Bark If It's Murder

by V. M. Burns

  She drove us the short distance to her office, and I waited while she pulled up a mountain of papers for me to sign.

  “I’m going home. I’ve still got a lot to do before the show tomorrow.” Dixie stared at Monica Jill and me. “Don’t forget, you both signed up to work the dog show.”

  We both nodded.

  In addition to teaching canine obedience classes at the Eastern Tennessee Dog Club (ETDC), Dixie’s dogs had competed in various dog sports, including conformation and obedience. Now that her two standard poodles, Champion Chyna 9th Wonder of the World and Grand Champion Galactic Imperial Resistance Leader, or “Chyna” and “Leia” for short, were retired from competition, Dixie had become a judge. She was judging poodles at a large dog show, and the ETDC had signed on to work the show. Monica Jill and I, along with the other members of Dixie’s dog class, had eagerly volunteered to help. Despite Dixie’s warnings that it wouldn’t be anything like the glamour we saw on television from the Westminster Kennel Club, we were all excited.

  It took a lot longer to complete the myriad of paperwork needed to put an offer on a house than I thought it would. It was certainly a lot more than I remembered from when Albert and I bought our house, but then a lot had changed in the nearly quarter century. Eventually, everything was signed, dated, initialed, and submitted. I left Monica Jill at her office and drove the short distance to my hotel to anxiously await the owners’ response and question whether or not I should have offered more, knowing I was most likely entering a potential multiple bid situation. I questioned if I should have gone in with a higher bid to entice the sellers to ignore other offers or if I should have followed Monica Jill’s suggestion to leave room for negotiation. Should I have bit the bullet and not asked the sellers to pay my closing costs as Dixie had suggested and just shelled out the extra cash? I tried to ease my mind and push these thoughts away, but nothing worked. So I hoped a walk would provide a much-needed distraction from thoughts of the house and would tire out both me and my six-pound dog, Aggie, to the point that we would both sleep soundly.

  I grabbed Aggie’s leash and we headed outside. Chattanooga in mid-January was still sunny, but there was a chill in the air today, which made me walk faster than usual and made me impatient about lingering while Aggie sniffed every blade of grass and tracked scent trails for every creature to have crossed this path. I tugged on her leash and ignored the look in her eyes that begged to be allowed to explore a dead bird carcass.

  Our extended-stay hotel was located near the interstate, which made my commute to work easy but kept me awake late into the night, listening to the sounds of cars and semis flying along Interstate 75. Options for hotels that allowed pets were limited, so the traffic noise was a trade-off for a clean room that accepted pets without requiring a nonrefundable pet fee that was the equivalent to the going rate for an organ on the black market. At least, that was what my friend Red told me. A few weeks of dating a Tennessee Bureau of Investigations Officer had provided all kinds of miscellaneous facts that would scare most people.

  I walked to a nearby field, which was far enough away from the interstate and traffic that I didn’t have to worry about Aggie’s safety, and I took her off-leash, making sure I had the dried liver in my pocket. The pungent-smelling treat had proven over weeks of obedience classes to be the one thing that would entice her to come running whenever the small container was opened.

  Leash removed and nothing but a wide-open space in front of her lit a fuse in the little black dog’s soul. She ran with a reckless abandon and zeal that brought a smile to my face as I watched her run in circles for the sheer joy of running. I thought of the large fenced-in yard at the house and knew I had made the right choice. Despite the cold weather, I let Aggie run until I noticed her slow down.

  “Aggie, come.”

  She stopped and turned to look in my direction.

  I took the leash out of my pocket and waited. She took one step in my direction and then lifted her nose in the air and sniffed. Even from the distance that separated us, I could tell she had gotten a whiff of something, and the look in her eyes told me it wasn’t the dried liver treats.

  I fumbled to remove the plastic container but wasn’t quick enough. Before I could get the lid off, Aggie took off in the opposite direction with a gleam in her eyes that told me she was up to no good.

  Despite the weeks of training I’d endured, during which Dixie drilled into me the importance of not repeating commands, I ran toward my dog screaming, “Aggie, come.”

  Aggie stopped only when she found the odor she’d detected. I was feet away when I realized what she’d smelled.

  “Aggie, NO!”

  I felt like I was watching a movie in slow motion as I ran toward her. By now, Aggie was on her back and rolling with what appeared to be a smile on her face.

  Panting with her tongue extended, she rushed to me and pounced on my legs. She reeked of deer poop.

  “Ewww.” I turned away and tried to block my nose. Despite my best efforts, the aroma infiltrated my nasal passages. I looked at my beautiful dog, happy as could be with grass and the remains of her romp through the field attached to her backside.

  I stared at her face, which radiated with joy, and wondered how we were going to make it back to the hotel. It was too late to take her to the groomers. I checked my coat pockets and couldn’t find anything more than a few receipts to help remove the excess solids. I sighed, took a deep breath, and attached her leash. Then I used my last two gas receipts to remove the clumps of fecal matter from her coat. One whiff told me the receipts had been ineffective.

  I sighed and made the walk of shame back to the hotel while frantically trying to remember where I’d left my rubber gloves and whether or not I still had dog shampoo. If I wanted a distraction to get my mind off the house, Aggie had certainly provided it.

  Chapter 2

  The next day I awoke early when the alarm on my cell phone went off at four. It was still dark outside and while I had set the alarm, I still cursed the idea of having to get up so early. I stood up and stretched. Even Aggie thought I’d lost my mind and curled up in a tight ball in the warm area I vacated in the bed rather than getting up. I stuck my tongue out at her. I shuffled to the shower.

  The warm water from the shower pelted my skin and revived my mind to the possibilities of the day. After I showered, I hurried to my phone to check for messages from Monica Jill. She’d warned me not to be disappointed if I didn’t hear from her until later, but I was disappointed anyway when there was no message. I tried to push thoughts of the house out of my mind and rummaged through the closet to find something appropriate to wear to the dog show.

  Visions of the Westminster Dog Show flashed through my mind, of men in suits and women in dresses and comfortable shoes trotting around the rings. Dixie’s instructions were to dress in comfortable clothes. Dog shows, she’d said, were dirty places unless you were sitting in the audience or competing. I put on a faded pair of jeans and a T-shirt and flipped on the television to listen to the news while I brushed my teeth. I was only half-listening when one of the roving reporters mentioned the dog show. I slipped out of the bathroom and turned up the volume. The reporter was pointing out all of the various events to be judged this weekend and encouraged viewers to come out. I glanced at my outfit and quickly changed into a pair of slacks and a nice blouse. This show might not be Westminster, but if there were going to be reporters, that meant it would be broadcast locally. I pulled my hair down from the ponytail and fired up my curling iron while I applied makeup.

  Changing clothes meant I was running late and Aggie’s morning walk was shorter than either of us would have liked. I’d been encouraged to arrive early, and each moment I delayed added to my anxiety. When I finally left for the dog show, I was forty-five minutes later than I’d originally planned.

  I hopped onto the interstate and headed for the fairgrounds. It was still early,
so the rush hour traffic wasn’t bad, and I made it well ahead of the start of the festivities. However, the parking lot was filling up with RVs, campers, and cars, and I had quite a hike to get to the main building.

  By the time I entered the arena, I was out of breath and panting. Perhaps I should have kept on the tennis shoes I’d originally planned rather than switching at the last minute to casual wedge heels.

  I craned my neck and looked around until I spotted a familiar face and a bald head and headed for them.

  Monica Jill stood sipping a coffee and eating a donut. She smiled and handed me a cup from a table. “There you are. We were afraid you’d overslept.”

  I took a sip from the steaming hot coffee and shook my head.

  She looked me up and down with a raised eyebrow.

  I noticed that while she wore makeup, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing a pair of old blue jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes.

  “What?”

  She smiled. “Nothing. You look really nice.”

  The compliment sounded more like an accusation, but I chose to ignore it and turned to the bald head I’d recognized. “Hi, Dr. Morgan.”

  Dr. Morgan was short and bald, with an egg-shaped head that always reminded me of Mr. Potato Head. He was also in our dog obedience class with his German shepherd, Max, who was a vicious-looking pussycat with a giant crush on Aggie. He looked gruff and unshaven. He inclined his head, grunted, and sipped his coffee. He wore a faded Tennessee Vols T-shirt and jeans.

  I was starting to think perhaps I’d dressed wrong when I saw Dixie in a suit along with the current ETDC president, a white-haired Amazon of a woman named Lenora Houston, but everyone called her “Lenny.”

  “Good morning, troops.” Lenny took a wide-legged stance in front of us. She had a baseball cap pushed down and turned around backward over her short-cropped hair. She had on shorts and a T-shirt and wore a whistle around her neck like a military drill sergeant. “Gather ’round.”

  Considering there were so few of us, we were all pretty well gathered, but we each took a step forward and got closer to her.

  Just as she started to speak, we heard footsteps rushing toward us. “Hold up. I’m coming.” The last member of Dixie’s obedience class, Bobbie Jean Thompson, B.J. to her friends, rushed to join us. The slightly plump African American woman had skin like dark chocolate and hair which she wore in long braids that trailed down her back. Today she had the braids pulled back into a ponytail that bobbed as she ran.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” She leaned over and took several breaths. “Snowball wouldn’t go potty and I—”

  “Yes. Yes. We get the picture.” Lenny lifted a page on her flip chart and pulled a pen from behind her ear. “Now, we have a busy day ahead and a lot of work to do.”

  Dixie took a step forward. “May I just say how grateful we are that you all volunteered to help out at the show. We know how busy everyone is and there are probably a hundred other things you could do, but we’re so thankful you decided to help the club.” She smiled and then glanced expectantly at Lenny.

  “Yes. Yes.” Lenny rocked on the balls of her feet and rolled her eyes.

  Dixie sighed. “I have to go, but I know you all will be fine.” She smiled and then walked away.

  “Now that the niceties are over, let’s get down to business.” Lenny shoved her pen back behind her ear. “Follow me.” She turned and marched off without a backward glance.

  We hesitated for a split second and then hurried to catch up to her.

  Monica Jill was thin and was in great shape, and she and Dr. Morgan took the lead. My casual shoes weren’t intended for hiking, and as the sweat dripped down my armpits, I realized they weren’t the best choice I could have made today.

  B.J. huffed alongside me at the rear. “That woman is worse than a drill sergeant.”

  The fairgrounds were large and included a large stadium. We’d walked halfway around the arena before Lenny led us into a back storage room. By the time B.J. and I arrived, Lenny was standing, arms folded, inside the storage room, rocking.

  B.J. leaned against the wall and caught her breath.

  I was breathing heavily but felt a small sliver of joy when I noticed a bead of sweat fall from Dr. Morgan’s nose.

  “This is the main storage closet and the location where you will get your supplies.”

  I looked around. “Supplies?”

  Lenny reached up on a shelf and pulled down a large box labeled Paper Towels. She ripped the box open and pulled out a large roll. She handed one to each of us.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “Cleanup.” She turned and pulled spray bottles of ammonia off another shelf and handed one to each of us.

  “Cleanup?” I stared from the paper towel roll to the ammonia. It took several moments before all of my mental cylinders engaged. Once the reality of what she was saying set in, I was horrified. “You have got to be joking!”

  Lenny had just turned around with pooper-scoopers in each hand. She stood ramrod-straight and looked at me as though I was insane. “I don’t joke.”

  “You mean we have to clean up poop?” Monica Jill asked.

  Lenny nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “But…it’s a dog show?” I tried to focus. “There are going to be hundreds of dogs.”

  She nodded. “Exactly, that’s why you’re needed.” She shook her head. “If it wasn’t for the pooper cleanup crew, there’d be dog crap a mile long. No one would be able to take a step without stepping in it.”

  B.J. clutched her roll of paper towels and said in a small voice, “But Miss Dixie told us responsible pet owners clean up after their dogs.”

  “True. However, at a dog show, no one has time for that.” She must have noticed the forlorn look in everyone’s eyes. “Well, some handlers will clean up after their dogs, but most won’t.”

  “So we’re supposed to walk around and clean up…poop?” Monica Jill asked.

  Lenny nodded. “Not just walk around.” She handed us garbage bags. “If a dog has an accident in one of the rings, then you’ll need to go and clean it up. They’ll announce it over the loudspeaker, and one of you, whoever’s closest, will hurry into the ring and clean it up.”

  “But, that’s going to be …horrible. We’ll be filthy.” I looked at my slacks and not-at-all-comfortable shoes.

  “Not really dressed to work a dog show. You should have worn clothes you didn’t care about.” She frowned.

  “Surely there has to be a better way of dealing with this…ah…problem.” Dr. Morgan scowled.

  Lenny folded her arms across her chest and rocked. “Look, this show is important for ETDC. They’re paying us a thousand dollars per day to clean up poop.” She looked from one of us to the other. “Three days of work for that amount of money will pay our mortgage for the next three months.”

  We stood in silence.

  “We all have to do our part.” She rocked on the balls of her feet.

  After a few seconds, each of us nodded.

  “Good. Now, get out there and make ETDC proud.”

  The next few hours were a hideously smelly, disgusting nightmare. We ran from one end of the arena to the other. Every few minutes, there was an announcement that sent one of us running. “CLEANUP IN RING…” The announcer filled in the number of the ring or the breed being judged.

  At the start of the show, things were slow, and I was able to note that in addition to hundreds of dogs competing, there were vendors selling dog paraphernalia for every breed and every interest. Everything from breed-inspired jewelry to special dog beds, cages, leashes, and clothing. The clothing in particular caught my attention and I quickly bought a T-shirt, shorts, socks, and tennis shoes covered in poodles. I made a quick change in the restroom and contemplated dumping my discarded clothes in the
nearest garbage receptacle. However, a quick glance at the label in the back of the shirt reminded me the blouse had been a gift from my daughter, Stephanie, and had probably cost a small fortune. Instead, I dumped the clothes into a shopping bag and left them in a locker in the storage room where Lenny had instructed us to leave any valuables.

  Cleaning up dog poop had to be the worst job ever. It wasn’t just the thought of scooping poop. I got over that pretty quickly. No, it was more than just the fecal matter. It was the stooping down and spraying of ammonia and then scrubbing with a paper towel to prevent other dogs from smelling the area and then relieving themselves in the same spot. I learned my lesson when I was called to clean up after a borzoi in the hound group. I learned from the announcer that borzois were Russian sighthounds. After cleaning up what turned out to be a large amount of poop, I hurried out of the ring, only to be called back when a Sicilian coursing hound I’d never heard of before, a Cirneco dell’Etna, promptly squatted and relieved herself in the exact same spot I’d just cleaned. Unfortunately for me, Lenny was nearby and marched me into the ring to oversee my cleaning endeavors. When the area was cleaner than the table where I’d eaten a snack earlier, she escorted me out of the ring and reprimanded me in front of everyone.

  By lunchtime, my knees, back, and neck ached. My nose burned from sniffing so much ammonia and my head throbbed. I flopped down at a picnic table where the vendors were set up and tried to get the aroma of ammonia and the thought of how I’d just spent the last four hours of my day out of my head—at least enough to contemplate eating. I tried to remind myself this was going to generate a lot of money for the dog club. Besides, it was just one day. I tried to shake off my mood.

  B.J. flopped down across from me. “I’m wore out.” She sighed. “I don’t want to see another piece of sh—”

  “CLEANUP IN THE TERRIER GROUP.”

  She let out a long breath and hoisted herself up. “That’s me.” She hurried off.