by Jerold Last
Suzanne smiled proudly. "Bruce and I have been working on her off-leash recall, Roger. Apparently Sherry had her well trained to come back to her if she called Juliet when she wasn't on a leash. We’ve managed to transfer that behavior to Bruce and me. She might even respond if you call her. We'll have to experiment a little bit today and see whether she'll come back to your call, or whether she'll be more comfortable responding just to me."
Suzanne and I ran side by side, comfortable maintaining the same relaxed pace for most of the time, about ten minute miles. Our four-mile run took only a little longer than the total time we needed to drive here and back to home. Meanwhile, Juliet covered about 15 miles, running ahead of us, alongside of us, and into and out of the woods on either side of us. She chased a few squirrels, pointed a few birds then chased them, and even pointed a tree or two she mistook for something more interesting. For the humans, much of the time we were running there was a spectacular view of the famous Hollywood sign on top of the hill. For Juliet there were the sights and smells of nature. She pointed and chased the birds that flew by or stood still long enough to find and point, she dug for rodents, and the occasional dogs we passed by each became another opportunity to race or play “catch me” with. Plus, for the record, she came back to me when I called her name as comfortably as she responded to Suzanne, thanks to Bruce's superb training.
We had come to recognize that German Shorthaired Pointers are vastly underrated athletes. Even though they are mid-sized dogs made of solid bone and muscle, they are incredibly fast runners, especially the ones that are structurally well put together, like the successful show dogs. Juliet weighed about 55 pounds when in good condition, and she had to be in excellent physical condition to win in the show ring. The breed has an enormous amount of chest for the size of the dog, which translates to an incredible level of cardiovascular endurance, allowing them to run long distances. Inside those relatively huge chests are big lungs and a big heart, to get oxygen to muscles efficiently by matching ventilation to perfusion. When Juliet finished running 15 miles at an average pace of roughly 15 miles per hour she wasn’t even breathing hard. She would sleep well that night, but she would happily run 15 more miles if we let her.
Today, she managed to surprise us again. As we jogged back towards our car near the end of our run, we met another couple running in the same direction accompanied by a neutered male greyhound they had rescued from a local animal shelter. They told us that six months ago he had been a racing animal at a nearby dog track in Orange County. The two dogs sniffed one another for a bit and started up a game of chase-me. Over an improvised race course of several hundred yards of straightaway Juliet was able to keep up with the former racing dog. This was the first time we had ever seen her stretching out into a full gallop, with all four legs off the ground at some point in each stride. She could quite literally fly. In flight her ears flapped out like a jackrabbit's. It wasn't clear whether they acted as stabilizers or steering devices, but they must have been doing something. It was an amazing sight, one well worth seeing. The greyhound set up an alternative racecourse with multiple curves in the pattern. He was a little bit bigger than Juliet, about 65-70 pounds and taller, but was built differently. With his arched loin and exaggerated rear angulation he was built to corner at high speeds and could take the curves faster, so he easily won the race over the curved track. They seemed to be happy chasing each other and played some more without competition until the other couple had to go.
After a short walk to cool off, enjoy the park scenery, and to allow Juliet to calm down a bit we drove home with a much more relaxed dog and two much more relaxed humans. We spent most of the afternoon catching up on our Robert time and checking off the list of chores around the house. Shortly after dinner the phone rang.
Bruce picked up the phone in the middle of its third ring. “Bowman residence. Who would you like to speak to?”
A few seconds later he gestured in my direction that the call was for me as he replied, “He’ll be right with you, sir. ” Bruce handed me the phone as he told me it was Stanley Morgan on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Mr. Morgan. What can I do for you this evening?”
“I’m in town for a meeting that finished earlier than I expected and suddenly have a couple of hours free in my schedule. I’ll be flying back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. Are you free to meet me for a drink in the next hour or so?”
I tried not to let the surprise show in my voice. “Sure. Where are you staying?”
“I’m at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. That shouldn’t be too far from your house.”
Actually, it was about a 5-minute drive away. “I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes if that fits your schedule.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “I’ll meet you in the Lobby Bar.”
I drove over, parked, and walked into the lobby of the most famous hotel in Los Angeles. Morgan waved to me from a table in the bar area. Less than a minute later we were sitting at the table ordering drinks---a martini for Morgan and an Indian Pale Ale from a well-known Northern Californian microbrewery for me.
While we waited for our drinks Morgan made small talk about some of the celebrities and near-celebrities sitting at tables around us. The conversation halted as the waiter arrived with our drinks and served them. With our privacy restored, the discussion resumed. “I’m sorry to take you away from your family with no warning like this, but it seemed to be a good chance for us to get to know each other a little better and I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. I think there’s a good possibility we can help each other out a little bit.”
I sipped my ale and waited expectantly. Morgan drank a bit of his martini before continuing, “As I’m sure you figured out during your visit to New York, the AKC board doesn’t always run by consensus. Harold Carswell has a majority to support him on any issue, because a majority of the group owes their jobs to him and is beholden to him. Those board members tend to rubber stamp any proposal he makes. So far, this seems to have worked out pretty well for all of us and for the AKC, so nobody is complaining too much about the status quo. But I have to admit I find myself disagreeing with his decisions every now and then. Of course I think his decision to hire you was exactly right for the AKC.”
He sipped a bit of martini before continuing. “I got the feeling when I talked to you in New York City there’s a lot more to you, both intellectually and ethically, than the others realize. Most of the gossip among the board members after you left seemed to be intimating you seemed harmless enough, not too bright, and therefore not likely to succeed. You obviously left an impression that didn’t seem to threaten anyone. Maybe I’m prejudiced because you graduated from an excellent law school, but I think you and I want many of the same things. I suspect we could become friends, as well as colleagues, if we didn’t live 3,000 miles across the country from each other. Anyway, I’d like to suggest if things seem not to go right in your relationship with the AKC, feel free to contact me directly and let me try to help.” He stopped and looked at me expectantly while he sipped his martini. It was obviously my turn to say something.
If there was anything I learned in law school and my short career as a patent attorney, it was to beware of lawyers bearing gifts and instead, assume everything they say isn’t the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I let my brain race over what I’d just heard, asking myself what angle Stanley Morgan might be playing here and stalled by pouring the remaining ale from bottle to glass. I finally settled for a safe and noncommittal answer to see where we were going with all of this. “There’s no such thing as too many friends. Did you have anything in particular in mind that might happen for me to think about calling you?”
I obviously gave him the wrong answer as he visibly pulled back and said, “No, nothing in particular. Just keep this offer in mind as things play out, and feel free to call me anytime.”
We chatted a while longer, but the mood had changed and nothing much was said. Finally, I
stood to go. We shook hands and said our good-byes, and I drove home even more confused than I had felt driving to the hotel. The trip was spent mentally scratching my head, as I tried to figure out what this meeting had really been about. Obviously, Morgan had an agenda and equally obviously, he wanted something from me. What? I didn’t have a clue. He could be a powerful ally if I needed one and trusted him, but at the moment I didn’t need an ally and I certainly didn’t trust him. I made a mental note to add the $10 ransom on my car for parking at the hotel to my expenses, and left it at that.
Chapter14.Our first family dog show
We left Los Angeles on Friday for the about 400-mile drive to San Francisco. Suzanne, Robert, Bruce and I fit quite comfortably up front, with Juliet in her crate in the back of the minivan. We stayed in two rooms at a local hotel in reasonable comfort and close proximity to the competition venue, a huge indoor dog show at the Cow Palace, on the peninsula just south of San Francisco overlooking the Bay. The Cow Palace had its origins in a highly successful livestock exposition at the 1915 Pan-Pacific International Exposition in The City. It fell into disrepair, but after The Great Depression fundraising efforts helped build the magnificent venue as a WPA project in the late 1930s. It finally reopened in 1941, just in time to see military service throughout World War II. Finally, in 1946 the venue was used as planned when it housed the Grand National Rodeo and the Grand National Livestock Show, both resounding successes. The following year it became a major sports arena and is still going strong hosting college basketball, minor league hockey, roller derby, The Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus, rock concerts, rodeos, other popular events, and of course the annual dog show we were attending.
The huge building is laid out with seating for well over 15,000 spectators around a rectangular arena containing multiple show rings. Two attached buildings called North and South halls provide additional space for the benched part of the show. Six large halls to the east of the arena are filled with vendors selling all things doggy. A box office complex on the west end of the building controls access to the facility from its 4,000-car parking lot.
Everybody was in a competitive mood. I reminded Bruce and Suzanne about the most important reason why we were here, to act as if we were dog owners. We would watch Bruce handle Juliet in the competition as a "special" and cheer her on. Like the other owners and many dog show enthusiasts gathered for this event, we would be just another couple of owners here to support their favorite dog.
“Don’t forget we’re here under cover and are actors playing roles. The goal is to make it appear we’re newbies who’ve been sucked into this ever-expanding money pit just like everyone else here. We’re new to the scene and don’t know much, but we’ve got plenty of money to back a dog at this level. All you understand, Suzanne, is that you’re here to root for her to win as a "select" bitch today so she finishes her first level of Grand Championship and qualifies for the Eukanuba Invitational Show. If she does, we’ll get to go to the second largest dog show in the USA later this year. And the more confused you are about everything else that’s going on, the better. OK?”
“Sure,” she nodded. “And I’m not sure I’m going to have to act a whole lot to seem confused!”
The San Francisco show was the first time the entire family would be there to watch Juliet in the show ring and Suzanne was appropriately excited. For Bruce and I, it was a most welcome change in our routine after leaving Suzanne and Robert in Los Angeles during the Stockton and Woodland shows. This family experience would help solidify my cover as a wealthy dog owner who could afford the pay to play world of Grand Champion dog show competition. Robert was a very, very accomplished babe magnet, especially if you think of grandmas as babes. His presence would likely catalyze some growth in our circle of dog show friends. It was also Juliet’s (and Bruce's) first-ever benched show.
We were chatting with Sherry Wyne at a benching area in North Hall amid total, but organized, chaos as hundreds of dogs were receiving their final primping and preparation to be beautiful in the show ring. At this particular dog show, Sherry could celebrate her freedom from the responsibility of being the AKC representative. Today she was showing a class bitch of her own who just happened to be a Juliet half-sister, and was hoping her bitch could finish her regular championship.
Sherry was trimming the whiskers on her Shorthair and generally primping her dog. Doulla was really a lovely animal according to Bruce who, as befitted his new identity as a professional handler, already thoroughly understood canine conformation and the whole dog show scene. Sherry spoke loudly to enable anyone who might be listening to get the idea we were newbies to the show ring who only knew Sherry by virtue of leasing our show dog from her.
"You folks are new to dog shows and didn't know today's scheduled judge, Orval Shultz. He was the classic 'handler's judge', which means the winning dogs he picked were always the ones being shown in the ring by the most popular of the professional handlers. It didn't matter which dog was best when you showed under Orval, it just mattered who the handler was at the other end of the leash. That's where he got his nickname, 'Awful', and believe me, he deserved it."
Note that Sherry was using the past tense to refer to old "Awful". If there were such a thing as an appropriate end for a handler’s judge, Orval (“Awful”) Shultz achieved it at this now most memorable show at The Cow Palace. He was found lying on his back early that morning when the venue opened, with a show lead wound tightly around his neck, very dead. It was an ultrathin show lead typically used by handlers while showing a dog in the ring. The body was left on a bench in the area set aside for the Sporting Group, the dogs he was assigned to judge today. By the time we arrived at the show Orval's fate was the only topic of discussion. Yet, among the participants, the show was expected to go on. Dogs were groomed, trimmed, and primped while owners and handlers hastily removed, relocated, and rearranged all the dogs’ equipment they had so carefully set up the night before, and waited for the rest of the crowd to arrive and the judging to proceed.
Total chaos reigned before the first dog could even step into a ring! There were a whole lot of early arrivals among the owners and handlers, many of whom had been parked overnight in their large RVs at the show venue’s hook up space.
Suzanne played her role as a wealthy and somewhat confused new owner. "Does anybody have any idea who killed Mr. Shultz?" Suzanne asked Sherry.
Sherry continued trimming Doulla's whiskers with a barber's scissors while talking to us. "No, they don't. At least I haven't heard anything about it if they do. But whoever actually did it would win the big rosette and trophy as today's "Best in Show" if all of the breeders and dog owners got a vote. I gather they found another judge who was able to get here quickly enough for the Sporting Group competition to start on time, and the Shorthairs are scheduled to be the second breed up. We should all be heading over to the ring pretty soon."
Suzanne, Robert, and I walked over to the ring where Juliet was due to be shown. As Bruce had suggested, we stayed well back from the ring behind a few rows of spectators where Juliet wouldn’t be distracted by seeing her new family. She had rapidly adopted us as her pack over the last two months, and would respond to seeing Suzanne or Robert at a dog show if she noticed them while she was in the ring. She was used to seeing Sherry and Bruce in the ring while being shown. They weren’t a distraction any more, but I always watched from a distance.
Suzanne picked Robert up and set him on my shoulders so he could see over the people standing in front of us. Even though he was too young to understand what was going on, Suzanne believed in treating Robert like a small adult, so explained things to him while they were happening. "Oh, look, Robert. The judge is checking Juliet’s teeth now. Do you think Bruce brushes them every morning?" This was followed a moment or two later by, “Can you see Bruce running with Juliet? She looks like she’s having a lot of fun.”
During the formal competition, a lot of things were happening in the show ring that didn't directly i
nvolve the dogs we knew. Suzanne and I took the opportunity to listen in on some ongoing conversations between owners, handlers, and spectators gathered nearby. OK, so we eavesdropped, but that didn't make the conversations any less funny to listen to. Most of the discussions revolved around the dogs in the ring and the judging. We watched separate classes for male and female puppies 6-9 months old and 9-12 months of age; 12-18 months old; amateur owner-handler class; Bred by exhibitor; American-bred; and open classes. Other than the open classes, which any dog could be entered into, some of the more arcane classes had only 1 or 2 entries and the judging moved quite rapidly. The 9-12 month puppy and open classes had larger entries and took longer. The judge looked carefully at every puppy and dog shown in every class, both stacked and moving, so the entire process took quite a while. Winners Dog and Winners Bitch then joined all of the specials for the Best of Breed competition.
Neither of the dogs we were most interested in was competing during the earlier stages of the formal competition. Suzanne overheard a conversation she urged me with a sharp poke of her elbow to listen to as well. A couple of owners had their dogs entered in the 9-12 month puppy class, which had ten males competing. The judge had made her preliminary decisions and moved the dogs around, putting her first four picks at the front of the group, to lead them in a large moving circle around the ring. Apparently, neither of the women next to us owned one of the favored four dogs. The two women were discussing what was wrong with the four in front and why the judge was clearly blind as to what was important for proper sporting dog conformation. One of the top picks lacked proper hind-end angulation, according to our local experts, while another didn't have enough “chest”. The leading, soon to be winning, dog in this class had a "bitchy head". And the fourth dog didn't have enough reach with his front legs while trotting.
