Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  Crawford’s black Standard was now at the head of the new line. A handsome brown was second. Augie was still in the middle. There was a nice white dog behind him and another black at the end.

  “That’s a good looking group of dogs,” I said under my breath.

  Sam, who was holding Kevin, nodded silently.

  “Augie belongs at the head of the line,” Aunt Peg muttered. “Let’s hope Davey can get him there.”

  The judge motioned with his hands to send the new group around the ring again. He wanted to see his top contenders moving side by side. The handlers straightened and stepped away from their stacked dogs. They unspooled the leashes they’d held crumpled in their hands.

  With their exotic trims and playful personalities, Standard Poodles always drew a crowd of spectators at dog shows. And as Mr. Beauman narrowed down this tough class, the tension at ringside was palpable. We weren’t the only ones who were rooting for a favorite to pull off a big win.

  Crawford, ever the gentleman, glanced back to make sure everyone else was ready. Then he tapped his Poodle smartly under the chin to lift his head, and took off at a fast trot. His dog glided over the matted floor beside him.

  With fewer dogs in the ring, there was now room for the big Poodles to stride out freely. When Augie made his pass in front of the judge, he looked every inch the winner. He had extension, he had drive, and best of all he was having fun. His tail was not only up in the air, it was wagging back and forth.

  This time Mr. Beauman’s gaze didn’t just linger, it followed Augie down the entire long side of the ring. Mentally I congratulated Davey on a job well done, then turned to say something to Sam.

  That was when everything fell apart. It happened so fast that I almost missed it. But when Aunt Peg and Terry suddenly gasped in unison, my eyes shot back to the ring.

  The white dog behind Davey and Augie was handled by a young professional named Joe Pond. Joe had obviously scoped out the other dogs in the class and decided where his chief competition lay. When he and his Poodle rounded the final corner and the judge’s gaze turned back to the remaining entry, Joe suddenly accelerated as the line of dogs in front of him was stopping.

  Davey was looking where he was going. As he slowed Augie to a walk, Joe’s Poodle rushed up behind him. Moving much too fast, the dog crashed into Augie’s hindquarter. Augie yelped in pain and surprise. He went scooting sideways across the mat.

  Caught unaware by the sudden move, Davey nearly got yanked off his feet. He and Augie scrambled quickly to right themselves, but the damage had already been done. Augie’s tail dropped between his legs. His head whipped from side to side in confusion. His body pretzeled as he tried to spin around and face the unexpected threat behind him.

  “Oops,” said Joe. Abruptly he yanked his Poodle back. “Sorry about that. He got away from me.”

  Davey didn’t spare the other handler a glance. He was too busy trying to get Augie to settle and regain his composure. As they went back into line, Augie still hadn’t lifted his tail. It was clear the Poodle didn’t trust the other dog not to run up on him again.

  The Poodle breed is known for its wonderful temperament. A show ring adage illustrates the importance of displaying that joyous disposition to the judge: “No tail, no Poodle.” If Davey wanted to win, it was vital that he get Augie back in the game. And he needed to do it fast.

  From ringside, we were powerless to help. All we could do was watch as Davey quickly examined his options. With Augie already tense, he decided not to ask the Poodle to hold a stack. Instead Davey yanked a furry toy out of his pocket. He squeaked the mouse in front of Augie’s nose, tempting him to grab it, asking him to play.

  Augie pricked his ears. His tail lifted slightly. But he was still clearly uneasy. It wasn’t good enough.

  Davey aimed a glare in Joe’s direction. Joe just shrugged.

  Beside me, Sam stiffened. He was just as upset as I was. There was no way that the incident had been an accident.

  Davey shoved the toy back in his pocket and set his knee against Augie’s chest. Gently he nudged the Poodle away. Davey was inviting Augie to bounce back. Or to bounce in any direction.

  It didn’t happen. Instead Augie stood at the end of the leash and gazed at him uncertainly. Mr. Beauman was already at the head of the line. He was working his way toward Augie as he took one final look at each of the competitors.

  Staring into the ring, Aunt Peg had her hands fisted together beneath her chin. “Come on,” she whispered urgently. “The judge is coming. Get him back. Get him back.”

  Davey quickly slipped Augie into place. Now he had no choice but to stack the Poodle. If Augie wasn’t going to lift his own tail, Davey would have to do it for him. And try to make the stance look entirely natural.

  Mr. Beauman paused in front of Augie. Then he glanced back and forth between him and Joe Pond’s white dog. It was clear that he’d missed the interaction between the two.

  After a minute, the judge lifted his hand and pointed to Augie. He instructed Davey to go to the head of the line. Joe’s dog was called out second. Crawford’s dog was third.

  Davey cupped his hand around Augie’s muzzle, offering extra support as he led him forward. Augie trotted at his side like a dog being led to his execution. This was his last chance to recover. It was now or never.

  Mr. Beauman sent the group around the ring one last time. He’d arranged the Standard Poodles in the order he wanted them, but the judging wasn’t over. Augie still had to show Mr. Beauman that he deserved the win. Joe Pond, looking entirely innocent of anything nefarious, purposely held his dog back and allowed Augie plenty of room.

  But that didn’t help. It was already too late.

  On the last go-round, Augie looked tentative and Joe’s dog was showing beautifully. The judge watched the two Standard Poodles for almost the entire circuit of the ring. Then finally—with a gesture that looked almost regretful—he pointed to the white dog for first place and Augie for second.

  Abruptly I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. Aunt Peg issued a long, unhappy sigh. Sam just frowned. Even Kevin looked upset.

  I couldn’t believe Davey and Augie had once again been right there, only to have victory snatched away at the last moment.

  The Winners Dog class was over in minutes. Mr. Beauman quickly awarded Joe Pond’s dog the points. Then Davey and Augie went Reserve to another major.

  The previous weekend, Davey had exited the ring looking dejected by his loss. This time he was angry.

  “Did you see what happened in there?” he demanded.

  “Yes, we did,” Sam told him. “And we’ll talk about it in a few minutes. But first, I want you to take Kevin and hand Augie to me.”

  To Davey’s surprise, he found Augie’s leash being whipped out of his grasp. A moment later his younger brother’s hand was placed in his. Sam spun Augie around and trotted the big Poodle away from the crowds standing by the rings. The rest of us followed.

  When he’d reached an open area, Sam crouched down in front of Augie. He whispered something in the dog’s ear. Then he scratched under his chin. Then he reached around and tickled his belly. After a few seconds, Augie’s tail gave a low wag.

  Sam stood up and took something out of his pocket. He must have been carrying back-up bait. He fed the Poodle a small chunk of dried liver. Then he took a second piece and dangled it in front of Augie’s nose.

  “Come on,” Sam invited. “Take it.”

  Augie knew he wasn’t allowed to jump up and grab something from Sam’s hand. But that liver looked pretty enticing. Especially since Sam kept dropping his hand down and showing it to him. Eyes following the morsel, Augie’s feet began to dance in place.

  When Sam tossed the piece of liver in the air, the Poodle’s head lifted. A moment later, his tail came up too. Augie crouched low on his haunches and gave a low woof.

  Sam flicked the liver toward him in a high arc. Augie caught the treat on the fly. Sam tossed another chunk. Augie jumped
up and caught that one too.

  Then Sam reached around and smacked Augie lightly on the hindquarter. The Poodle spun in place trying to catch him. Now it was a game and Augie wanted to play. All four feet left the ground at the same time as he bounced in the air. The Poodle got another piece of liver for that trick.

  “Ready to go?” Sam chucked Augie under the chin. “Ready now? Come on, let’s go!”

  The two of them took off at a brisk trot down the length of the wide corridor between rings. Augie was gaiting on a loose leash with his head up and his feet flying. His tail was high in the air over his back. Finally the Poodle was having fun again.

  At the end of the corridor, Sam stopped and turned. The two of them came trotting back. Sam went straight to Davey. He handed back Augie’s leash. Jubilant, maybe even too excited, the Poodle jumped up and planted his front feet on Davey’s shoulders. Grinning, Davey gave his dog a hug.

  “And that,” Aunt Peg said with satisfaction, “is how it’s done.”

  “I know you couldn’t do that while you were in the ring being judged,” Sam said to Davey. “But out here it’s important for Augie to end the day on a good note. Because when we come back to show again tomorrow, you want him to remember what a great time he had. Not something stupid that went wrong before that.”

  “It wasn’t fair.” Davey was still angry as he gently dropped Augie to the ground. “Joe Pond did that on purpose.”

  “Yes, he did,” Aunt Peg agreed. “He was afraid Augie was going to beat his dog, and he was probably right.”

  Davey rounded on her. “Don’t tell me you’re defending him.”

  “No indeed,” Aunt Peg replied calmly. “What Joe did was reprehensible. You can ruin a dog for life that way. But you bear a small measure of responsibility too. You shouldn’t have let it happen.”

  That was a little harsh, I thought. So did Davey. “Me?” he cried. “How was it my fault?”

  “When you’re in the ring you have to be paying attention to everything. You need to be watching not just your dog and the judge, but others around you too. All sorts of things can go wrong unexpectedly. You have to learn to be ready for them.”

  Aunt Peg reached down and gave Davey’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “But other than that,” she said, “well done. You and Augie made a great team today.” She straightened and glanced toward the Poodle ring. “I see that the Standard judging is just about over. I believe Mr. Pond is about to discover that all sorts of things can go wrong unexpectedly for him too.”

  Aunt Peg left us and went to wait near the gate as Mr. Beauman handed out his final ribbons. Joe Pond’s dog had gone Best of Winners. He was smiling as he exited the ring.

  Then he saw Aunt Peg standing there waiting for him.

  The two of them moved out of the way of traffic and had a little chat. We couldn’t hear what was being said, but it did not appear that things were going well for Mr. Pond.

  Two minutes later, Aunt Peg was back. We all looked at her expectantly.

  “Joe Pond will not be bothering you again,” she said to Davey. “Nor anyone else for that matter.”

  “What did you say to him?” I asked.

  “I told him that I’d seen his maneuver in the ring and was thoroughly disgusted by his unsportsmanlike behavior. I advised him that it wouldn’t be in his best interest to show a dog under me anytime soon.”

  Aunt Peg paused and grinned wolfishly. “Or under any of my friends.”

  I grinned at that too. Sam smothered a laugh. Even Davey began to look more cheerful.

  Right about now, Joe Pond had to be realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Because Aunt Peg knew just about everybody in the dog world. And she had lots of friends.

  Chapter 10

  While Sam and Davey were busy taking Augie’s coat apart, Kevin and I went to take a tour of the concessions. I was pleased to see that just about all the vendors who’d been at the Sedgefield show were also present this weekend. Aside from Aunt Peg, who had stumbled over Jasmine Crane’s body, nobody had had a better view of what had transpired that afternoon than the owners of the neighboring booths. I was sure the police would have already questioned them, but I was eager to hear what they had to say too.

  Having behaved himself beautifully all morning, Kevin was excited by the offer of an adventure. He’d been to enough dog shows that the idea of watching his brother—or anyone else for that matter—groom a big, hairy dog had long since lost its allure. But from his point of view, the concession stands offered a cornucopia of potential treats.

  Oh, who was I kidding? Even for an adult, the possibilities were endlessly fascinating. And tempting.

  In addition to the vendors who sold the more practical dog-oriented products, I also saw a booth offering canine ceramics and figurines, another with hand-crafted dog biscuits, and yet another selling silk screen T-shirts and accessories. At a glance, the only booth that appeared to be missing from the usual selection was Jasmine Crane’s.

  I began our passage around the perimeter of the building at a food vendor, where I stopped to buy Kevin a corn dog. When I went to hand it to him, he stared at me in horror.

  “No.” Kev shook his head firmly. “I don’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a corn dog.”

  I stared at him, perplexed. “I know.”

  Kev jutted out his lower lip and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not eating a dog.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” I crouched down in front of him. “I should have explained. It’s not a real dog.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, of course not.” I gathered him into my arms for a quick hug. “It’s a hot dog. You know, like we put on the grill at home?”

  Kevin didn’t look convinced. “Then why is it yellow?”

  “Because there’s a batter on the outside instead of a roll.”

  “What’s in the batter?”

  That boy was just like Aunt Peg. He lived to ask questions.

  “Cornmeal. It tastes good. Look.” I held the corn up, took a bite and chewed conspicuously. “Mmm, yummy.”

  “Good,” said Kevin. “Then you eat it.”

  So I did. What choice did I have when I’d been outargued by my own child? By the time we got to the first booth at the end of the long row of concessions, I had polished off the corn dog and wiped my fingers on a napkin. I was ready to get down to business.

  Nettie’s Needlepoint Nook offered a huge selection of products combining dogs and needlework. The possibilities included everything from canine-themed patterns, to do-it-yourself projects, to finished tapestries and throw pillows. Nearly every breed of dog appeared to be represented on something that was available for purchase.

  Crafts were not my thing and I’d never visited Nettie’s booth before. As we entered, Kevin paused in front of a display of embroidered pillows. On top of the pile was a throw pillow featuring three adorable King Charles Spaniels. It was so cute, even I had to take a second look.

  “Can I help you?” The woman approaching us was about my age. She had bright blue eyes, plump cheeks, and a welcoming smile. “That’s one of my favorite pillows. I keep thinking it would look wonderful on my own couch.”

  “Did you make it?”

  “No.” She leaned closer and whispered, “It’s actually a mass-produced item I buy from a supplier. But it’s needlepoint, and it’s lovely. And they’re so popular, I can barely keep them in stock.”

  “You must be Nettie,” I said. “I’m Melanie Travis.”

  “Pleased to meet you. What kind of project are you looking for?”

  “Actually I don’t do needlework myself. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure. Fire away. Are you looking to sign up for a class? I might be able to recommend someone in your area.”

  I released Kevin’s hand and he wandered over to have a look at a needlepoint footstool. In the open booth, it was easy to keep an eye on him.

  Satis
fied that nothing in the vicinity was breakable, I turned back to Nettie. “No, it’s about what happened last week. At the Sedgefield dog show.”

  “Last week . . . ?” Nettie looked puzzled. Then suddenly she realized what I was referring to. “Oh.”

  “Your booth was near Jasmine Crane’s, wasn’t it?”

  “In the general area, I guess. We weren’t neighbors if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I’m wondering if you noticed anything unusual that afternoon.”

  Nettie tipped her head to one side. “Apparently a woman died not fifty feet away from where I was doing business. That was pretty damn unusual.”

  Yes, it was. My bad.

  “Did you know Jasmine?” I asked.

  “Only in passing. We’d see each other at shows and Jasmine always seemed friendly enough. But mostly we just waved and got on with our business.” Nettie gave me a curious look. “What’s this about, anyway? Do you know how Jasmine died? Because the police asked lots of questions, but no one would tell us anything. What have you heard?”

  “I know that her death wasn’t an accident,” I said quietly.

  Nettie didn’t look surprised. I guessed that was common knowledge.

  “Is it true that when they found her she was wearing a dog collar around her neck?” she asked.

  I swallowed wrong and nearly choked. A leash wasn’t very different from a collar. But still, it seemed prudent to quash that rumor.

  “No, that’s not true,” I said firmly.

  Nettie leaned in toward me. “I heard that Jasmine whispered dying words that pointed toward her killer. But nobody seems to know what she said.”

  That had to be another wild rumor. Surely if there had been dying words—especially useful ones—Aunt Peg would have thought to mention it.

  “No,” I said again. “There were no last words. Jasmine was already dead when she was found.”