Watchdog

by Laurien Berenson

  Five

  With Aunt Peg’s prodding and some last-minute help from Sam, we made it to the ring in plenty of time. Peg had grumbled incessantly over Faith’s coat, complaining as she scissored that there was too much hair under the bitch’s body, and not nearly enough on the top where it should have been the longest. From experience I knew it was best to simply nod in agreement and promise to do better next time. But when the preparations were finished and we headed up to ringside, I was very pleased with the way my Poodle looked.

  Since neither of our two bitches was ready to compete in the Open Class, I had entered Faith in 12—18 Months. Aunt Peg was taking Hope in Bred-By-Exhibitor. In the ring the breed before ours was just finishing. The classes for dogs would be judged first, followed by those for bitches, so we had a few minutes to wait.

  Ever since we’d arrived I’d been concentrating on making Faith look her best. Now as we awaited our turn, I began to feel the familiar dance of butterflies in my stomach. Aunt Peg, who has nerves of iron, was chatting with a fellow exhibitor. Sam and Davey had gone to see the steward about picking up our armbands. There was nothing for me to do but stand off to one side and try not to let any curious spectators with sticky-fingered children come too close to my carefully coiffed Poodle.

  When I heard someone come up behind me, I automatically angled my body to block access to Faith.

  “Ms. Travis? Is that you?”

  The voice belonged to Kate Russo, one of my students at Howard Academy. A shy eighth grader, she had braces on her teeth, and a slender body that had yet to develop any curves. With her creamy skin and big brown eyes, Kate would be a beauty someday, but she hadn’t begun to realize that yet.

  “Hi, Kate. What are you doing here?”

  “A man from my neighborhood does this.” She waved a hand to encompass the show. “You know, he has dogs. I’ve been helping out in his kennel and it’s pretty cool. Now he’s going to start teaching me about dog shows.”

  “What’s his breed?”

  “Wire Fox Terriers. John’s been breeding them for years. He’s got a new dog coming out that he’s really excited about.”

  I nodded, keeping an eye on the ring over her shoulder. “Are you enjoying the show?”

  “It’s great! My mom and I both came. She doesn’t care about the dogs, but she kind of has a thing for John. . . . ” Her face suffused with color and she quickly changed the subject. “That’s a Standard Poodle, right?”

  “Right. Her name’s Faith.”

  Hearing her name, the Poodle in question preened for effect.

  Kate stared at the elaborate trim and the dense coat of black hair now lacquered with hair spray into an upright position. “I never knew you could do stuff like that.”

  “I never did, either.” I laughed. “Actually, I’m still learning. I bet Wire Fox Terriers take a lot of grooming, too.”

  “They do. John’s always out in the kennel working on his dogs. Right now, I mostly pick up the pens and play with the puppies, but someday John’s going to teach me all that stuff. He promised.”

  Faith shifted restlessly, and I slipped a piece of dried liver out of my pocket to give to her. In the ring the Standard Poodle Puppy Dog Class was just ending.

  “Hey,” said Kate. “Was that your car I saw parked over at Haney’s General Store the other day? It looked like yours.”

  “Maybe. I was there on Wednesday.” I glanced around and saw that Sam had Davey and Tar settled in a chair by the ring. He was helping Peg slide her armband on. The entry in dogs wasn’t large and the judging was moving quickly.

  “That was the day. Some friends and I went by on our bikes. They’re really tearing that old place apart, aren’t they?”

  “That was the first step. Now they’re trying to put it back together. Do you live around there?”

  “Two streets away. Mr. Haney used to sell penny candy. I was probably one of his best customers.”

  “Ready?” Sam approached, holding out my armband. “It’s just about time.”

  “Wow,” Kate breathed under her breath. “Who’s that?”

  Smiling, I introduced them. Sam had the same effect on Davey’s baby-sitters. Hell, who was I kidding? He had the same effect on me.

  Kate giggled her way through the introductions, and turned beet red when Sam held out his hand to shake hers. If she fainted, he was going to have to take care of it. The steward was announcing my class.

  Since Faith was the only one entered in the 12—18 Months Class, I wasn’t unduly impressed with the blue ribbon the judge handed us. “Stay around,” he told me, in case I didn’t know the routine. “You’ll be coming right back in.”

  Peg’s class followed mine and consisted of two bitches. I stood just outside the gate and watched. When I was in the ring, I felt awkward and clumsy. Aunt Peg handled Hope with skill and flair and made the job look easy.

  “When am I going to learn how to do it that well?” I asked Sam, who had come to stand beside me.

  “Give it time. Don’t forget, Peg’s been doing this for thirty years. Besides, I think you may have a shot at beating her today.”

  “You do?”

  Sam nodded. “Did you see the way the judge went back and had another look at Hope’s chest?” He placed his hands between Faith’s front legs to demonstrate. “Hope is still narrow at this age. Her chest hasn’t dropped yet. Faith is much more developed. Didn’t you see him smile when he went over her front?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I guess I was too busy resetting her hind legs.”

  “You’ve got to keep your eye on the judge all the time. Watch where he is and what he’s doing. If he’s not worrying about Faith’s back legs, then you shouldn’t be, either.”

  “I know.”

  It was good advice, and Peg had said as much on several occasions. When I stood outside the ring, it all seemed possible. Then I went in and got rattled, and everything I thought I’d learned flew right out of my head.

  Peg accepted her blue ribbon and led Hope from the ring. The four bitches entered in the Open Class filed in to be judged.

  “Here,” said Sam, taking my hand and making a sweeping motion upward over Faith’s chest as she stood quietly beside us. “What are you doing when you do this?”

  “Lifting the hair.” That was easy. Even while they were in the ring, Poodles were constantly being groomed. It was a struggle to keep the hair perfect for any length of time and the handlers fussed over their dogs endlessly.

  “That’s true, but you’re also reminding the judge of what he felt under his hands when he examined her. He was pleased with her front, but now fifteen minutes have passed and he’s judged a half-dozen bitches since. Maybe he doesn’t remember. It’s your job to remind him by drawing his eye back there. When you go in the ring for Winners Bitch and he looks at Faith, I want you to make that same motion.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Sam said firmly. “Just give it a try.”

  “That’s not the strongest Open Class I’ve ever seen,” Peg mentioned as the judge awarded a weedy looking silver bitch first place. “We may have a shot at this.”

  “I may,” I said blithely as the steward called our numbers. “I’m told your bitch has a narrow front.”

  Aunt Peg frowned at Sam. “You might have taught her something useful, you know.”

  “I’m trying.” Sam laughed.

  In the Winners Class, we were lined up in the order in which our classes had been judged. The silver was in front, followed by Hope, then Faith. The Puppy Class winner was behind me, scampering around at the end of its lead.

  The judge stood across from us on the other side of the ring to evaluate his choices. I had Faith posed with her weight evenly balanced, her front legs straight underneath her, her hind legs extended slightly behind. My right hand was cupped beneath her muzzle, supporting her head. My left held up her tail.

  The judge’s gaze drifted down the line. Where on earth was I supposed to get an extra han
d to highlight Faith’s front? I glared at Sam. He glared right back and made an impatient motion. Easy for him. His hands were free.

  At the last second I dropped Faith’s muzzle and casually swept my fingers up over her chest hair. The judge’s gaze paused for a moment, then continued on to the puppy.

  One by one, each of the class winners was moved down and back along the diagonal mat that cut across the center of the ring. As the judge has seen all the entries before, judging in the Winners Class is often somewhat perfunctory. But this judge was taking his time about making up his mind.

  When we’d all been moved, the judge looked down the line again and beckoned. I thought he wanted Aunt Peg. She didn’t move, at least not with Hope. Instead, she turned around and poked me. The judge was still beckoning.

  “Get up there,” she said under her breath. “He wants you.”

  I led Faith forward. The judge placed her at the head of the line, then said, “Take them all around, please.”

  Blood was pounding in my ears, making me suddenly feel light-headed. I hoped I didn’t trip over my feet. I heard a sudden burst of applause—Sam and Davey no doubt. As Faith and I ran by, my son shouted gleefully, “Go, Mom!”

  The judge lifted his finger and pointed in my direction. “Winners Bitch.”

  I stopped running and stood utterly still. Faith played at the end of her leash, cavorting in time to Davey’s delighted cheer.

  “Congratulations!” said Aunt Peg, coming up behind me. She gestured toward the marker near the gate where I was meant to stand. “Go get your ribbon.”

  “I won a point,” I said stupidly. After a year of bathing and brushing, of trying to learn to handle and teach Faith how to be a show dog at the same time, a year of coming close but never being quite good enough, I’d finally realized what all the fuss was about.

  It felt great to be a winner.

  “You won two points,” said Peg. “You beat eight bitches. Now go get your ribbon before he decides to give it to somebody else.”

  That was all the urging I needed to find my way over to the marker. I accepted the purple ribbon for Winner Bitch with a goofy grin that made the judge smile, as well.

  “First show?” he asked kindly.

  “No, but my first win.”

  “That’s a pretty bitch. You’re going to do very well with her.”

  I made it out the gate, mostly because Sam came and got me. Davey was jumping up and down on his chair, and Tar had decided to add to the general excitement by lifting his nose to the ceiling and howling.

  “She was great,” I babbled, wrapping my arms around Faith’s neck and crushing all her hair. “Wasn’t she great?”

  Sam gently pried my arms free. “She was, and so were you. But don’t mess her up too much, you both have to go back in.”

  Oh, Lordy, in all the excitement I’d forgotten about that. After Winners Dog and Winners Bitch have been chosen, the champions compete for Best of Breed, or in the case of Poodles, which have three varieties, Best of Variety. Since they are undefeated thus far on the day, the Winners Dog and Bitch are also eligible to compete.

  In the ring now, Reserve Winners Bitch was being judged. Sam plucked a long comb out of his back pocket, found a can of hair spray, and made hasty repairs to Faith’s neck hair. Thanks to his expertise, by the time the champions were called to enter the ring, she looked almost as good as new. We walked in and took our place at the end of the line.

  Ten minutes later Best of Variety was awarded to a beautiful black bitch shown by a professional handler named Crawford Langley. Best of Opposite Sex was the Winners Dog. Faith, who was enjoying her chance to show off, won Best of Winners. The steward picked up her walkie-talkie and placed a call for the photographer.

  One by one, each of the winners took a turn at having its picture taken with the judge. The top winning dogs used these win photos for advertising. Aunt Peg framed her most important wins and hung them on the kennel wall. I hadn’t yet decided what I’d do with my first picture, but I was sure I’d find a place to display it prominently.

  Back at the grooming area as we wrapped ears, took down topknots and spritzed a conditioner on the hair spray, I asked Sam and Aunt Peg if they had plans for dinner. Peg, who’d recently started seeing someone, did, but Sam was free.

  “Nothing fancy,” I said, running through the contents of the cabinets in my mind. “Maybe spaghetti.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Sam was easy. I like that in a man.

  After extracting a firm promise from me that I would wash the hair spray out of Faith’s coat before it was in long enough to do damage, Peg packed up and left. The rest of us soon followed. Three people, two Poodles, two cars. Someday I had to simplify my life.

  Davey elected to ride home with Sam and Tar. Sitting on the front seat beside me, Faith whined softly for much of the trip. Every so often she’d reach over and lay a paw on my arm, encouraging me to go back and get Davey, whom she seemed to think I’d forgotten.

  In Sam’s Blazer just ahead of us, Davey kept turning around to wave out the back window. I showed her where he was, but Faith couldn’t make the connection. Standard Poodles are so smart that it’s easy to take their superior reasoning ability for granted. Then they miss a trick, and you’re left wondering why.

  We pulled into the driveway just behind the Blazer. Faith saw Davey get out of Sam’s car and erupted into a flurry of excited barking, no doubt meant to inform me that she’d found my missing son and I no longer needed to worry. When I opened the door, she flew out of the Volvo and threw herself at him. Then she noticed Tar, who’d come tumbling out of the Blazer behind Davey, and stiffened.

  Faith had met the puppy at the show, but that was neutral territory. This was her house, and she wanted to make sure everybody knew it, especially any furry little interlopers with big eyes and clumsy feet. She cuffed him once with a front paw and growled just to set matters straight. Obligingly Tar lowered his head and adopted a submissive position.

  “All right,” I said to Faith. “He’s just a baby. Lay off.”

  She gave me that innocent “Who me?” look, that all dogs perfect the first time they pee on the floor as puppies.

  “Yes, you,” I told her.

  Faith lowered her front end to the ground and lifted up her hindquarter, tail wagging, a classic invitation to play. Tar accepted by leaping to his feet. Together, they ran across the yard.

  “I guess that’s settled.” Sam kept an eye on them while I unlocked the door. “Too bad, people can’t be that sensible.”

  We ushered the Poodles through the house and into the fenced backyard, then unloaded the car. Davey was angling for Sam to try out a new Nintendo game with him; I was hoping Sam would spend some time with me. The only thing we agreed upon was that we were all ravenous.

  By way of a compromise, the two of them played video games while I threw dinner together. Threw being the operative word. I found a loaf of French bread in the freezer, and lettuce and tomatoes in the crisper. The rest of the spaghetti dinner came mostly from boxes and cans, but what the hell. When I was finished you could hardly tell. Sam, gentleman that he is, never mentioned a word.

  Davey usually goes to bed early after he’s spent the day at a dog show. All the activity wears him out, and since he had school the next morning, I was happy to opt for a quick story and turn out the lights. Faith climbed up on the bed, turned two circles, then lay down beside him. I rubbed her muzzle and she sighed softly. Before I’d even reached the door, all four eyes were shut.

  When I got back downstairs, Sam was in the kitchen finishing the dishes. Tar was sprawled in a boneless heap at his feet.

  Coming up from behind, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I lifted my head. “What do you mean?”

  Sam plucked a dishcloth off the counter and dried his hands. “I think we should talk.”

  That sou
nded ominous. Maybe it was my imagination. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  Sam took my hand and led the way into the living room. We sat down on the couch. I decided to take the hand holding as a good sign. But as he turned to face me, I wondered why he looked so serious.

  “I love you, Melanie.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Sam had never said those words before. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear them.

  I cared for Sam deeply. I knew we were a good match. That was as much as I’d allowed myself to feel, and it was enough. More than enough.

  I’d been in love before. I’d experienced that heady rush that makes your feet float above the ground, and blinds you to all but the best possibilities. And I’d lived through the long hard fall that came when it ended.

  I squeezed his hand, but didn’t speak. I couldn’t quite think what I wanted to say.

  Sam gazed down at our joined fingers. “You know how I feel about Davey. He’s terrific. But what we’re doing now isn’t working. It isn’t enough. You’re here, I’m in Redding. It feels like we talk on the phone more often than we see one another. Between your job, my job, the travel, the Poodles ...”

  His voice trailed off, but I knew what he meant. With all our other obligations, there never did seem to be enough time just for us. Sam designed computer software and was mostly self-employed, though in the last month he’d taken two consulting jobs on the side.

  Weekdays, Davey and I needed to be in Stamford. Lately, weekends had often found Sam on the road. Aside from Tar, he had four other Standard Poodles at home. He’d found a local pet-sitter, but the only way he could spend the night at my house was if we made arrangements in advance. Welcome to life in the nineties.

  “I’m a little confused,” I said. “Are you proposing, or breaking up with me?”

  I’d been half kidding, but his expression was suddenly sober. “I think I’m proposing.”

  A dozen different thoughts rocketed through my brain, the tumult fast and furious, and much too tangled to sort out.