I glanced over at Bertie. Her gaze was following the same black puppy I’d liked. When that Poodle gaited again after his individual examination, he drew a smattering of applause from ringside. Clearly Bertie and I weren’t the only ones who were smitten.
When Mrs. Bixby rearranged her class, however, she put the white puppy on top. The smaller black dog was second. The puppy I’d chosen was third, and the brown placed fourth.
“Drat.” Disappointed, I sat back in my seat, as the dog I liked left the ring with a yellow ribbon. “I thought he looked great. What did I miss?”
Bertie shrugged. “I thought he’d win too. But we couldn’t see everything from here. Maybe he had a bad bite. Or a wonky topline.”
That was the problem with judging from ringside. The real judge was the only one who was able to put her hands on the dogs. And the dense Poodle coat—especially in a puppy trim that covered the dog’s entire body—could hide a multitude of flaws. Not to mention that the Poodles at this show had all been trimmed by experts. It was their job to make the dogs look perfect, whether they were or not.
“Don’t worry,” Bertie said. “You’ll do better in the next class.”
I did, but only because the American-Bred class had just a single entry. It was hard to go wrong there. The Bred-by-Exhibitor class that followed had three dogs in it. And once again, the dog I picked didn’t win.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a judge,” I said with a frown.
Aunt Peg could correctly sort out the merits of a dozen black Standard Poodles in mere minutes. Sam also had a discerning eye when it came to separating the great dogs from the merely good ones. I knew that my skills weren’t comparable to theirs, but after all the time I’d spent attending dog shows, I thought I’d begun to learn something.
Apparently I’d given myself more credit than I deserved.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Bertie said. “Take a look around. You’re not the only one who appears to be baffled by Mrs. Bixby’s placements.”
Experienced show-goers knew to keep their voices down at ringside. So I couldn’t hear what anyone else was saying. But in the same way that the presence of a truly superb dog could send a frisson of excitement coursing through a crowd of spectators, now the ringside seemed to be united in the opposite emotion. There was a palpable air of discontent in the room.
“Maybe we’re doing this wrong,” I said to Bertie. “I’ve been watching the dogs. Maybe I should have been looking at their handlers instead. Do you suppose she’s playing politics?”
Bertie frowned. Then sighed. “If she is, you and I both know that it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Indeed.
For an owner handler or a small-time professional, politics could be the bane of their dog show experience. Good judges only cared about the quality and performance of the dogs in front of them on the day. But unfortunately, there were plenty of judges who based their decisions on other factors.
Some were more influenced by the handler on the end of the lead than by the virtues of the dog itself. For judges who were lacking in knowledge, giving the win to a top handler—who was assumed to have brought a good dog into the ring—was an easy shortcut to make themselves appear smart. Other judges rewarded their friends’ dogs—and hoped their friends would return the favor in the future.
Economics could also factor into the judges’ decisions. Those who drew large entries were rewarded with future assignments, since more entries meant more money for the show-giving clubs. And the big professional handlers brought multiple dogs to every show. So it was always in the judges’ best interests to keep the handlers happy.
“Could be,” Bertie replied. “But nearly all the Poodles here today are with a handler. I can’t say I’ve noticed that’s she’s favoring one over the others.”
Crawford had a gorgeous Standard Poodle in the big Open Dog class. He won handily, but his dog was then beaten by the white puppy for Winners Dog—the only award that would confer points. Crawford was a consummate professional. Though he knew he had the better Poodle, he accepted his striped ribbon for Reserve Winners graciously.
“Ouch,” said Bertie.
My sentiments exactly.
I cast a glance back to the setup where Terry was waiting with Crawford’s Open bitch. Terry didn’t possess Crawford’s poker face. Everything he was thinking was readily apparent, and he was not amused. I couldn’t blame him.
The Standard bitches were up next. Bertie and I continued to watch. Our opinion of what was happening in the ring didn’t improve. Crawford lost with both his Open bitch and his specials dog. So far, he’d been entirely shut out. It must have been an unfamiliar feeling for him.
“I can’t bear to look anymore.” Bertie turned in her seat to face me as the first Mini class entered the ring. “Let’s talk about something else. Terry and Crawford’s wedding is next week. Terry told me he’s making all the arrangements. Does he have everything under control?”
“Good question. I saw him earlier, but we started talking about Victor and I never got a chance to ask about anything else. But there’s only a week to go, so I’m sure Terry must be on top of things.”
I was crossing my fingers for luck when I said that. Bertie simply looked skeptical.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said with a laugh. “This is Terry we’re talking about. Crawford must have been crazy to let him take charge.”
“They’re holding the ceremony at their home in Bedford, so the venue is all set,” I pointed out. “And apparently the guest list isn’t huge. Terry says they’re having a simple country wedding. So how hard can that be to pull together?”
“Yeah, like that’s really happening.” Bertie looked like she wanted to laugh again. “When have you ever known anything Terry was involved with to be simple?”
She had a point. I thought back to some of Terry’s previous escapades. And abruptly realized that almost anything was possible.
“You don’t suppose he’s planning some sort of Greatest Show on Earth, Macy’s parade, Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza, do you?” I asked.
“It could be all of that, and more.” Bertie sounded pleased by the prospect. “Especially since they’re getting married on Valentine’s Day. That ought to give us a clue what to expect.”
“Like big red hearts for the decor?” I suggested. “And little kids dressed up as cupids, running around with bows and arrows? Maybe three tiers of red velvet wedding cake?”
“Oh, I hope so.” She turned around in her seat to face the ring again. “All I know is that I expect to be thoroughly entertained.”
The Miniature Poodle judging proceeded in much the same way that the Standard judging had. Bertie and I continued to be baffled by the results.
Crawford lost with both his class dog and his class bitch. Now he was oh for five. He continued to present his Poodles to the judge with a smile on his face, however. The tension in the set of his shoulders was the only sign of the agitation he’d begun to feel.
Then it was time for Best of Variety. Crawford took his place at the front of the line with Topper. Including his apricot Mini, there were four champions, plus the Winners Dog and Winners Bitch in the class. It was immediately apparent that Topper was the crowd favorite. Applause followed the pair around the ring every time he and Crawford moved.
I agreed with everyone else. Even in this nice company, Topper should have been an easy winner.
It appeared that Mrs. Bixby had other ideas. She made Crawford work hard for the win. Even at the end of the class, when she took her last look down the line, I still wasn’t sure what she was going to do.
When she finally pointed to Topper for Best of Variety, my shoulders sagged in relief. The spectators around the ring gave the pair a sustained round of applause. As Mrs. Bixby handed Crawford the purple and gold rosette, she permitted herself a small smile. It occurred to me that was the first time I’d seen her look happy all day.
“Thank goodness,” I said. “At leas
t she got something right.”
Crawford accepted congratulations from the other handlers and quickly exited the ring. Topper would go back on his tabletop now. He would need to return later to compete against the other two Best of Variety winners for the Best of Breed.
Earlier in the day I’d thought that the BOB win would be a given for Topper. Now I had no idea what might happen next.
“I don’t understand it,” I said to Bertie. “Louise Bixby is supposed to be a good judge. I know Aunt Peg thinks highly of her. But the results today have been all over the place. Do you suppose she’s feeling all right?”
“If she was before,” Bertie muttered, “it’s a sure bet that she won’t be soon. Look.”
I followed the direction of her gaze and saw Victor Durbin for the first time that day. The man was crossing the ballroom with long, angry strides. He appeared to be heading toward the show ring. The expression on his face was thunderous.
I wondered what that was about.
Chapter 4
“That can’t be good,” I said.
“No, it can’t,” Bertie muttered darkly.
I’d been acquainted with Victor back when he was still a member of the Paugussett Club. But our paths had seldom crossed since then. Now, however, the arrogant sneer on his face quickly reminded me of the disdain with which Victor had treated the Poodle club members whom he’d felt were less important than he was.
Not Aunt Peg, of course. But me. And others like me, who had very small breeding programs, and who competed in dog shows for fun rather than to prove that our dogs were better than anyone else’s.
Victor was an attractive man who kept himself in good shape. His sleek moustache should have been ridiculous, but instead it somehow made him look dashing. He was probably in his fifties, but women still noticed when he walked by—even when he wasn’t moving with an air of menace, as he surely was now.
Exhibitors around us were busy putting the finishing touches on their Toy entries. The ring was currently empty, so most spectators were chatting with their friends or looking down at their phones. Nobody else appeared to be paying attention to Victor’s precipitous approach.
Bertie and I both stared as he crossed the room. The day had already been full of surprises. Once again, I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
Personally, I was hoping for a full-out brawl. Something that would really liven up the proceedings. I was sure that Victor had chosen the date for his show with the express purpose of sabotaging Aunt Peg’s seminar. So I wouldn’t be at all upset if his event ended in disaster.
Plus, think of the entertainment value.
By the time Victor reached the in-gate, I was sitting on the edge of my seat. The Toy Poodle competitors had begun to gather outside the ring, but the steward had yet to call the first class. Victor inserted himself neatly into that lull in activity.
Mrs. Bixby had bent down over the judge’s table to mark her book when the Mini judging ended. Now as she straightened again, she saw Victor coming. Her expression set in a hard line. It was difficult to tell with the stark fluorescent lighting, but she might have paled slightly.
What Louise Bixby didn’t do, however, was dodge the confrontation. Instead, as Victor approached, she moved forward to meet him. The two of them met in the opening provided by the in-gate.
Unfortunately for us, that was all the way on the other side of the ring. I couldn’t hear a word either of them was saying. All I could tell was that both Victor and Mrs. Bixby looked annoyed.
I glanced over at Bertie. She shook her head. She couldn’t hear anything either. Where was Aunt Peg when we needed her? That woman had ears like a fox.
“How well do you read lips?” I asked.
“Not well enough,” said Bertie. “I have no idea what’s going on over there. All I know is whatever it is, it shouldn’t be happening. A show chairman isn’t supposed to interrupt a judge in the middle of her assignment.”
“Mrs. Bixby would agree with you about that. She looks like she’d like to punch Victor. What could possibly be so important that he felt the need to talk to her right now?”
“Maybe they’re continuing the argument they had earlier,” Bertie said.
I turned and stared at her in surprise. “What argument?”
“I saw them together this morning when I arrived here at the hotel. As I walked through the lobby, they were standing off to one side talking. I didn’t think anything about it. A minute later, when I was waiting for the elevator, Mrs. Bixby came over and joined me. Victor was nowhere to be seen at that point, and she and I got on the elevator together. That seemed like a lucky break, so I decided to introduce myself to her.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“Mrs. Bixby gets plenty of assignments, and I figured a little networking couldn’t hurt. Then maybe the next time I walked in her ring, she might remember who I was. But then I looked over at her and changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“She just looked pissed, you know? Angry, like she wanted to snap somebody’s head off. And all I could think was that I sure didn’t want it to be mine. Because that really wouldn’t help my career. So instead I slunk over to the other side of the elevator and didn’t say a word.”
“That’s odd,” I mused.
“I know,” Bertie agreed. “And here we are again. I had no idea Louise Bixby had such a temper.”
“And I had no idea you knew how to slink. Slinking doesn’t seem like your kind of thing at all.”
“You’re wrong,” she informed me. “I’m a very good slinker. I can skulk too, if the situation calls for it. But in that moment all I wanted to do was to be invisible.”
“If Victor and Louise don’t get along with each other, how do you suppose she got the judging assignment?” I asked.
Bertie shrugged. “These things get decided way in advance. Maybe they used to like each other and now they don’t.”
“I remember something Aunt Peg told me back when Victor’s misdeeds were beginning to come to light, and the Paugussett board was up in arms about what to do. She said, ‘Everybody likes Victor until they actually get to know him. Then nobody likes him.’ ”
“That sounds about right,” Bertie said.
Abruptly Victor spun around and left. His conversation with Mrs. Bixby had lasted less than a minute. As soon as the in-gate was free, the steward resumed her job. She quickly called the first Toy Poodle class into the ring.
Bertie settled in to watch the Toy judging. I ran upstairs to see how Aunt Peg’s seminar was coming along. By now, it would be half over.
A few minutes earlier, I’d seen Terry slip out of the ballroom with a black Standard Poodle in tow. I figured he’d gone to deliver Aunt Peg’s demo dog. That meant my timing was just right. Once she was pointing out features and flaws on a live Poodle rather than a two-dimensional picture on a slide, things were bound to be more interesting.
The door to the fourth floor conference room was open. When I walked in, I saw that the seminar was on a break. The audience members were up and milling around. Many were talking in small groups. Some were helping themselves to coffee from the urn in the back of the room.
Aunt Peg now had the grooming table set up on the dais. Terry was about to get Crawford’s class dog settled on top of it. The Poodle knew the drill. As soon as his front feet were lifted and placed on the rubber-matted edge, he hopped up the rest of the way. Terry patted the tabletop and the dog lay down quietly.
I saw Sam standing off to one side with two members of the Paugussett Poodle Club. I made my way toward them. Terry went hurrying past on his way out of the room. Having made his delivery, he needed to get back downstairs to help Crawford with their Toy entry.
“Show going well?” Sam asked Terry as he went by.
Terry paused just long enough to frown and shake his head before picking up speed again. By the time I reached Sam and the others, the handler was already gone.
“Melanie, you
know Mattie and Olivia,” Sam said to me by way of a greeting.
“Of course,” I replied. “It’s nice to see you both again.”
Mattie Gainer bred Miniature Poodles. She’d moved to Connecticut and joined PPC several years earlier. With her cheerful disposition and her willingness to take part in any and all club projects, Mattie had quickly endeared herself to the rest of the membership.
Olivia Wren was in her eighties. She was a tiny woman with slightly stooped shoulders and wispy white hair. Olivia had shown Toy Poodles and been a member of the Paugussett Club for decades. Now retired, she never missed a club function. The events were the highlight of her social life.
“It’s lovely to see you too, Melanie.” Olivia’s voice was clear and strong. “Sam has been amusing us with stories of your younger son’s escapades.”
“That could take a while,” I said with a smile. “When Kevin and Bud are on a roll, almost anything can happen. How are things going here? Is Aunt Peg doing a good job?”
“She’s doing a wonderful job,” Mattie enthused. “I thought four hours might be a long time for Peg to lecture. But she’s had so much to say, it seems like she’s barely paused to breathe. The first half of the seminar has just about flown by.”
“Peg definitely knows how to work a crowd,” Sam said. “She’s delivered lots of valuable information, but she’s also kept things light by sprinkling in plenty of entertaining anecdotes.”
“Peg had us howling in our seats,” Mattie told me. “I had no idea she was such a funny woman.”
“Wait until you get to know her better,” I said with a straight face. “She’s a laugh a minute.”
“Speaking of which,” said Sam, “Terry looked pretty glum a minute ago. Does that mean that things aren’t going Crawford’s way downstairs?”
“Pretty much,” I replied. “Although if I had to pick someone who is having a good day under Mrs. Bixby, I’d be hard pressed to do it. Some of her choices have been inexplicable from ringside. Crawford finally managed to snag a win a few minutes ago when he took the variety with Topper. Right after that Victor came storming over, and he and Mrs. Bixby had words.”
Game of Dog Bones Page 3
