey. I�
�m five.”

  Jenny grinned down at him. “Five? Really? You must be big for your age.”

  “I am.” Davey’s small chest swelled with pride. “This is my Poodle. Her name is Faith.”

  Even without the introduction, the puppy would have been hard to miss. As soon as I’d opened the door, Faith had launched herself at our guest. Luckily Jenny was used to dealing with exuberant puppies and the initial onslaught had barely fazed her. Now that her hands were free she had one scratching behind Faith’s ears and the other rubbing under her chin.

  “Faith is a Standard Poodle,” Davey informed her. “That means she’s going to be big.”

  As if she wasn’t already.

  “Did you know that Poodles come in three sizes?”

  “I’m sure she does, Davey,” I broke in. Once my son started showing off how much he knew, he could go on for quite a while. “Let’s give Jenny a chance to get in the door before you monopolize her. You can talk to her some more later.”

  “Okay. Can I have a snack?”

  “No. Dinner’s in half an hour.”

  “But I’m hungry now.”

  “Good, then you’ll still be hungry in half an hour. Why don’t you take Faith to the back door and see if she wants to go out?”

  The two of them headed off down the hall and Jenny’s gaze followed their departure. “They’re so cute at that age.”

  “Puppies or kids?”

  “Both.” Her tone held the wistful sound of someone who’s never lived with a five-year-old twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. “I can’t wait.”

  Jenny couldn’t have been more than a year or two younger than me. I wondered what she was waiting for. “How does Rick feel?”

  “Ambivalent. He thinks we ought to be better established, have a larger base of clients. But the problem with handling is that except for a few regulars that you work with all the time, it’s not a steady thing. Dogs come and go. We have a champion Cocker now that’s been doing a lot of winning, but he’s retiring at the end of the year. After that, who knows? There’s an English Setter coming along that might take his place, but we won’t know that until we try. Sometimes I think that if you want something badly enough, you just have to jump in and do it.”