The Chihuahua Affair: Best in Show

by Amy Jarecki

  A man in the seat behind leaned forward. “Is that your son?”

  Rebecca beamed. “Sure is, Ryan Lee, and he’s only a sophomore.”

  “No kidding? He’s looking good out there.”

  Rebecca patted Matt’s shoulder. “He’s got a great coach.”

  Ryan’s play got the team thirty yards and led to a touchdown. By the end of the game, Shawnee beat Lenape twenty-one to seven and Ryan made two of the three scores, each followed by not-so-terrifying bear hugs and high-fives from Matt. Every now and then, Rebecca stole glances at him, pleased to see he was engrossed in the game and having a blast.

  As always after a win, Ryan headed out to celebrate with his teammates. One of the parents hosted a party to ensure the celebrations remained age-appropriate.

  Amanda stopped by, holding hands with Sean. The smug grin plastered on that boy’s face made Rebecca’s gut roil. He reminded her of a pirate.

  Amanda seemed oblivious, smiling like a Barbie Doll. “Hey Momma, a bunch of us are going to the diner. Is that okay?”

  Rebecca’s gut wrenched into a knot, telling her to say no, but her resolve softened when she looked at her daughter’s hopeful eyes. At least she’d come by and asked permission—and it was a Friday night. “Okay, but be home by eleven.”

  Watching them walk away, Rebecca pursed her lips. “I really don’t like that boy.”

  Matt shrugged, sizing him up. “He looks like a typical pretty-boy teenager.” His eyes shifted to Rebecca. “Can I treat you to a drink or some ice cream?”

  Rebecca picked up the cushions. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I had a beer. That sounds wonderful. Do you mind if we both drive? I don’t want to leave my car behind in the school lot. It might look bad, you know?”

  Matt suggested Braddock’s Restaurant and Pub on Main Street in Medford. It was a stately Victorian house which had been turned into an upscale restaurant and had a more mature crowd.

  “I love this place but it’s a bit pricey,” Rebecca said as they walked across the creaking floorboards to the antique mahogany bar.

  Matt pressed his hand in the small of her back. “It’s just a drink—shouldn’t set me back too much. Anyway, I owe you for the meal.”

  “You don’t owe me for anything. Goodness, if Ryan continues to play like that, I’ll make a whole pan of lasagna just for you.”

  Matt licked his lips. “You’re on.”

  Rebecca ordered an Amstel Light and Matt a Sam Adams on tap. Matt held up his glass. “Here’s to Ryan’s win.”

  Rebecca’s insides buzzed. “And here’s your tricky play.” She swirled the fizzy beer around in her mouth, savoring the flavor. “Ah. That goes down good after a wild ball game.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the boy again on Tuesday. I dug out my old play book, and photocopied it for him.”

  “Really? He’ll absolutely love that.”

  Matt looked at her and brushed a stray wisp of hair aside. There it was—the catch—that look where their eyes connected and electricity ignited. It’d happened a few times now and gave her a tingly-all-over feeling.

  Cheeks burning, she was the first to break the current by looking down. “I guess I should tell you that I’m not such a good catch.”

  He sat back, brows knit. “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Well, as you’re aware, I have two teenagers, and my business, and, and I’m constantly on the go. It wouldn’t be fair for me to string you along here.” She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. She wanted to be nice but had to get her feelings out in the open. “I’m afraid we can’t be more than friends.” She stared into her glass, unable to meet his gaze. She hoped she didn’t sound crass, but he needed to hear it.

  Matt let out a long breath before he took a pull on his beer. “I agree, friends.”

  Rebecca gasped. “I’m sorry. I just assumed. I mean, you may not even like my type.”

  “Your type?”

  “You know, women.”

  Matt threw his head back while his entire body shook with laughter.

  “What?” Rebecca asked, wanting to crawl under the table.

  “You’re too funny.” He shook his head and laughed again but Rebecca noticed he didn’t deny it.

  Rebecca took a long sip of beer. Matt finished his and ordered two more.

  “Hey, I’m a lightweight here.” After only one beer, the tension eased—from the game, from Amanda’s ire, from her crazy life. Maybe the beer helped, but she enjoyed being out with another grownup. She relented and let Matt order just one more. “I should tell you about the Philly show. You know it’s televised.”

  Matt gaped. “What? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Only the Group classes will be on TV.”

  “Huh?”

  Rebecca could see that he hadn’t followed her “dog show speak” and gave him a coy grin. “Maybe I should run through an intro to dog showing for you.”

  Matt took a swig of his fresh beer, wiping the froth with his sleeve. “Yeah, I think that’d be good.”

  She drummed her fingers on the table. “The basic premise is people show their dogs in conformation classes to build up points and earn a championship title on their dogs. If owners can say that their dog is a champion, then their puppies are worth more money. Dogs who are not champions compete first starting with puppy classes, and dogs eighteen months and over must be entered into Bred by Exhibitor, American Bred, or Open classes—you following so far?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good. The winners of each class move up to compete for Winners Dog. Then they run through the whole process for the bitches.”

  His eyes popped wide. “Bitches?”

  She chuckled. She was so familiar with the word, she forgot other people might find it weird. “Yes. You’d better get used to that term because female dogs are always referred to in the literal sense of the word.”

  Matt raised his glass in toast. “Bitches it is.”

  “Once Winners Dog and Winners Bitch have been chosen, the champions enter the ring—champion dogs followed by champion bitches, then Winners Dog and Winners Bitch. The judge goes over all the champions, then picks Best of Winners, Best of Opposite Sex and Best of Breed or Variety.”

  “Best of what?”

  “Stay with me here. I’m almost done. The Best of Winners is the dog or bitch that is the best non-champion and must be either Winners Bitch or Winners Dog. That dog or bitch can also win Best of Breed if the judge feels it’s merited. If the Best of Breed is a dog, then a bitch is awarded the Best of Opposite Sex and vice versa.”

  He scratched his head. “Holy cow, I didn’t realize it was all so complicated.”

  “It’s not that bad once you learn it, but I haven’t even started on points yet.”

  “Points?”

  “Yes. Dogs must earn fifteen points and win two majors before they can earn their championship title.”

  “Majors?”

  “I think I’ve confused you enough for one night.” Rebecca took a sip of her beer. “There are other ways to show your dog as well, like obedience and agility.”

  “I think I’ll just take one thing at a time.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “That’s wise.”

  Chapter Five

  The following week flew by and after the Thursday night dog class, Rebecca loaded up the motor home and headed to Bloomsburg with Amanda. Books in tow, the teenager brought along her assignments to make up for the missed school day. Rebecca’s rule: homework came first.

  With all the grooming necessary the morning of a show, Rebecca always traveled the night before. She had spent the entire day bathing the dogs but she still needed to clip, brush and primp before “show time” and that would take hours.

  In good spirits, Amanda chatted about her friends, giggling about Sean’s antics, which made Rebecca grip the steering wheel like a vice. When she couldn’t take any more, she turned the conversation away from
Amanda’s mustang driving, manner-lacking boyfriend. “Have you decided on a college?”

  Amanda bounced in her seat. “Didn’t I tell you? All my friends are applying to Rutgers. We’re talking about renting a house together. I can’t wait.”

  Rebecca listened thoughtfully, fairly confident that freshmen had to stay in the dorm their first year so they had a chance at developing some decent study habits before being turned loose. But she’d let Amanda discover the housing restrictions on her own. “It’s great that you’re planning to go to Rutgers, but they say you should apply to more than one university. Have you thought about my alma mater, Penn State?”

  “I guess.” Amanda shrugged. “Or Princeton.”

  “Princeton is a great idea. Why not all three? If you get into Rutgers, which is likely, you’ll go there, but you’ll also have alternatives.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have you thought more about what you want to study?”

  “I was thinking about doing something where I get to read a lot.”

  “Maybe a degree in literature?”

  Amanda pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her purse and flicked down the mirrored visor. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “It’s good to keep your options open there too. Often you get to college and discover things you’d never thought of before.”

  She carefully ran the gloss wand across her lips. “Uh huh.”

  Though not chatty, Amanda was in one of her better moods. Getting out of the house and loading up the motor home with a pack of dogs did them both good. The grind at the studio left behind, Rebecca always looked forward to dog shows with tingles jumping across her skin. Of course the fact that Matt might show up had nothing to do with it.

  Nothing at all.

  Rebecca glanced at her daughter and hoped it might be a good time to discuss the ex-quarterback. “Did you notice how well Ryan played last week?”

  Amanda laughed. “Who didn’t? He was the most popular kid in school. I thought his head would grow too fat to fit through his bedroom door.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be popular.” Rebecca tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, Matt’s been working with him a lot.”

  Amanda twirled a lock of hair around her finger and shot her a sideways glance. “Yeah. Ryan told me.”

  “Matt can really help him, and if he sticks with it, the scouts will be looking at Ryan for a scholarship.”

  “Cool.”

  “It is a very cool thing. Ryan really likes Matt too.” Rebecca glanced over at her daughter. After nodding in agreement, she pulled out her earphones and inserted them into her phone.

  Rebecca breathed a deep sigh.

  No fireworks at the mention of Matt. Maybe she figures his relationship with Ryan is okay. Whatever, I’ll chalk that up as one for me.

  They parked the motor home at ten p.m., set up a line of six exercise pens, fed and toileted the dogs and jumped in their sleeping bags for the night. Amanda still snuggled in her hot-pink “Hello Kitty” dream bag with her floppy-eared stuffed puppy. Rebecca had mended the seams so many times she wondered how the toy survived the years, but Amanda hung onto the rag like a precious keepsake.

  As always, sleep was fleeting.

  Before the sun rose, Rebecca forced herself to roll out of bed and boiled water for a steaming pot of tea. With her mere movement, the dogs exploded in frenetic excitement at the prospect of being let out and she quickly shepherded them to the exercise pens as quietly as she could.

  From her bunk, Amanda groaned. “Shut the heck up, dammit!” The rip of the zipper raced down her bag and she crashed to the floor in a sleepy stupor. She managed to slog to the teapot, her long chestnut locks perfectly teased out for a Halloween haunted house.

  “Good morning, Mandy,” Rebecca chimed as she popped outside to set up the grooming station before Amanda had a chance to snap back. She couldn’t help but giggle, anticipating Amanda’s reaction when she looked at her disheveled hair in the mirror. It would take hours to comb out the rat’s nest.

  Rebecca started on the Bichon Frise, the most difficult grooming job of the day. The damned dog wouldn’t stop fidgeting and every time the brush got near his mouth he tried to bite it. Fortunately, she’d combed through his thick coat with the matting rake and clipped the dog the day before, but he would need a quick rinse and blow dry to style that perfect “Teddy” face. She had earned fourteen points and two majors since her client had contracted with her to finish him—to earn a championship title. If she won today, she could send this cuddle muffin back to his owner.

  As she trimmed his paws, the dog licked her hand as if to apologize for his antics. Yeah, finishing a client dog was bittersweet. Kudos for a job well done, but she always fell in love with the darlings, and hated to give them back.

  Amanda crashed through the motorhome door, wearing sweats with her hair clipped back in a messy pile. Rebecca held back a chuckle as her daughter set up another grooming table and started working on the Chihuahuas—which was her job. That allowed Rebecca to focus on the paying client dogs.

  Once her work was complete, Amanda returned to the motor home and transformed herself from sweat toting ragamuffin to teenaged glamour girl in a navy blue skirt suit. “I’m off to find Melissa.”

  Rebecca looked up from a pile of fur. “Chihuahuas are on at nine in ring six. Junior show and novice obedience aren’t until this afternoon. If Fifi takes Winners Bitch, I’m going to need help in the Best of Variety class. Please be there.”

  “No prob, Momma.”

  “You look darling, by the way.”

  Amanda flashed a white toothy smile, pulled Gordo from his crate and slipped away to meet up with her friends.

  After spiffing up and styling her hair with ringlets framing her face, Rebecca used bungee cords to affix all six dog crates to a rolling flatbed dolly and hauled the dogs to the ring. She wore a knee-length black pencil skirt and tweed blazer with a ruffled white shirt that showed just enough cleavage to keep it interesting. A little sex appeal never hurt around male judges.

  Rolling a dolly over gravel and jagged concrete seams always proved a challenge. Her feet danced around the cart, steering it to avoid potential hazards. Entering the old fair building with a sign that read “cow barn,” a wheel almost crashed into an unseen hole, but an old friend showed up just in time to help her steer the cart away and avoid a disaster.

  Rebecca gave her friend a pat on the shoulder. “Hey, Barbara. Thanks.”

  “No prob, girlfriend.”

  She inclined her chin backward. “There’s a giant pothole right in the doorway.”

  “I know. The county never takes care of these old fairgrounds. They should fill it in before some old lady trips and breaks her hip.”

  Pushing the cart through the crowded corridor, Rebecca took in the familiar scene of white picket fences set up like little paddocks, lined with green rubber mats. Almost like a drug, a welcomed rush of adrenaline shot through her veins as she breathed in the familiar smell of clean dogs and hairspray.

  Arriving ringside along with her friend, she heaved a sigh. “How’ve you been?”

  Barbara flashed a competitive smirk. “Ready to kick your butt in smooths.”

  Rebecca chuckled as she reached for Sara. “I hope not. I love you, but I need a win. Sara’s pregnant and only needs a point to finish. I’m counting on this weekend.”

  The day went like clockwork. Amanda was there when Fifi won Winners Bitch and went to the B.O.V. class where Amanda handled Fifi and Rebecca showed Bruno, who was on his way to earning a Grand Champion title and possibly an invite to Westminster, in New York, three months from now. Bruno took Best of Variety and Fifi, Best of Winners and Best of Opposite. Rebecca also won Best of Breed with all of her client dogs except the Chinese Crested. That didn’t worry her, however, since Puff was only nine-months-old and won Winners Dog, earning two points. Her client would be happy.

  While Amanda attended her afternoon classes
, Rebecca made appearances in the Toy Group with Bruno, the Non Sporting Group with the Bichon Frise and the Terrier Group with the Cairn. At the end of the day, she got a Group third with the Bichon and was elated to get a Toy Group first with Bruno and progressed to the Best in Show class where the judge put up an Irish Setter. That was okay. Any day a handler made it to B.I.S. deserved a celebration. Bubbling with her efforts for the day, Rebecca called the owners of the Bichon. Earning his championship title, she’d fulfilled their wishes.

  They decided to save money and pulled him from the remainder of the show, as she’d figured they would. If she showed him as entered, she would have had an extra five-hundred dollars in her pocket, but that felt dishonest. She knew other handlers who only cared about the money and would have gone ahead and shown but she built the foundation of her business on honesty, and that was one rule she refused to bend.

  By late afternoon, the first day of Bloomsburg had become a memory and Rebecca pushed the dolly back to the motor home to prepare to do it all again on Saturday. She displayed her ribbons in the windshield. Friends stopped by to congratulate her on her extraordinary wins. Jack and Alan, an inseparable couple who bred Papillons and owned a trendy styling salon in Long Island, paid a visit. Rebecca offered them a beer.

  Alan immediately picked up on the change. “Beer, girlfriend? What’s new in your life?”

  “I always offer you a soda or something. I thought I’d put a couple of beers in the fridge for a change.” There was no way Rebecca was going to mention Matt. If he showed up, she’d deal with her friends’ questions then. It was much safer to stay away from having to explain about him.

  “So beer is the key to a Group First?” Alan teased holding up the bottle and giving it a good once over.

  “Amstel Light. Not bad for a girl who doesn’t drink,” Jack said.

  “I might have one occasionally. So, how’d you do today?”

  Alan nodded at Jack. “Got Best of Opposite with a client’s Wheaten, and our Missy took Best of Winners in Paps.”