Chow Down (13 page)

Aunt Peg glared.

Bertie ignored her. She'd picked up the Poodle armbands on her way back from the rings. She handed me mine and I slipped it up my arm.

Her two Standard puppies were on their tabletops, waiting patiently. She stood them up and both shook out their coats. The hair lifted, then fell right back into place, the sign of a scissoring job well done.

“Time to head over,” she said. “Let's go get 'em.”

J
ust like at the previous show, Crawford and Terry didn't have any Standard Poodles entered. The two of them remained behind when our small procession made its way to the ring. Bertie's puppies led the way, hopping and scampering through the crowds.

The two were littermates, and both were bitches. Since Bertie would be handling both of them, one had been entered in the Puppy Class, the other in American-Bred. At their young age, their owner wasn't expecting them to win. But even puppies that were showing to socialize and get experience added to the numbers that produced the solid major.

Eve was eligible for the Bred by Exhibitor class, but I'd put her in Open. That was where the toughest competition would be entered; and showing her there sent a signal to the judge that Eve was ready to be a contender. Open Bitch was also the last of the regular classes to be judged within each breed, which meant that by the time our turn came, I would probably be a nervous wreck.

Sam, who knew me better than anyone, took Eve's leash out of my hands as soon as we reached the ring. Winners Dog was being judged; the competition in bitches would begin shortly.

“Go away for a few minutes,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

“Shoo. Get lost.” His hand flipped up and down in the air, motioning me away. “If you stand here, you'll begin to fidget. And if you fidget, you'll make Eve nervous. Then both of you will begin to fall apart.”

“You don't even trust me to
hold
my own dog?”

“It's not a matter of trust, it's a matter of expediency,” said Aunt Peg. “If you start fussing and knock all her hair down, Sam and I will be the ones who have to put it back up.”

Well, there was that.

“Here,” said Bertie, materializing beside me. “If you want to make yourself useful, you can hold one of these wild things while I go in the ring with the other.”

She reached over and shoved a balled-up show leash into my hand. The big brown puppy that was attached to it immediately spun around, leapt up, and planted her front feet on my chest.

“Hello!” I said, grunting slightly with the impact.

“Her name's Snickers,” said Bertie. “And trust me, you don't want to encourage her.”

I wasn't encouraging her, I was merely trying to remain upright. That in itself was a job since the big puppy probably weighed half as much as I did. Prudently, I moved Snickers away from Eve so that her antics wouldn't cause any damage. We walked around the side of the ring and watched Bertie show her sister.

The best that could be said for the performance was that the puppy had a lot of fun, most of it at Bertie's expense. Even the judge was smiling by the time she pinned the class. Bertie merely looked resigned to being run ragged by her exuberant charge. In a class of six, the two of them left without a ribbon.

We switched puppies at the gate and Bertie went right back into the ring with Snickers. The American-Bred class had two entries. Snickers was only marginally better behaved than her littermate, and she and Bertie earned second place by default.

I'd been concentrating so hard on watching one puppy while keeping the other out of trouble that I'd completely forgotten about the fact that Eve and I were due in the ring momentarily. Which had probably been everyone's plan all along.

Clutching her red ribbon, Bertie came flying out the gate and grabbed the leash I was holding. As she pulled the puppies away, Sam led Eve into place by my left side. Aunt Peg stooped down in front of my Poodle, making one last check of ears and topknot. Sam took out his comb, ran it quickly through my hair, then patted everything down into place.

“Perfect,” he said softly.

“You're sure?” Butterflies, late to arrive, were now coming on full force.

“Positive.”

Sam was looking at me, not Eve; and I saw everything I needed to know in his eyes. God, I loved that man.

“Go have fun,” he said.

Nine Standard Poodle bitches were entered in the Open class. As usual, almost all of them were being handled by professionals. The majority of the entry had already filed around us and into the ring. Eve and I took our place at the end of the long line.

Most handlers jockey for position in the front of the line. They like the psychological impact of leading right from the start. But since we'd already missed that opportunity, I decided that Eve and I would make the most of our place in the rear. We were going to make a spectacular last impression.

Sam and Aunt Peg had done me a huge favor by coming to the show to prepare Eve for the ring, I realized. Earlier I'd been feeling a little demoralized, wounded by the fact that they hadn't thought I was capable of doing a good enough job of grooming my own dog. But now I saw that their help had freed me to concentrate on the one important thing I had to do that day: showing off my Poodle to the judge to the best of my ability.

Maybe I'd never have the handling skill that Aunt Peg possessed. Certainly I'd never have Sam's flair. But what I was taking into the ring with me that day was an all-encompassing knowledge of the Poodle at the end of my leash.

The other handlers in the ring were professionals. They hadn't been there when the Poodles they were exhibiting were born. They hadn't watched them grow up; they didn't live with them twenty-four hours a day. In some cases, they might have met the dog they were handling only minutes earlier.

Eve and I had a bond that none of the other exhibitors in the ring could hope to emulate. We were accustomed to working together as a team. Each of us knew what the other was thinking.

I reached down and chucked Eve under the chin. She tipped her head back and caught my eye. We shared a look and the same thought passed between us. We'd been showing together for eighteen months. It was time to get the job done.

The judge was a woman named Charlotte Raines. I'd shown to her before and knew what she liked. When she made her first pass down the long line, I didn't stack Eve as the other handlers were doing. Instead, making use of the extra room I'd gained by being at the end, I stepped back and let Eve choose her own balanced stance, then baited her naturally.

Mrs. Raines's gaze slid quickly down the line, examining dogs and handlers alike and making mental notes of the faces she had to deal with. She wasn't a Poodle specialist but she judged the breed often and knew a good one when she got her hands on it. She appreciated the skill that went into a professional handling job, but she wasn't likely to let the pros con her into thinking that their Poodles were better specimens than they actually were.

In other words, she would reward an owner-handler for bringing her a good dog, but she'd make you work every single minute for the win.

Fine, I thought. Eve and I were up to the task.

The first go-around passed without incident. Mrs. Raines took note of Eve, which was good; but she also gazed favorably upon three or four other bitches. Even that early in the class, the contenders had begun to sort themselves out.

As the judge began her individual examinations, most of the other handlers pulled back out of line and let their Poodles relax while they waited their turns. Another time I might have done the same; but not that day. There was too much at stake.

Instead I left Eve standing on the rubber mat. The Poodle responded as I'd known she would. Her dark eyes fastened on the judge, watching her intently for several minutes. It was long enough to draw Mrs. Raines's attention her way twice.

I looked away, smiled to myself, and let Eve continue to work her magic.

Here's the thing. Eve was an excellent Standard Poodle, but with a four point major on the line, she wasn't the only good one in the class. Gazing up the line, I could see several other bitches that were probably her equal. On a given day, any one of us might deserve to win the class. But I refused to let that knowledge intimidate me. Today was going to be
our
day.

I believed it. Eve believed it. And that was half the battle right there.

Slowly the line moved forward. When Eve's attention began to flag, I pulled a little furry mouse out of my pocket and waved it enticingly under her nose. Immediately the Poodle's head snapped up, and her neck arched. Her tail, already high over her back, waved stiffly to and fro.

I gave the toy a small toss and Eve caught it on the fly. Before she could shake her head to “kill” the mouse, I snatched it back and held it up in the air. Eve stood at attention and woofed softly under her breath. Mrs. Raines glanced our way again.

The best judges, those who really understand the breed standard, know that Poodles have to do more than just look good to win. They also have to display the intelligent and playful temperament that is such an integral part of the breed. Mrs. Raines had entered the ring expecting the Poodles to entertain her, and Eve was doing her part to comply.

When our turn came to be individually examined, I walked Eve into a free stack and left her standing there on her own.
Look Ma, no hands!
I was telling the judge that I didn't have to prop Eve up to make her appear correct. That this Poodle bitch was pretty special all on her own.

Eve stood like she'd been cast in stone while Mrs. Raines conducted her examination. The judge ran her hands over the Poodle's body, checking her bite, examining her bone structure, feeling for muscle tone. When she had finished, Mrs. Raines stepped back and asked us to gait a triangle pattern.

Eve and I were at the top of our game. Not only did the judge watch us move, but I saw that the other handlers were taking note, too. They'd sized up the competition and decided who they had to beat, and Eve was at the head of the list.

Mrs. Raines sent us all the way around the ring to the end of the line, but we didn't remain there for long. Almost immediately she beckoned us forward, waving us to the opposite mat to start a new line. As she made the rest of her selections and Poodles filled in the spots behind us, I took a moment to glance outside the ring.

Aunt Peg was frowning, but that wasn't unusual when I was handling. I'd learned not to take it personally. Bertie was trying to watch, but she was also busy wrangling the two puppies who were trying to play with a nearby Briard. Only Sam, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and gazing in our direction, looked supremely confident.

He caught my eye and dropped one lid in a broad wink.
Having fun yet?
he mouthed.

I grinned in reply, just as the judge stepped back to the head of the line.

“I'd smile, too, if she was my Poodle,” she said. Then she lifted her hand and pointed to each of us in turn, awarding the class placements. “I'll take them just as they are. One, two, three, four!”

Quickly I hustled Eve over to the first-place marker. That she'd won the Open class was great. It meant that we'd already defeated a significant portion of the competition. But now Eve needed to defeat the winners of each of the earlier bitch classes to secure the points.

The puppy winner and the American-Bred bitch that had defeated Bertie filed back into the ring. The judge marked her book, then handed me a blue ribbon, which I stashed in my pocket. Then I swung Eve back into the lineup. As winner of the Open class, the place of honor in the front was hers by right.

At this point in the competition, the judge has already seen each of the entrants before. Usually they have a pretty good idea of who they're planning to put up for the points. But occasionally they're still debating the outcome; either that or else they want to ratchet up the suspense. In that case, they'll judge the Winners class almost from scratch. Despite the fact that Mrs. Raines obviously liked Eve, this was not the time to take anything for granted.

Since the routine had worked for us earlier, I didn't stack my Poodle this time, either. Instead I stood back and let her free bait. I stepped out of line and angled my body slightly in the judge's direction so that Eve, while looking at me, could also focus on Mrs. Raines.

Of course the problem with that was that now I had my back to the judge. Good handlers pick up a lot of information by watching the judge. Approval or disapproval can often be read in expressions or body language. And some judges use hand signals rather than their voices to advise the exhibitors what they want them to do next. So I was placing myself in a somewhat vulnerable position.

On the other hand Eve was baiting like the champion I hoped she soon would be. Standing square and tall, she cocked her head and watched my hands with an expression of rapt attention. Hopefully Mrs. Raines, whom I couldn't see, was noticing my Poodle's performance.

“Take them around, please.”

I flipped Eve the piece of dried liver I was holding in my hand and turned to face front. Pausing only long enough to make sure that the two handlers behind me were ready to go, I shot the Poodle out to the end of the leash and took off at a brisk trot. This was the part Eve liked best, flying around the ring in a spectacular, showy fashion, and daring anyone to believe that she wasn't the best.

As for me, I just tried not to lose my footing in the tight corners of the ring and to stay out of the way. This was Eve's moment to shine; my job was merely to remain inconspicuous.

Mrs. Raines gazed quickly up and down the line. Then her focus returned to Eve and stayed there for the remainder of the circuit. Her hand raised and my heart leapt.

“Winners Bitch,” she said. Her finger pointed in our direction.

Someone screamed a little. I'm afraid it might have been me.

Eve bounded into the air, landed on the mat, and then bounced up again. The second time I caught her in my arms and hugged her tight. I was crushing her carefully coifed hair but for the first time in nearly two years, I didn't care.