Pup Fiction

by Laurien Berenson

  A state park in Dutchess County, New York, provided an idyllic outdoor setting for the dog show. As always, my heart lifted when we arrived and I saw the level, grassy field with its familiar configuration of rings—two parallel rows of eight, with a center aisle between them covered by a green-and-white-striped tent.

  A second, smaller tent provided a shaded grooming space where exhibitors congregated to prepare their dogs to be shown. Beautiful dogs of all colors, shapes, and sizes were relaxing or being groomed on their tabletops. Numerous exercise pens ringed the outside of the handlers’ tent. The whine of a dozen generators buzzed in the air.

  Sam pulled his SUV up beside the tent to unload. We each had a job to do. Sam put the big wooden crate on a dolly. I rested the grooming table on top of it. Davey grabbed the tack box and the hanging bag that held his sports coat. Kevin was drafted to carry his bag of toys. That left me with the cooler that held snacks for us, as well as a baggie of dried liver that Davey would use in the show ring to focus Coral’s attention.

  “I see Aunt Peg,” Kevin announced gleefully.

  Actually, she was hard to miss. Standing taller than anyone in the vicinity and waving her arms above her head, Aunt Peg now had half the people and dogs under the tent staring in her direction.

  “Good.” Sam began to maneuver the dolly between the tightly packed setups. “That must mean she saved us a spot.”

  Drawing near, I saw that Aunt Peg had Coral sitting on a table borrowed from the neighboring setup. It belonged to professional handler Crawford Langley and his assistant, Terry Denunzio. The two men had been a couple for years and had celebrated their wedding on Valentine’s Day.

  “It’s about time you got here,” Terry said under his breath as I approached. He was line-brushing a black Mini Poodle, who was lying on his side on another table.

  I grinned at him. Terry and I were best buddies. He was cocky, outrageous, and always entertaining. At any event, Terry could be counted on to have the best gossip and the best hair. Today’s coiffure was black and spikey. On him, it looked almost normal.

  “Is Aunt Peg driving you crazy?” I asked in the same low tone. Heaven forbid she should overhear us.

  He rolled his eyes, as if the answer was a given. “Did you know there’s a major today in Standard bitches?”

  “Of course. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Peg has reminded us three times since she arrived. Worse, she’s been pacing back and forth across our setup waiting for you to arrive.”

  “I bet Crawford loves that.”

  I must have spoken louder than I’d intended because the handler, who was busy at the other end of the big, multi-table setup, turned around to face us. Crawford was in his late sixties, a time when many men would have been contemplating retirement. But after decades spent handling glorious dogs to notable wins, Crawford was still at the top of his game. It was a position he had no intention of relinquishing anytime soon.

  “Good morning, Melanie,” he said. “Are you two talking about me behind my back?”

  “We’re trying to.” I gave him a cheeky smile. Crawford and I had worked through issues in the past. I was happy our relationship was now back on solid ground. “But since you’re onto us, I guess we’ll have to stop.”

  “I’ve been telling Terry for years that you’re a bad influence. But he never listens.”

  “Au contraire, O Mighty One,” Terry shot back. “I value every pearl of wisdom that passes your lips.”

  Crawford stared for a moment, then turned his back to us again. “Sheesh,” he muttered. I nearly laughed out loud.

  “You there.” Aunt Peg waved imperiously in my direction. “Quit goofing around. Come over here and make yourself useful.”

  While I’d been talking to Terry, Sam and Davey had set up the grooming table and wedged the heavy crate between two others of similar size. The cooler was now stashed under the table, and the tack box was open on top of the crate.

  It looked like we were open for business.

  All we needed now was a Standard Poodle. Striding past Coral, I paused and patted my chest. The big black bitch hopped into my arms. Two steps later, I deposited her on top of our grooming table.

  Coral nudged Davey with her nose and woofed happily. “I know,” he whispered into her ear. “Me too.”

  Aunt Peg observed their interaction with an arched brow. “You too, what?” she inquired.

  “I think Coral told him she was looking forward to having a great time in the ring today,” I said. “And Davey agreed.”

  “Oh?” Aunt Peg was not amused. “Today is serious business. We didn’t come to have fun.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Sam was as eager to deflect Aunt Peg’s high-pressure tactics as I was. He flapped a hand at her. “Now shoo.”

  “Shoo?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think so.”

  I expected Davey to protest. In similar circumstances, he and Aunt Peg had clashed before. And none of the previous shows had been as important as this one.

  “Fine,” Davey said. “If you don’t believe that Sam and I have everything under control, you can stay. On one condition. You can’t say a single word.”

  “But—”

  “Not one,” he warned. “I mean it.”

  Aunt Peg glared at me. Davey was my son, after all.

  Inwardly, I cheered. On the outside, I just shrugged.

  Aunt Peg’s fingers grasped the top of my arm. She spun around and left the setup. I had no choice but to follow.

  “Kevin’s with you,” I told Sam as she yanked me away.

  My husband merely nodded, but I was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh. Terry didn’t even make the attempt. The sound of his snickering followed us out of the tent.

  Chapter 6

  “That was rude,” Aunt Peg said as she and I headed toward the rings.

  “I agree,” I replied. Thank goodness, she’d released my arm. Any minute now, the circulation should start returning to it.

  She shot me a suspicious look—as if she didn’t trust that we were talking about the same thing. Which we most definitely were not.

  “It’s going to be a long day if you keep trying to make trouble,” I told her.

  “And an even longer one if Coral doesn’t win,” she muttered.

  “Jumping down Davey’s throat isn’t going to make that happen.”

  “I was merely offering to help.”

  “And he was merely refusing,” I replied. “Get over it.”

  Aunt Peg swung around to face me. I expected her to snap out a pithy retort. I really hoped that she didn’t threaten to take Coral away from Davey. Because that would really make me mad.

  Not for the first time, however, Aunt Peg surprised me. She stared down at me. The expression on her face almost looked like respect. “All right, then,” she announced. “I’m over it. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Great idea. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Emily Grace’s school is in trouble.”

  “Emily Grace. You mentioned her the other day. The lady with complications. Is this another puppy problem? Don’t tell me they got away again.”

  Of course she would ask about the dogs first.

  “No, the puppies are fine—”

  “That’s good. Though I assume that means that something else isn’t. Is it something we should care about?”

  “Money,” I told her.

  “Oh.” Aunt Peg frowned. “Everyone cares about that. Dogs, however, would have been more interesting. How do you feel about Collies?”

  Collies? “I don’t have an opinion about them one way or another,” I said.

  “That’s not good.” Aunt Peg sidled up to the first ring we’d come to. Three smooth Collies were gaiting around its perimeter. “They’re lovely dogs. We’ll stop here and watch for a bit. While you tell me about Emily Grace’s money problems, I will endeavor to educate myself about another Herding breed.”

  It only took a few
minutes for me to outline everything Emily had told me the day before. Aunt Peg listened to me with both eyes trained on the Collie ring. I figured that meant she was devoting about half her attention to what I was saying. I was tempted to give her a quiz at the end to see how much information she’d retained, but I was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well.

  The smooth Collie Best of Variety class entered the ring. Aunt Peg and I both paused as the judge evaluated his four entries: two champions, plus the Winners Dog and Winners Bitch. It was easy for me to tell which dog Aunt Peg found the most deserving. Luckily, the judge agreed with her. Otherwise we would have had to have a discussion about that too. Instead we were able to return to our conversation.

  “Malcolm Hancock,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name.”

  I explained briefly who he was. “I’m surprised you didn’t know him.”

  Some days it seemed as though Aunt Peg knew everybody.

  “No, unfortunately, he and I never crossed paths. But Graceland School sounds like a fine institution. It’s a shame it might be forced to close. Did Emily say how much of a financial shortfall she’s looking at?”

  “We didn’t go into specifics. But I’d love to be able to help her in some way.”

  The smooth Collies had filed out of the ring. Now the rough coated Collies were being judged.

  “Those look more difficult,” I said.

  Aunt Peg cast me a glance. “Hmm?”

  “You know, to judge. With the smooth variety we could see the dogs’ bodies and movement quite easily. With these Collies, almost everything is hidden by the hair.”

  “Most people would say the same thing about Poodles.”

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  “With smooth coated dogs, a judge can perform most of her evaluation by sight alone. But in a long haired breed, good grooming can cover a multitude of sins. You really need to get your hands down into the coat to feel for yourself what’s there.” Aunt Peg watched with approval as the judge in the ring did exactly that.

  The rough Collies only took ten minutes to judge. When they were finished, two medium-sized, reddish-tan dogs with foxy faces and bushy tails entered the ring. They gaited around together.

  “Icelandic Sheepdogs,” Aunt Peg said before I had a chance to ask. “Quite an appealing breed.”

  Frankly, her endorsement didn’t mean much. Aunt Peg thought all dogs were appealing.

  She waited until the judge had awarded the ribbons, then turned to me. “Have we wasted enough time yet?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. Have we been away from the setup long enough that we can go back to see how things are progressing?”

  “Not even close,” I told her.

  She harrumphed under her breath. “We’ve been waiting nearly six weeks for a major entry.”

  “I know.”

  “And Davey’s only fourteen. At his age, he can benefit from proper guidance.”

  “You trusted him to handle Coral because you thought he had potential,” I pointed out. “And he’s improved steadily since the two of them became a team. Now you have to sit back and let Davey show you what he’s capable of doing.”

  “I hate sitting back and doing nothing,” she huffed. “It makes me feel useless.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Then help me come up with an idea that will save Graceland School.”

  “Funny you should ask,” said Aunt Peg. “I’ve been thinking.”

  When? I wondered. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since we’d finished discussing it.

  “Dog people love to pull together for a good cause,” she said. “Look at all the good Take the Lead has done. Not to mention the Poodle Club of America Foundation.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “But those are dog people helping other dog people. Or working for the betterment of their breed. Emily isn’t a member of the dog community.”

  “You’re right, she isn’t,” Aunt Peg said. “And right now, that might be just what we need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look around,” Aunt Peg told me. “What do you see?”

  I knew I would see the same thing I’d seen at virtually every dog show I’d ever attended. Nevertheless, I obliged her. I let my gaze roam slowly down the row of rings in front of us, where half a dozen different breeds were strutting their stuff. Then I turned around and looked back toward the handler’s tent. By the time I’d finished, I was smiling.

  “I see many wonderful dogs,” I said. “All of them meticulously groomed to look their best, all having a great time interacting with their owners or handlers. You know perfectly well that a dog show is a dog lover’s paradise.”

  “It is indeed,” she agreed. “But if that’s all you saw, you were only looking at the surface.”

  That punctured my happy mood. It sounded as though I was in for a lecture. Better me than Davey, however.

  “Let me tell you what I see,” Aunt Peg continued. “When I look around, I think about the fact that every dog here today is the product of many generations of focused, intentional breeding. Each different breed was carefully developed with a specific purpose in mind. Each was bred to have those traits that would enable them to do their jobs and do them well—whether that job might be herding cattle, locating lost hikers, or flushing game.”

  I nodded and remained silent. I already knew that. But when Aunt Peg was on a roll, it was safest just to stay out of her way.

  “Conscientious breeders have worked hard to preserve those attributes that define their breeds. It’s not mere chance that Bloodhounds have big noses and long, floppy ears. Or that Salukis can run like the wind.”

  “Or that Poodles love to dance on their hind feet.”

  Aunt Peg glared at me.

  “Sorry.” I bit my lip. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  She was not amused.

  “I feel like you’re making a point with this lesson,” I said. “I also feel like I have no idea what it is.”

  “That’s because you haven’t been paying attention.”

  I could have sworn that wasn’t true.

  “Since you still don’t get it, I shall continue,” she informed me.

  This looked like it could take a while. There were two empty chairs beside the ring, where Beaucerons were now being judged. I walked over and sat down. Aunt Peg watched the judging for a minute before coming over to join me.

  “The bitch at the end of the line is quite lovely. She’ll be Winners Bitch,” she murmured, just loud enough that only I could hear.

  I knew she’d be right. If Aunt Peg had been born three hundred years earlier, she’d probably have been branded a witch.

  She turned her attention back to me. “As I was saying, not only has the dog world developed and nurtured a multitude of breeds that remain remarkably consistent in their looks, their temperaments, and their abilities, we’ve also made huge strides in the areas of canine disease control and genetic testing.”

  I nodded again. Really, at this point what else was there for me to do?

  “In practical terms, what that means is that if someone wants to add, say, a Labrador Retriever, to their family—and they seek out a reputable breeder—they may be assured that the puppy they bring home will be a good-sized, solid, fun-loving dog who is wonderful with children and remarkably fond of tennis balls.”

  Time was passing. The Beaucerons had left the ring. Now the judge had his hands on a Pumi. If I didn’t stop her now, Aunt Peg and I might be here all day.

  “What does that have to do with Emily and Graceland School?” I asked.

  “If only you would be patient, I was getting to that.”

  Said the Queen of Patience herself. I sighed and waited for her to go on.

  “It’s no secret that the world of purebred dogs now finds itself in a precarious position. The animal rights groups are controlling the narrative, and ‘Adopt, don’t shop’ has become the mantra of the day. Responsible bre
eders find themselves being lumped in the same category as puppy mills, when nothing could be farther from the truth.”

  I totally agreed with her. But again . . . Emily Grace?

  “So I had a thought about your friend and her school,” Aunt Peg said. Finally. “What if we got a group of breeders together and held a benefit for her?”

  That came as a surprise. I paused and considered the idea. “What kind of benefit?”

  “I’m thinking of something like a purebred dog showcase. We could call it Meet the Breeds, or maybe Meet the Breeders. We would introduce our lovely dogs and our friendly selves, plus add in other kinds of entertainment. I bet people would be willing to pay a reasonable admission fee for that. Think of the educational opportunities.”

  I was. And Aunt Peg was right. The idea had merit.

  “I know plenty of dog show people who would be willing, even eager, to take part in an event like that,” she said. “We might be able to attract as many as fifty or sixty different breeds. It could be a win-win for both Graceland School and dog lovers.”

  Suddenly I was really liking the sound of this. “I bet we could hold it right at Graceland,” I said. “There’s plenty of room. And that would give people a chance to see all the good Emily is doing there. Then they could make a direct donation to the school too.”

  “What if we held some silly competitions?” Aunt Peg proposed. “Longest tail, biggest nose, most spots, that type of thing. We could let the children who were there do the judging and hand out the prizes.”

  I could picture the whole thing happening. And it looked wonderful.

  “Aunt Peg, you’re a genius,” I said.

  She nodded, accepting her due. “We wouldn’t make enough to pay off the whole lease, but our proceeds might be able to carry Graceland School for an additional year or two. And if the event is a success, we could think about making it an annual occurrence.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be able to get enough breeders to take part?”

  “That will be the least of our worries,” Aunt Peg said with confidence. “You leave that to me. Once I put the word out and we start taking names, I predict we’ll have an overflow of entries.”