Underdog (2 page)
“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.
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 handsâand your attentionâmust 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.”
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 triangleâtrotting down one side of the mats, around the end, then back across the middleâsmoothly 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'sâsoft 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.”
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