Pup Fiction Read online

  “Don’t start yet. I need to get Emily’s approval first. She may not like the idea.”

  “Nonsense.” She snorted. “What’s not to like? Emily’s in need of a fundraiser, and dog breeders could use some good PR for a change. Everybody benefits. I don’t know why I didn’t think of something like this sooner.”

  Probably because she’d been too busy worrying unnecessarily about Coral and Davey. Abruptly I glanced down at my watch.

  “We need to get moving,” I said. “Standards start in twenty minutes. Let’s stop by the ring and pick up Davey’s armband, then head back to the grooming tent.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” said Aunt Peg.

  Chapter 7

  Coral was nearly ring-ready when Aunt Peg and I got back to the setup. The big Poodle was standing on her table while Davey layered a liberal amount of hair spray into her copious topknot and neck hair. Meanwhile, Sam was using a pair of curved shears to snick tiny bits of hair off of her rounded front puffs.

  “Momeee!” Kevin was sitting in the grass nearby, looking at a picture book. He jumped up as we approached. “Did you bring me a hot dog?”

  “No.” I thought back. “Did you ask me for a hot dog?”

  He stuck out his lower lip. “I thought you would just know.”

  Is there a mother anywhere who doesn’t feel guilty about something most of the time? If so, I hadn’t met her.

  I walked over and opened the cooler. “How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

  “What kind of jelly?” Terry asked from next door. “Don’t say grape.”

  Crawford was already up at the ring, where Minis were currently being judged. Terry had their white Mini special standing beside him on a tabletop. One hand was beneath the dog’s chin, the other was rubbing the base of its tail. The Mini entry wasn’t large, which meant that Terry would need to leave soon.

  “You’re in luck. It’s raspberry.” I held up a baggie with the sandwich inside. “Want one? Maybe you can hold it in your third hand.”

  “Shush. Play nice.” Terry leaned over and lowered his voice. “Crawford’s going to win nearly everything today in Toys and Minis, which will clear the way for you”—he nodded in Coral’s direction—“in Standards. We’ll all come back here afterward and celebrate with peanut butter and jelly.”

  “It’s a deal,” I told him. “Except for one thing. You guys aren’t the only ones we have to beat. There are twelve Standard bitches entered.”

  “Yes, but ours is the one you have to worry about because other than Coral, she’s the best.” Terry swept the white Mini off the table and hurried away.

  Aunt Peg stared at me from the other side of the setup. “What were you two talking about over there?”

  “Nothing important,” I said breezily. Aunt Peg was superstitious when it came to dog shows. She didn’t need to know that we’d been discussing potential results.

  “I hope you weren’t trying to bribe Terry to throw the win with peanut butter and jelly,” Sam said with a grin.

  “Coral won’t need any underhanded assistance to do well today,” I said. “She looks great.”

  Davey stepped away from the table and took a look too. “She does, doesn’t she?”

  For a minute, we all stood and admired the beautiful Standard Poodle in front of us. Now twenty months old, Coral had grown into her adult trim. Her topknot and ears were glorious, and her neck hair and mane coat had filled in. Her topline was level, the swoop of her beautifully angulated hindquarter was just right. Her tail stood straight up in the air. Coral’s pretty face stared right back at us. She knew today was her day.

  “Hey,” said Kevin. He was clearly not as impressed as the rest of us were. “Where’s my sandwich?”

  * * *

  I gave Kev half a sandwich and told him to bring it to the ring with us. It was almost time to go. Sam helped Davey into his sports coat, then banded Coral’s number to the top of his arm. Aunt Peg checked to make sure Davey had bait in his pocket. I unwrapped Coral’s ears and combed the long hair into place. Then Sam carefully lifted the bitch off the table and set her on the ground.

  As soon as Coral found her footing, she gave her body a long, luxurious shake. When she was finished, I grabbed the comb and fixed her ears again. Sam unspooled her narrow leash and handed the end to Davey.

  As we were heading out, Crawford and Terry came hurrying back to the setup with their Miniature Poodles. Both men were carrying ribbons. Purple and gold meant Best of Variety. Red and white was Best of Opposite Sex. Blue and white was for Best of Winners.

  Terry’s prediction had been correct: Crawford had won everything in Minis. That helped.

  The two men stashed the Minis on tabletops and grabbed their Standards. Crawford was showing an Open bitch. He also had a champion dog for Best of Variety. I looked at his class bitch critically. She looked great. That wasn’t unexpected—every dog Crawford showed looked great. But she wasn’t as nice as Coral. I hoped today’s judge would agree.

  We arrived at ringside when the Open Dog class was being judged. Sam and Davey took Coral off to one side, protecting her from being jostled by the crowd of people and dogs beneath the center tent. I was holding Kevin’s hand. We went with Aunt Peg to find a good spot from which to watch the action.

  Kev was finishing his sandwich. There was a smear of jelly across the front of his T-shirt. It figured.

  “When’s Davey’s class?” he asked.

  “Not for a few minutes. There’s a major in dogs too. See?”

  I gestured toward the ring, but Kevin lost interest when he heard it wasn’t Davey’s turn yet. He reached for my catalog instead. He opened it and began to look at pictures.

  As always, I was fascinated by the scene in front of us. We’d missed two earlier dog classes. Six Open dogs were now in the ring. The judge, an older woman, appeared to be making short work of her entry.

  “Who’s going to win?” I asked Aunt Peg.

  She reared back and stared at me in outrage. “How would I know that?”

  Seriously? She always knew that. Witness our earlier exchange at the Beauceron ring. Now, apparently, she’d decided to be circumspect.

  I tried again. “What kind of dog does Alida Rudolph like?”

  I’d never shown under the woman nor seen her judge, but I knew Aunt Peg would be well aware of Mrs. Rudolph’s preferences. After all, she’d made the entry for Coral. So if this judge favored white Poodles or was known to reward dogs who didn’t move well, we wouldn’t be here.

  “Pretty,” Aunt Peg said out of the side of her mouth. In keeping with ringside etiquette, she kept her voice low.

  Check. We had that covered. “What else?”

  “She’ll give Coral’s front a thorough inspection, and she cares about good feet.”

  I added a few more checks to the list. So far, so good.

  “I assume she doesn’t mind owner handlers?” Politics could be a problem for amateur exhibitors. Some judges cared only about the connections of the handlers in their rings.

  “No, but . . .” Aunt Peg paused as Mrs. Rudolph rearranged the order of her Open dogs. She was about to send them around the ring one last time.

  “Go on,” I prompted. A “but” was never a good thing.

  Aunt Peg exhaled as Mrs. Rudolph motioned a handsome silver dog over to the first-place marker. I assumed he was the Poodle she’d secretly been rooting for.

  Two handlers waiting outside the gate hustled the winners of the earlier Puppy and Bred-by-Exhibitor classes back into the ring. The three dogs lined up in class order to compete for Winners Dog—and the all-important points that came with the award.

  Mrs. Rudolph stared at the trio from across the ring. Aunt Peg stared at Alida Rudolph, as if she was trying to pick the judge’s brain.

  “But?” I said. Davey would be entering the ring shortly. If this was something he needed to know, I wanted to hear about it now.

  Aunt Peg spared me a glance. Apparently I wasn�
��t nearly as interesting to her as what was happening in front of her. “Alida demands a good performance. She wants her exhibitors to be on their toes and paying attention. She won’t tolerate any sloppiness or fooling around. The handler doesn’t have to be a pro, but she wants to see a professional level handling job.”

  Oh. That explained why Aunt Peg had been on Davey’s case this week.

  “You might have mentioned that earlier,” I said.

  “And you might have trusted me to know what I was doing. Apparently we both failed to do our jobs.”

  I tried to look on the bright side. Surely, there had to be one somewhere. Preferably, one that didn’t involve Aunt Peg’s hopes and dreams resting on the slender shoulders of my fourteen-year-old son.

  “Davey’s ready for this,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.

  Aunt Peg frowned. “He’d better be. Because ready or not, he’s about to join the big leagues.”

  Winners Dog went to the silver Standard. After that, the Puppy Bitch class with its three entries seemed to go by in a flash. There were nine bitches in Davey and Coral’s Open class. When the handlers entered the ring and set their Poodles up in a long line, they took up one entire side of the enclosure.

  The steward had asked for catalog order, which put Davey and Coral in the middle of the line. That was too bad. It was much easier to stand out when a dog was positioned at one of the two ends.

  Once Davey was in the ring, Sam came over and joined us at the rail. Terry was close behind. There wouldn’t be time to go back to the handlers’ tent between now and Best of Variety, so Terry had Crawford’s Standard special with him. He held the big white Poodle with his fingers cupped gently around the dog’s muzzle. We all moved over to make room for him in our group.

  I leaned down to Kevin’s level. My son was eyeing the massive coat on Terry’s Poodle. “Don’t touch.”

  “I know.” Kev smirked. He’d only been told a thousand times. “Besides”—he extended his hand over the low railing to point into the ring—“there’s Davey. It’s almost time for him to run around.”

  I quickly pulled his hand back, then held onto it. Heaven forbid he come in contact with anyone’s Standard Poodle, even accidentally.

  Mrs. Rudolph was making her first pass down the long line. She appeared to favor Coral with a few extra seconds of scrutiny, but that could have just been hopeful optimism on my part.

  Crawford was at the head of the class. The judge told him to take the Poodles around the ring, and he glanced back to make sure everyone was ready. As the line began to move, Davey paused for a moment, giving the Standard bitch in front of Coral a head start. With a little extra room, Coral wouldn’t have to hold back her longer stride to make it fit.

  “Good job,” I heard Aunt Peg mutter under her breath as Coral flew around the ring, showing off her lovely outline and extension.

  Sam and I shared a pleased look. Terry grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. Much as he loved Crawford, I was pretty sure that today he was rooting for us.

  Each of the first four bitches was individually examined and sent to the back of the line. Coral’s turn was next. As the Poodle before him was finishing her performance, Davey walked Coral forward into a perfect stack. Then he moved around to stand in front of her.

  One of his hands had her leash. The other held a fuzzy toy mouse he’d pulled out of his pocket. Coral eyed the toy. She arched her feet and went up on her toes. Her tail wagged back and forth.

  Whether it was luck or perfect timing, Mrs. Rudolph chose that exact moment to turn around. When she saw Coral posed in front of her, looking like the living embodiment of the Poodle breed standard, a smile lit up her face. Then she quickly shuttered her expression and got down to business.

  “Did you see that?” Terry whispered gleefully. He pounded on my shoulder with his fist.

  “I did,” I told him. By the time this day ended, I was going to be black and blue. Hopefully, it would be worth it.

  “Be quiet, you two,” Aunt Peg commanded. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

  Coral gaited down and back across the diagonal of the ring. Then Davey trotted her around the perimeter to the end of the line. Mrs. Rudolph’s gaze followed her the entire way. The ringside did too. Coral possessed that kind of charisma.

  The judge finished her individual examinations, then gazed once more down the line. She beckoned Crawford out to the center of the ring with his pretty bitch. Then she indicated that Davey and Coral should join them. Next, she pulled out a mature brown bitch presented by another pro. The remaining six bitches moved back against the outer rail as Mrs. Rudolph asked the three handlers in the middle to show off their Standard Poodles.

  The head-to-head battle would be the acid test of Davey’s skills and Coral’s quality. Did my son have what it took to hold his own against the pros? We’d soon find out.

  In Davey’s place, I’d have been intimidated. My son, however, seemed oblivious to the pressure. He ignored Crawford and the other handler. He didn’t care what they were doing. His attention never left Coral for a moment.

  The black bitch responded in kind. What a wonderful team they made. Coral was having the time of her life. When Davey swung her out to the end of the lead to reposition her, the Poodle turned her head and gave Mrs. Rudolph an adoring look.

  The judge melted. I saw it happen. Everyone else must have too—because Terry started pounding on me again.

  Mrs. Rudolph lifted her hand and motioned Coral to the head of a new line. Crawford’s bitch was placed behind her. The brown bitch was third. The judge plucked a bitch from the other six to put fourth. As soon as the line was reset, she pointed to each of the Standard Poodles in turn to pin her class.

  Kevin jumped up and down. He pumped his small fist in the air.

  “Wait,” I told him. “It’s not over.”

  I didn’t realize it yet, but I was wrong. The decision had already been made. Because when the Puppy class winner returned to the ring, Mrs. Rudolph only waited long enough for the handler to move his bitch into position before she pointed to Coral a second time.

  “You’re my Winners Bitch,” she said to Davey.

  And just like that, Coral had won her first major.

  Chapter 8

  The judging wasn’t finished yet, but we didn’t care.

  Davey and Coral had already accomplished what we came for.

  Crawford’s bitch was Reserve Winners. The handler stopped on the way out of the ring and shook Davey’s hand, congratulating him on a job well done. Coming from Crawford, that was high praise. I knew Davey would be almost as pleased about that as he was about the win.

  The Best of Variety judging was next. Crawford switched Poodles with Terry, then re-entered the ring with his specials dog. Two other champions took their places behind him. The Winners Dog was after that, followed by Coral.

  Now that the pressure was off, Davey showed Coral with a huge grin on his face. When Coral was awarded Best of Winners over the dog, it was just the icing on the cake.

  Davey collected his third ribbon of the day, then exited the ring and walked over to where we were standing. He dumped his loot in Kevin’s waiting hands. Then he turned to Aunt Peg. “Am I allowed to say I told you so?”

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  “Yes,” Aunt Peg said at the same time. “You may.” Suddenly she was smiling too. “That was quite a performance the two of you put on.”

  Davey’s cheeks grew pink. “This is quite a nice bitch you bred. Thank you for allowing me to handle her.”

  “Thank you,” Aunt Peg replied.

  Our mutual admiration society looked quite pleased with themselves. Meanwhile, Coral was bouncing up and down on her hind legs. She wanted some of the credit too. Aunt Peg wrapped an arm around the Poodle’s neck and gave her a hug.

  Terry cleared his throat loudly. “Before you mess up her hair too much, you ought to think about having a picture taken.”

  “Oh!” Aunt Peg ga
sped. “Of course.”

  She immediately nudged the Standard Poodle down to the ground. Sam produced a comb from his pocket. Davey grabbed a can of spray from Terry. Quickly, they made repairs to Coral’s coat.

  Kevin had tucked the three ribbons into the waistband of his shorts. Now he watched the flurry of activity surrounding the Poodle with a frown on his face.

  “Aunt Peg touched,” he announced. “That’s not allowed.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But Coral belongs to Aunt Peg. So if she wants to do something wrong, we can’t stop her.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Peg’s head swivel my way. I refused to meet her gaze. This was too good a day for arguments.

  “Come on, Kev,” Davey said happily as he reclaimed Coral’s leash. “We’re going back in the ring to have a picture taken. Will you come with us and bring all the ribbons so the judge can hold them?”

  “Okay.” Kevin checked out his collection. “But only if I can be in the picture and hold a ribbon too.”

  Davey paused. He wasn’t sure if that was allowed.

  “Alida Rudolph is a grandmother.” Aunt Peg smiled. “I’m sure she won’t mind a bit.”

  * * *

  We floated home on a pleasant cloud of euphoria. Coral was now just one major away from finishing her championship. Although Sam and Davey had done most of the work, we all felt a sense of accomplishment. Even Kevin.

  “I helped,” he said happily.

  “Of course you did,” I told him.

  “What did he do?” Davey wanted to know from the back seat.

  “Kevin is your biggest fan,” I said. “He always roots for you to win.”

  Davey thought about that for a few seconds. Apparently, that hadn’t occurred to him before. He looked over at his little brother. “Thanks, munchkin.”

  Kev grinned. He didn’t even object to the nickname.

  All in all, it was a good day.

  * * *

  The new week had started uneventfully, but unfortunately that didn’t last. On Tuesday, I was emptying the dishwasher when my phone rang. Faith was lying in the corner bed, supervising. Bud was hiding under the table, ready to react if something edible dropped on the floor.