Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

against them lots of times over the years. Actually I guess I should say that I’ve shown against Larry. Lisa doesn’t go in the ring, or at least I’ve never seen her there.”
    “She was pretty quiet at the meeting, too. Larry was the one that was holding Yoda and he did all the talking for both of them.”
    Bertie nodded. “Larry’s the one that runs that show. It always looked like Lisa preferred to stay in the background. Almost blending in, if you know what I mean. She grooms the dogs back at their setup but Larry’s the one who shows them to the judge.”
    “Kind of like you and me,” I said.
    Bertie snorted. “You? Blend into the background? Not on this planet.”
    “Hey, I think I make a pretty good support staff.”
    “Nobody’s disputing that. It’s the other part that would have anyone who knows you in hysterics. And speaking of people we know, here’s something you might be interested in.”
    “What?”
    “Yesterday I got a call from a potential client. A man in Massachusetts with a Standard Poodle puppy he needed a handler for. Of course the guy knew who Crawford was, so he’d called him first. Terry told him they were totally booked and referred him over to me.”
    “Is that so unusual?”
    Bertie looked at me as though I was daft. “ Yes. It’s hard to make a living as a professional handler. I don’t know anyone in the business who turns clients away.”
    “Crawford’s a little different though. He’s at the top of the game. Maybe he gets offered more dogs than he has time to compete.”
    “How do you think Crawford got to the top?” Bertie asked. “He never says no to anyone. His kennel is huge. You know that, you’ve seen it. Crawford isn’t only a gifted handler, he’s also a savvy businessman. At some shows, he has half the Poodle entry. Owner can’t find a major for his less-than-deserving Mini? No problem, Crawford can bring along a couple extra dogs and build one for you.”
    Majors were the necessary evil of the dog show world. To complete a championship, a dog needed to amass a total of fifteen points. The point scale ran from one to five; and the number of points awarded was based on the number of same-sex competitors that a dog beat. Included in those fifteen points had to be at least two majors: outings where a dog defeated enough competition to be awarded three or more points.
    The idea was a good one, in theory. It prevented mediocre dogs from gaining a championship by piling up single point wins in undistinguished competition. But it also made life difficult when, for a variety of reasons—winter, bad judges, scarcity of puppies—major entries were sparse, and good dogs either had to wait for months or travel long distances to find them.
    Building a major might be frowned upon but it was not unheard of. Usually the competitor in need would call around to get friends to supply entrants. It was a rare exhibitor who could, like Crawford, simply engineer the task on his own.
    “True,” I said. “Crawford’s never been known to be overly discriminating in the dogs he accepts to show. The fact of the matter is, he doesn’t have to be. He and Terry are such masters that by the time they get done preparing their Poodles to go in the ring, they all look good enough to win.”
    “Precisely. And this is the second client he’s referred to me recently. The first time I thought he was just being nice. You know how Crawford is . . . He wants people to think he’s such a gruff, hardened professional, but inside he’s really just a big marshmallow.”
    The assessment was accurate, if a bit exaggerated. Close enough to make me laugh, though.
    “Better not let him hear you say that,” I warned.
    “I wouldn’t dare. But Crawford knows that I recently added Poodles to my string. I thought at first that maybe he was just trying to help me get started.”
    “And now you’ve changed your mind?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    As we were speaking, Bertie’s cat, Beagle, stood up on top of one of the high cabinets and made her presence known. Lying down, she’d been invisible. Now the tiger-striped cat wanted our attention. She stretched sinuously, extending each white tipped forefoot slowly, then followed the procedure with her hind feet.
    When she was satisfied we were watching, Beagle hopped down onto the top of the refrigerator, from there to the countertop, and then down onto the floor. Gracefully she sauntered over and deigned to honor us with her