Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  “Let me see.” I held out my hand. “I bet it’s gorgeous.”

  “I’d be delighted to show it to you,” Aunt Peg replied unhappily, “except I don’t have it. Jasmine wasn’t in her booth. I even waited a few minutes, hoping she’d return, but she never showed up.”

  “That’s odd,” Sam commented. “How does she expect to make sales if she isn’t there for her customers?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” Aunt Peg sounded huffy. “And it’s very disappointing. I had that leash made specially, so I could start Coral’s career off right. Now we’ll have to do without.”

  Davey looked over. “I can lend you a lead, Aunt Peg. I have extras.”

  “Thank you, but no.” She walked over and dug around in her tack box. “I have a leash. It’s just not the right leash.”

  Aunt Peg reveled in her dog show superstitions. Heaven forbid you wished her luck before she went in the ring. She would react as though you’d driven a dagger into her heart.

  Davey looked at me and shrugged. I returned the gesture.

  Aunt Peg sighed. Loudly. “There’s nothing to be done for it. We shall simply have to rise above.”

  My sympathy for her plight was muted. Trust me, if anyone was capable of rising above, it was surely Aunt Peg.

  She took out her scissors and applied the final finish to Coral’s trim. Over in our setup, Sam and Davey were doing the same to Augie. Crawford and Terry came running back to the tent with their Toy Poodles. They exchanged them for the Standards and quickly got ready to leave again.

  Aunt Peg lifted Coral off her grooming table and set her on the ground. Davey followed suit with Augie. In a procession of Poodles, we all headed over to the ring.

  Following behind with Kevin, I felt a frisson of excitement in the air. Things were about to get serious. It was time to find out if all the hard work we’d done to ready Augie for the show had been worth it. For Davey’s sake, I really hoped today was going to be his day.

  Chapter 2

  Poodles come in three varieties, divided by size. From the tiniest city apartment to the expanse of a rural ranch, a Poodle can fit in anywhere. Despite their differences in stature, all Poodles share the same whip-smart, eager to please, fun-loving disposition. Plus, they’re people dogs. So most are kind enough to hide the fact that they can out-think their owners. There’s nothing a Poodle enjoys more than a good joke, especially one at their person’s expense.

  Though the breed was originally developed to retrieve, the gaiety of the Poodle temperament is uniquely suited to the show ring. Poodles are natural entertainers. In the breed ring, a judge is looking for a sound, typey dog with correct conformation. But Poodles bring something more.

  They walk into a dog show ring and make it their own. They play with their handlers. They flirt with the spectators. They charm the socks off the judges. Poodles understand that dog shows are supposed to be fun. And they want everyone else to be having a great time too.

  We crossed the short expanse between the handlers’ tent and the show ring in the company of more than a dozen other Standard Poodles. Davey kept Augie close to his side. His right hand was holding the end of the lead, his left was cupped beneath the dog’s muzzle. His arm, looped around Augie’s mane coat, prevented anyone from stepping too close and jostling the carefully coiffed hair.

  By contrast, Aunt Peg was letting Coral play at the end of her leash. The rambunctious puppy briefly dropped her head to sniff at something enticing in the grass, before bounding back up like a gazelle. Her pomponned tail, held high in the air, wagged back and forth with delight.

  I watched the boisterous display with surprise. Aunt Peg was a formidable competitor. And this carefree behavior—on the way to the show ring, no less—was very unlike her.

  “I guess you really are here for the experience,” I said.

  “Every puppy should have a good time at her first dog show,” Aunt Peg replied. “Besides, it’s not as if she has any real hair to muss.”

  Augie’s regal topknot towered nearly a foot in the air. Coral’s resembled a wispy black bottle brush. The fringe on her ears barely reached the end of the leathers. In her puppy trim—with a blanket of shaped hair covering her entire body—Coral was more cute than imposing. Compared to the other Standard bitches, Coral would look like a baby. Which was exactly what she was.

  Aunt Peg reached over and poked Davey in the shoulder. “There’s a major today in dogs. I expect you to look sharp. Augie should be very competitive in this company.”

  Davey nodded but didn’t reply. He already knew what was on the line. And unfortunately, pressure from Aunt Peg was nothing new.

  In order to attain its championship, a dog needed to earn fifteen points in same-sex competition. The judging began with the classes for unfinished dogs. As she had yet to turn a year old, Coral was entered in the Puppy Bitch class. Augie, a mature dog ready to take on the toughest class competitors, was in Open Dogs.

  When the class judging had been completed, each individual class winner returned to the ring to vie for the titles of Winners Dog and Winners Bitch. Those two were the only entrants to receive points. The number of points awarded ranged from one to five, and was determined by the amount of competition beaten.

  Two majors—awards of three or more points—were required to complete a dog’s championship. Major wins were highly sought after and always difficult to attain. Augie had previously accumulated eleven points toward his championship, including one major. Coral, about to make her show ring debut, obviously had yet to earn even one.

  The area near the in-gate of the Standard Poodle ring was already crowded with handlers and dogs. Inside the ring, the judge was quickly working his way through a small entry of Löwchen. Aunt Peg stopped to talk to someone she knew. Davey paused at the fringes of the activity, eager to keep Augie out of the fray. While Sam remained with him and kept a firm grip on Kev’s hand, I slithered between people and Poodles and made my way to the steward’s table to pick up our numbered armbands.

  As I waited my turn, Terry appeared beside me, intent on the same mission. In Standard Poodles, he and Crawford had a class dog, a class bitch, and a champion “specials dog” who would be competing for Best of Variety.

  Terry sidled closer and said out of the side of his mouth, “How is Augie’s bite?”

  “Fine,” I whispered back.

  “He’s not missing any teeth?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Mr. Logan is a real stickler for correct dentition.”

  Some breed standards disqualify dogs for an incorrect bite or missing teeth. The Poodle standard wasn’t one of them. But even so, every judge carried his own preferences and idiosyncrasies into the ring with him.

  “You can’t blame him,” Terry said.

  That piqued my interest. I turned and stared until he continued.

  “Mr. Logan once stuck his hand into a Doberman’s mouth and cut his finger on the dog’s braces. He had to go get stitches.”

  I reared back in surprise. Missing teeth were a minor infraction compared to braces. Artificial enhancements were strictly forbidden.

  “You’re making that up,” I accused.

  “No, really.” Terry was all innocence. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. That was the problem with Terry’s gossip. I never knew how much to believe. “Ask Peg, she’ll tell you.”

  Aunt Peg was all the way on the other side of the ring. As Terry knew perfectly well. I grabbed our numbers from the steward and went back to join my family.

  “Mr. Logan hasn’t even started judging Standards yet and already you look outraged,” Sam said mildly. “What is Terry up to now?”

  “Apparently an exhibitor once took a dog into Mr. Logan’s ring that was wearing braces on its teeth.”

  “Oh yeah.” Sam didn’t even blink. “That’s old news.” Even after all the years I’d been involved, when it came to showing dogs, I still sometimes felt like the new kid. Why did everybody always know this stuff but me?


  “The judge had to get stitches,” I said.

  Sam still wasn’t impressed. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure the cut is healed by now.”

  “Mom, Puppy Dogs are in the ring,” Davey said urgently. “I need my number.”

  Oh. Right. Time to get back to business.

  Davey held out his arm. I ran two rubber bands up the sleeve of his jacket, then slid the cardboard square securely underneath. Inside the ring, Mr. Logan was taking his last look at four Standard puppies before pinning the class. Aunt Peg came around from the other side of the ring to watch the remainder of the dog judging with us. I handed over her armband and she slipped it on.

  “Crawford should win that class handily,” she remarked. “That’s a nice puppy he has. He’ll give Augie a run for his money in Winners.”

  “Augie has to get out of the Open class first,” I reminded her.

  Aunt Peg waved a hand as if that was a given. I wished I had even half her confidence.

  As usual, however, it turned out that Aunt Peg was right.

  Crawford’s white puppy topped his class easily. And after a prolonged battle, Davey and Augie prevailed over three other dogs in Open. Davey accepted his blue ribbon with a grateful smile. Then he hurried Augie back into position as Crawford brought his puppy back into the ring so the two could be judged against each other for Winners Dog.

  Mr. Logan made it look like a close decision. And it probably was. He left Augie at the head of the line until the very last moment. Then, as the two dogs circled the ring one final time, the judge looked back and pointed to Crawford’s puppy for the win.

  My heart sank like a stone. Sam was standing beside me. I felt his shoulders slump. The fact that Davey had been so close to nabbing Augie’s elusive second major made us both feel even worse.

  “Did Davey win?” Kevin asked. He had yet to master the intricacies of the judging system.

  “No,” I said glumly. “Not this time.”

  Looking resigned, Davey moved Augie back into line. The dog who’d placed second earlier to Crawford’s puppy returned to the ring to be judged for Reserve Winners. This time the decision took only a few seconds. Mr. Logan quickly motioned Augie over to the marker and handed Davey the purple-and-white-striped ribbon.

  Davey exited the ring with a frown on his face. He wasn’t upset, just disappointed. We all were.

  “I really wanted to win that one,” he said dejectedly.

  “I know you did, sweetie.” I looped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him close for a hug. Davey usually objects to PDAs from his parents. This time he didn’t even murmur a protest. “But you’ll have another chance next week. Augie looks great and he was really showing well for you.”

  “That puppy of Crawford’s is a star in the making,” Sam added. “It was just bad luck that you and Augie ran into him today. I’m pretty sure the win finished him, so at least you won’t have to worry about him in the future.”

  “That’s pathetic,” Davey muttered. “That dog finished as a puppy, and I’ve been showing Augie forever.”

  “Pathetic, is it?” Aunt Peg inquired. The judge was still busy marking his book, so the Puppy Bitches had yet to be called to the ring. “I thought you wanted to show Augie yourself.”

  “I do,” Davey protested, but Aunt Peg wasn’t finished.

  “If all that mattered was getting the job done, we could put that dog with a professional handler and have him finished in no time. Would you prefer that?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Aunt Peg sniffed. “Now give your nice Poodle a pat and let me go take my turn.”

  Mr. Logan had returned to the center of his ring. The steward called out the numbers of the two Standard Poodle Puppy Bitches. Aunt Peg went sweeping past us with Coral bouncing at her side.

  The fact that Aunt Peg won her small class didn’t come as a surprise. Coral might have been immature and inexperienced, but she was still a very pretty Poodle. But what happened after that was totally unexpected.

  The Bred-by-Exhibitor class had only a single entry, but there were five nice bitches in Open. A lovely brown Poodle with a professional handler prevailed, and I assumed she would go on to take the points.

  That decision looked like an easy one to me. But apparently not to Mr. Logan.

  He motioned Coral forward to the head of the line and turned the contest into a duel between the puppy and the Open Bitch. Judging by the expression on Aunt Peg’s face, she hadn’t anticipated this turn of events either.

  Aunt Peg is a competitor to the core, however. I could see the exact moment she put aside the notion of Coral using the dog show for experience—and got to work beating that other bitch. All at once, she began presenting Coral to the judge as if she was offering the rarest of diamonds for his perusal.

  The best handlers are skilled at showcasing a dog’s good points and drawing the judge’s eye away from its faults. Coral was a bit small. Her tail set could have been higher and she was somewhat lacking in under jaw. However those flaws were more than offset by her lovely face and expression, her well-angulated shoulder, and her solid topline. When the puppy settled down and moved right, she appeared to float over the ground.

  And suddenly Aunt Peg was doing everything she could to make sure Coral was settled and showing effectively.

  Mr. Logan waffled and wavered for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. Usually when that happened it meant a judge didn’t particularly like either offering. But Mr. Logan had two nice bitches in front of him. He also had two Poodles who couldn’t have been more different in age and condition. Under those circumstances, most judges would opt to reward the mature entry. So what was this judge spending so much time thinking about?

  “Aunt Peg’s going to win,” Kevin said. Sam had picked him up so he could see the ring better.

  “I think you’re right.” I sounded shocked. I was shocked.

  And I wasn’t the only one. When the judge pointed to Coral for Winners Bitch, Davey released his breath on a long exhale. “How did Aunt Peg do that?” he asked.

  Sam shrugged, looking equally bemused. “Magic?”

  When it came to Aunt Peg’s powers, anything was possible.

  After that, the Best of Variety judging proceeded in a more conventional manner. Crawford’s handsome special was awarded BOV over two other champions. His white puppy, now being handled by Terry, was Best of Winners. Coral, the only bitch in the ring, was awarded Best of Opposite Sex.

  With an auspicious debut like that, I assumed Aunt Peg would remain at ringside to have Coral’s picture taken with the judge. But when the rest of the family went trooping back to the handlers’ tent, Aunt Peg and Coral fell in behind us. I started to ask her about a win photo, then saw the expression on her face and thought better of the idea.

  Aunt Peg appeared to be seriously disgruntled by the outcome.

  Crawford and Terry had stayed to have their winners’ pictures taken, but Bertie was standing in her setup when we returned. There was a Sheltie on one of her grooming tables and a Smooth Collie on another, but Bertie was taking a break to consult her program and drink a soda. Her gaze slid over us, one by one.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t your best day,” she said.

  “Augie was Reserve,” Davey told her. He put the Poodle back on the tabletop. Augie would now need to have his tight topknot taken down and the hairspray brushed from his coat. “But Coral won.”

  “Congratulations!” Bertie cried. Then she looked at Aunt Peg, who was glumly slipping Coral into a crate. The puppy didn’t have enough hair to even need brushing out. “Wait. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “You would think,” I said. “If Augie had won, we’d all be dancing in the aisles.”

  Well maybe not Davey, who rolled his eyes at that. But hey, he’s thirteen, so that’s par for the course. The rest of us would have been doing a serious jitterbug.

  Bertie watched as Aunt Peg silently pu
lled the two ribbons out of her pocket and tossed them into her tack box. “Coral was Best Opposite too? That’s terrific. Did you get a picture?”

  “No.” Aunt Peg frowned.

  “Why not?”

  Instead of replying, Aunt Peg turned to Sam. “Suppose you were judging bitches today. Who would you have put up?”

  Sam answered without hesitation. “The brown bitch. She deserved the win.”

  “Yes, she did,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Coral never should have beaten her.”

  “So what?” I said. “We’ve all had days when we should have won, but didn’t. It’s nice to have things go the other way for a change.”

  “It’s not nice,” Aunt Peg grumbled. “Walter Logan should have known better. He should have judged better. That result never should have happened.”

  “So why did it?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. I suppose I’ll have to ask him the next time I see him.”

  Bertie snorted under her breath. We all looked her way. “What?” asked Aunt Peg.

  “You’re kidding, right? Your puppy won the points on a day when she shouldn’t have and you honestly don’t know why?”

  “Certainly not,” Aunt Peg said sharply. “Please enlighten me.”

  Sam cleared his throat. Suddenly I realized he also knew what Bertie was thinking. “As Melanie said, we’ve all been beaten when we shouldn’t have been. Sometimes because a judge plays politics and puts up a professional over an owner-handler.”

  “I certainly don’t see how that applies.” Aunt Peg looked nonplussed. “I’m an owner-handler.”

  “Oh please,” said Bertie. “If you’re a normal owner-handler, I’m Winnie the Pooh.”

  Aunt Peg’s eyes narrowed. She was not amused. “Are you saying that my win was due to politics?”

  “Think about it,” I said. “You’re a judge yourself. And you obviously know Walter Logan—”