Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

breeds whether they felt qualified to preside over them or not. Judges who had faith in their own abilities rewarded the best dogs. Those who didn’t often relied on an exhibitor’s reputation to guide them to a correct decision. Professional handlers flocked to judges like that; owner-handlers knew better and stayed home.
    “Of course, darling,” said Terry. He and Crawford were among Mrs. Melville’s favorite exhibitors. “That’s why we’re here.”
    “Me, too,” Bertie admitted. “I know it’s not fair but my dogs will get their share, my owners will be happy, and it pays the bills.”
    The reality of dog show life.
    “Sam and Davey are spending the day building a tree house,” I told Terry.
    Bertie glanced over. “I thought they were working on that two days ago.”
    “They were. It’s turning out to be a big project. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if it keeps them busy all summer.”
    “Who’s busy this summer?” asked Aunt Peg.
    I jumped slightly as she came up behind me. Luckily I’d been talking rather than scissoring at the time. You wouldn’t think that a woman who was nearly six feet tall would be so light on her feet. Then again, Aunt Peg has plenty of surprising facets. The ability to keep everyone on their toes whenever she was in the vicinity was merely one of them.
    “Where did you come from?” I asked.
    “Ring six, Tibetan Spaniels. I’m thinking of applying for them next and they had an excellent entry today. It was well worth watching Danny Zimmer sort them out.”
    After decades of breeding and showing her own Poodles, Aunt Peg had applied for and been granted her judge’s license several years ago. Her first breed had been Poodles, of course, then gradually she added other breeds from the Non-Sporting and Toy groups to her roster. Despite her years of experience in the dog show world, she still soaked up knowledge like a sponge. And when Aunt Peg was hired to judge, professional handlers and owner-handlers alike hurried to enter under her.
    “Sam and Davey are building a tree house,” I said in answer to her first question.
    Peg looked at me as though I was daft. “I know that.”
    “It’s why they’re not here.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest and stared. Maybe Terry had been giving her drama lessons. “How about telling me something I don’t know?”
    “Okay,” I said. “According to Terry, half the people who entered that ridiculous dog food contest are here today.”
    “Really?” Her gaze swung his way, eyes passing over the lavender boa without comment. “How do you know that?”
    “I always have the latest gossip.”
    All too true. Terry usually had the best haircut and the smallest waist, too.
    “I presume you called and relinquished your spot as one of the five finalists?” Aunt Peg said to me.
    “I called and tried.”
    “You didn’t succeed?” The notion was as foreign to Peg as it was repugnant. “How is that possible?”
    “Apparently by submitting the entry, I agreed to abide by the contest rules, one of which was that I couldn’t back out.”
    “Except that you didn’t submit the entry.”
    “Semantics,” I said. “Under the circumstances.”
    “Well, then.” Aunt Peg rubbed her hands together. She didn’t sound entirely displeased. “If that’s the way things are going to be, let’s have ourselves a look at the competition.”
    “Terry was telling us about a Brittany named Ginger,” said Bertie. “Did she make the finals?”
    “So I’ve heard,” Terry replied. “Ad nauseum, if you’d like to know.”
    “That would be the Reddings,” said Aunt Peg. She knows just about everybody. “They’ll be hard to beat.”
    “Not a problem.” I’d finished scissoring, now I was spraying up. “I don’t want to win, remember?”
    “Of course you’re going to win, you’re the one with the Poodle.” Aunt Peg didn’t think twice about overriding my objection. She turned back to Terry. “Who else?”
    “Lisa and Larry Kim.”
    Peg looked briefly stumped but Bertie was able to fill us in. “Yorkies,” she said. “Nice ones, too. I’ve shown against them plenty. Larry’s tough, I wouldn’t want to get in his way.”
    Aunt Peg nodded her approval. Toughness she understands. I knew she was handicapping the race in her head and I suspected she was finding her relatives wanting. “And?”
    “Dorothy Foyle and MacDuff.”
    “Hey, wait a minute! I love MacDuff,” I said, surprised. The Scottish