Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (4 page)

“Don't you worry about that,” Crawford said to Davey. “That puppy's only going to get better as he matures. There'll be plenty of time for you to look for majors when he's an adult.”

Davey nodded. He'd heard much the same thing from Sam and me.

Crawford removed the Silky's leash, opened a wooden crate in the middle of his stacks, and slipped the small dog inside. As soon as his hands were free, Terry handed him a Pomeranian that was ready to go.

Deftly the assistant slid the Silky's numbered armband out from beneath the rubber band looped at the top of Crawford's arm, and replaced it with the Pom's number. Then the handler spun around and headed back to the ring. Judging by the size of his setup, Crawford had brought a full complement of dogs to the show. He and Terry would be running all day just to keep up.

“Look who I found on my way back from the parking lot,” said Sam. He was threading his way toward us through the packed tent. Following along behind were Bob and Nick Walden.

“Dad, you came!” Davey cried happily.

“Of course I came,” Bob replied. “Your first show with your puppy? You didn't think I‘d miss that, did you?”

He reached over to give Augie a careless pat, his hand heading straight for the hair that Davey had been working on for the last ten minutes. Without missing a beat, Davey intercepted his father's hand before it could make contact and guided it gently away.

“You can play with Augie afterward,” he told Bob. “But right now, he and I have to get ready.”

I bit back a smile. Aunt Peg harrumphed her approval. Only Bob was happily oblivious.

He ushered Nick forward and introductions were made. I stood back and watched with interest as Aunt Peg and Nick Walden sized each other up. I was guessing it wouldn't be long before the two of them were trading war stories.

Terry sidled up behind me. “Who's the hunk?” he whispered in my ear.

Terry is the gayest man I know. He cuts my hair, he critiques my clothes, and even though he and Crawford have been in a committed relationship for years, he's not above keeping tabs on any new talent that wanders into his vicinity.

“Nick's a dog whisperer,” I told him. “He fixes peoples' problem dogs.”

“Yeah, right. Peg will cut him off at the knees,” Terry predicted.

“No, she'll be charmed. Just watch.”

“Five bucks says you're wrong.”

“You're on,” I said.

I
won the bet. It didn't even take five minutes.

In less than half that amount of time, Nick and Aunt Peg were already chatting like old friends. Terry sighed and conceded defeat. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill.

“Keep it,” I said. “The thrill of victory is compensation enough.”

Terry stuck out his tongue and went back to work.

Sam took over helping Davey so I walked across the setup to join Nick and Aunt Peg. As soon as I approached she extended her arms, offering my child back to me. Kevin dangled between us with a goofy grin on his face. I lifted the toddler out of her hands and put him down in the grass.

“If you were tired of holding him, you could have done that,” I told her.

Aunt Peg frowned. “How was I supposed to know? He's not wearing a leash. What if he wandered off?”

I grabbed a pair of Matchbox cars out of the diaper bag and handed them to Kevin. He immediately sat down and turned the ground beside him into an impromptu roadway.

“He won't,” I said. “See? It's like magic.”

“I take it he's yours?” asked Nick.

“They both are.” I nodded toward Davey too.

“And the Standard Poodle?”

“That's Augie. He belongs to Davey. But in a roundabout way, he comes from Peg's breeding. Which is also partly why we ended up with him.”

“In order for that to truly make sense,” Nick said, shaking his head, “I think I'm going to require further explanation.”

“Several years ago I bred a litter of puppies, intending to keep a bitch,” Aunt Peg told him. “But there was a male in the group that was an absolute standout. Even though he wasn't what I wanted, I couldn't take my eyes off him. I knew he had to go to just the right person.”

“Fortunately,” I said, taking up the story, “Sam saw the puppy and fell in love with him.”

“And you and Sam were married then?” asked Nick.

“No, we were dating . . . sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Let's just say, we had our ups and downs.”

Sam, who was listening in, leaned over and said to Nick, “Melanie had her ups and downs. I was a model of consistency.”

“Except for when he got back together with his ex-wife,” I muttered.

“I did
not
get back together with Sheila.”

“She thought you had. And so did everybody else. You were the only person who didn't see what was going on.”

“Aren't you glad you asked?” said Terry.

Everyone in the vicinity was listening now. Pretty soon, exhibitors from nearby setups were going to be weighing in with opinions.

“Ask me again in five minutes,” said Nick. “I want to hear how this turns out. Then what happened?”

“I'll skip ahead,” I told him. “So Tar grew up to be a really handsome Poodle.”

“No surprise there,” Aunt Peg interjected.

“With Sam handling, he won twenty-five groups and eight Best in Shows. Then he retired to stud.”

“At the rate this story is going,” Terry said, “Davey will be in the ring before you're finished.”

“Do you think you can do better?” I asked.

“Of course.” Terry fluttered his lashes. “I can
always
do better.”

The sad thing was, he was probably right.

Terry elbowed me aside. He pointed to the puppy with a flourish. “Peg is Tar's breeder. Tar is Augie's sire. Augie's breeders got divorced. Davey needed a puppy. He ended up with custody. And six months later, here we all are. Now seriously? Was that so hard?”

“Apparently not,” Bob said with a laugh. “Nick, I hope you were paying attention. There will be a quiz later.”

“Bring it on,” Nick said. “I'm pretty sure I caught most of that.”

“Good,” said Terry. “Because I have scissoring to do.”

Davey had turned Augie over and was now using a slicker brush on the puppy's legs. Next door at Crawford's setup, four Standard Poodles were out on their tables in varying stages of ring-readiness. The clock was counting down. Terry stood up the Poodle nearest him and began to shape its back bracelets.

“Now that we have Melanie's life sorted out,” Aunt Peg said to Nick, “tell me about your business.”

“I'd be happy to,” Nick replied.

“That's my cue to hit up the concession stand,” said Bob. Unlike the rest of us, he hadn't been to enough dog shows to realize how vile the food offerings were likely to be. “Anyone want to join me?”

We all shook out heads, and Bob headed out.

“Ring three at noon!” I called after him.

He held his thumb up in the air and kept walking.

“Mostly I get calls from families who purchased a cute puppy without ever stopping to think about how much time and effort would be involved in raising it to become a solid, upstanding citizen,” Nick said. “Some of the dogs I see never even got housebroken. Others might have nipped a child and been banished outside, chained to a tree. Some are running loose around their neighborhoods, creating havoc.

“By the time they get around to calling me, dog owners are usually feeling pretty desperate. Their husbands and sometimes their neighbors are complaining. There may have even been a run-in with Animal Control. Their dogs are driving them crazy.”

“So the majority of your clients are women?” I asked.

Nick nodded. “It almost always seems to work out that way. Their husbands go off to work, their kids are in school. They're the ones left to handle the problem. A lot of these women have time on their hands. Maybe they're a little bored. So they call me to come and train their dog and maybe provide a little entertainment at the same time.”

“And
do
you provide entertainment?” Aunt Peg inquired archly.

“Not in the way you're implying.” Nick laughed. “Not that it hasn't been offered. But I'm trying to build a business and I want to be taken seriously. Which is already hard enough when your title is The Dog Whisperer.”

Davey had finished brushing Augie's show side. Now he stepped back as Sam encouraged the puppy to get to his feet and give a hearty shake. Augie's hair straightened and fluffed, then settled into place. Davey raised his hand and propped it under the puppy's muzzle, supporting his head in the position it would assume in the show ring. Sam picked up a pair of long Japanese scissors and went to work. The three of them made a great team.

“What's your success rate?” asked Aunt Peg. She'd never been one to beat around the bush.

“So far, no complaints. Ever since I was a little kid, I've always had a connection with dogs. I just understand what they're thinking. I have yet to meet a dog I didn't click with on one level or another.”

Warming to his subject, Nick's eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Even the tough guys respond when they realize that you're trying to help them. And once I went into business I figured out pretty quickly that the dogs are the easy part. It's people who are hard. I'll let you in on a secret. Most times, I'm not really training the dogs. I'm training their owners.”

Aunt Peg was nodding her head as Nick spoke. I wasn't surprised. Anyone could see that the two of them were on the same wavelength.

“Bob seems to think I might be useful to you,” she said.

“He told me that as well,” Nick replied. “Bob said you know just about everyone in the dog world.”

“It's one of the very few perks of being old. If you've lived an interesting life, eventually you've run across everybody that matters.”

“Let me tell you why I need your help,” Nick said earnestly. “I know I can do more than I'm doing now. There are a lot of dogs out there whose lives could be improved immeasurably if only their owners had the right tools to turn things around. And I'm the guy who can make that happen. Truthfully? The clients I have now are great. But ultimately, I want to be more than a distraction for bored housewives.”

“It sounds like a very worthwhile goal,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Perhaps you'd like to stop by my house one day this week so that we can sit down and continue our discussion further?”

“I'd be happy to,” said Nick. “It's been a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”

“I've enjoyed it,” Aunt Peg said honestly.

“He seemed like a nice guy,” Sam commented, when Nick had left the tent.

“He did,” Peg agreed. “Of course, before I decide whether or not I want to help him, I'll need to see him actually interact with a dog. Or five, as the case may be.”

So the dog whisperer was going to meet the Cedar Crest Poodles en masse. That should prove interesting. I wondered if I ought to try to wrangle an invitation for the occasion.

“How's everything coming? Just about ready?” Crawford came hurrying back to the setup.

His Standard Poodles' topknots were in and all four dogs had been scissored. When he wasn't busy gossiping, Terry was a whiz at prep. Now he was just beginning to spray up. Crawford stashed the Pom in a crate, tossed its red ribbon into the tack box, picked up a can of spray, and went to work too. It was almost show time.

Augie, meanwhile, was lying upright on his table. Davey, who had been practicing at home, was about to put in his first official topknot. Aunt Peg and I both sidled closer for a better look.

I watched as Davey used a knitting needle to part the puppy's silky topknot from side to side across his head. The section of hair gathered into the front ponytail would be used to make the all-important bubble over Augie's eyes. Too small a bubble would make the puppy's expression appear severe. Too large, and it would flop and separate.

On Davey's first attempt, he didn't gather enough hair into the tiny colored rubber band. On his second, the band snapped just as he was twisting it tight. Davey muttered something under his breath that we all pretended not to hear.

“Don't worry,” Sam said calmly. “You have plenty of time to get this right. Just try again.”

Then he lifted his gaze to Peg and me. Considering that we weren't involved in the process, both of us were standing needlessly close to the table. All right, we were hovering.

“Everything's under control here,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe the two of you would like to go pick up Davey's number?”

Armbands can be retrieved at any point prior to entering the ring. Sending someone to pick up a number was the equivalent of telling them to get lost. I should know; Aunt Peg does it to me all the time.

“I'm quite happy right here,” Peg said.

I leaned over and dug an elbow into her ribs.

Thankfully she reconsidered. “On the other hand, I'm sure Kevin could use a walk. Melanie and I will each take a hand. We'll check and see how fast the ring is moving as well.”

“Perfect,” Sam replied. His left hand was cupping Augie's muzzle to hold it steady. With his right, he shooed us on our way.

“I could have made myself useful back there,” Aunt Peg grumbled as we left the tent.

“I know.” I extended my arm outward as Kevin kicked up his feet and swung between us. “But Augie is Davey's dog. And finishing his championship is a goal for him and Sam to work toward together. You can't always manipulate people's behavior to suit yourself.”

“Why on earth not?” Peg wanted to know. “It's what I'm good at.”

“Nick Walden,” I said succinctly. “Leave Augie's career alone and make Nick your next project.”

“I might just do that,” Aunt Peg agreed.

As expected, Mrs. Hadley had her assignment well in hand and her ring was running on time. Kevin and I watched a Mini Poodle class while Aunt Peg conferred with the steward and picked up Davey's armband.

Since Augie was entered in Puppy Dogs, his class would be first in the ring for the Standard variety. There were four other male puppies entered in the class. Of those, three would be handled by professionals. Davey was definitely going to have his work cut out for him.

Despite Aunt Peg's impatience, I managed to use up a little more time by taking the scenic route back to the grooming tent. Once there, we discovered that in the ten minutes we'd been gone, a transformation had taken place. Augie's collar was on, his topknot was in, and his neck hair had been sprayed into place. He was ready to impress even the most discerning judge.

And to think, it had all come to pass without Aunt Peg's interference. It was almost a miracle.

“Doesn't he look great?” Davey asked proudly.

“Terrific,” I agreed. As Aunt Peg slipped his armband into place, I smoothed my fingers through my son's hair. “And you look great, too.”

Not unexpectedly, Davey rolled his eyes. Sam only laughed.

“Everybody ready?” he asked. “Let's get moving.”

Sam carried a can of hairspray and the long slender comb that Davey would use to make touch-ups in the ring. I had Kevin. Aunt Peg led the way imperiously, slicing through the crowd and running interference, so that no one we passed on the way to the ring could brush up against Davey's carefully coiffed entry.

We only had a brief wait before the Puppy Dog class was called. Sam tucked the comb into the top of Davey's armband and wished him luck. Aunt Peg and I hurried around the side of the ring to find an optimal viewing spot. Davey followed Crawford in through the gate and found himself standing third in the line of five.

Augie knew what was expected of him. And if Davey was feeling any nerves, they weren't visible from where I stood. He walked the puppy into a stacked pose and waited for the judge to take her first look down the line. As she did so, I saw him slip his right hand into his pocket in preparation for the initial gait around the ring.