Jingle Bell Bark
Page 26
“I’m a kid. I have to go to school. But why would anybody want to go to classes if they didn’t have to?”
“They’re for Faith,” I told him. “It’s obedience school. We’re going to see if she can earn a Companion Dog degree to go along with her championship.”
“Of course she can.” Davey licked his fingers, a breach of etiquette both adults at the table decided to ignore. “Faith is the smartest dog ever.”
The accolade was pretty much true. Until I’d become a Standard Poodle owner, I’d had no inkling of the scope of the breed’s intelligence. Poodles didn’t just learn by rote, they thought and reasoned things through. They also possessed a tremendous desire to please, as well as an unexpectedly well-developed sense of humor, all of which combined to make their temperaments nearly irresistible. Living with a Poodle wasn’t like owning a dog, it was akin to adding another member to the family.
“Too bad Tar is still in hair,” said Sam. “He could probably benefit from a few obedience classes.”
As one, our gazes went to Sam’s big black male Poodle. Asleep and snoring softly, he was lying flat out on the kitchen floor. His spine was pressed up against the pantry door, probably because he remembered that that was where I kept the biscuits. The profuse hair in his topknot—kept long and thick for the show ring, and confined at home in protective, colored, banded ponytails—had flopped forward over his face. They rose and fell with each breath he took.
The most notable thing about Tar, however, was that somehow he had managed to get comfortable on the floor, and then had fallen asleep with one of his hind feet resting in the water bowl. The fact that his shaved paw and the bracelet above it were wet and cold apparently had made no impression upon him. At least, I noted, he hadn’t tipped the bowl over.
Not yet, at any rate.
Tar was an undeniably handsome Standard Poodle. His show career thus far had been stellar. Having recently won his fourth Best in Show, he was currently one of the top Non-Sporting dogs in the Northeast. What Tar wasn’t, poor thing, was brilliant.
Oh, tell yourself the truth, I thought. Tar wasn’t even terribly smart. In a household where most of the dogs’ IQs approached that of the human inhabitants, Tar was an anomaly. A sweet dog, to be sure. A loving dog, even a trustworthy one. One who always tried his best to please, however limited that effort might be. Tar was a Poodle who meant well, but he couldn’t think his way out of a dark corner.
When I’d only seen Tar at dog shows and at Sam’s house, his limitations hadn’t been that obvious. But now that I lived with him full-time and dealt with him on a daily basis, it was hard not to compare him with his more intellectually endowed peers. And to see that he came up short.
“Tar is very sweet,” I said slowly. I knew how I’d feel if someone insulted one of my Poodles, so I chose my words carefully. “But I’m not sure that obedience would necessarily be the right option for him.”
“I’m not saying he would be a star,” Sam said. “But taking a few lessons might teach him how to deal with new things. You know, he could learn how to learn.”
“Or how to think,” said Davey, shaking his head. “Because that is one dumb dog.”
So much for not insulting the new family members.
To my relief, Sam chuckled. “I wondered how long it would take you two to notice. I don’t know when was the last time I had a Poodle that was so lacking in brain power.” His hand waved in the direction of Raven and Casey, his older females. “Those two know everything. If you told them to cook you breakfast in the morning, they’d ask how you wanted your eggs. But Tar . . . well, what can I say? Everyday he wakes up to a whole new adventure, because nothing he learned the day before ever seems to stick.”
Hearing his name, Tar lifted his head. His weight shifted, and his leg moved. His sodden foot slipped off the rim of the water bowl and landed on the floor with a soggy thump. Cold water splashed up onto his close-clipped hindquarter. Expression quizzical, clearly confused, Tar turned to see what had caused the spray.
“I don’t think obedience would help,” I said.
“Maybe agility,” Sam mused.
The thought made me laugh. “I’ve seen Tar get lost coming down the stairs. And twice so far, I’ve had to untangle him from Davey’s swing set. Something as fast-paced as agility would probably send him into shock.”
“You’re probably right,” Sam admitted. “I bet Faith would be good at it, though.”
“Don’t even start,” I said. “I just had this conversation with Aunt Peg—”
Abruptly, Tar leapt to his feet. He crossed the kitchen in a single, athletic bound, barking ferociously as his front paws slammed against the back door hard enough to make the glass rattle. Immediately, the other Poodles were up and on alert. Their outraged voices joined his. I spun in my seat and looked to see what had caught their attention.
The Poodles had all been out in the fenced backyard earlier; the outside lights were still on. Silhouetted in their glow, a large orange cat was clearly visible through the window above the sink. He must have been standing balanced on the windowsill; his yellow eyes calmly scanned the room.
Tar was a mere few feet away, barking so hard now that the effort bounced him up and down on his hind feet. The cat cocked his head in Tar’s direction but didn’t retreat. The Poodles’ raucous ire at his invasion of their space didn’t seem to faze him one bit. His fluffy tail lifted high in the air and swung slowly from side to side. A gesture of disdain if ever I’d seen one.
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” said Sam.
“I don’t. He must belong to one of the neighbors, though I’ve never seen him around here before.”
“You’d think a cat would have more sense than to come here,” said Davey. “This place is like Dog Central.”
“Maybe he’s lost,” Sam said.
I looked again and the cat was gone. Now that he’d removed himself from their sight, the Poodles quieted. They were beginning to look rather sheepish about their outburst. I stood up, walked over, and peered out the window. The cat had disappeared.
“Wherever he came from, he’s gone now,” I said. “And speaking of which, Faith and I have to go, too.”
“Go ahead,” said Sam. “Davey and I will clean up. Then after that, we’ll hit the books.”
He made it all seem so simple, I thought as I dug out Faith’s choke chain and leather leash. No need to arrange for a babysitter. Or worry that if I took Davey to class with me, his homework wouldn’t get done. Marriage might not be the easiest thing I’d ever done, but it definitely had its perks.
Laurien Berenson is an Agatha and Macavity nominee, winner of the RomanticTimes Reviewers’ Choice Award and a four-time winner of the Maxwell Award, presented by the Dog Writers Association of America. She lives in Kentucky with her husband, her son, and four Poodles. Please visit her at her website: www.LaurienBerenson.com.
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