Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

weight than the rest of ours did.”
    There we were, right back to that favoritism thing again.
    “Doug and Simone weren’t sold on MacDuff at first because of his age. He turned six a few months ago. It won’t be long before he starts getting grey around the whiskers. We’re looking for someone who’s willing to make a long-term commitment to the product. There’s no way we’re going to go through this procedure again any time soon.”
    “I take it Chris managed to convince them that MacDuff would be a good choice?”
    “Did he ever. Chris really went to the mat for that dog. And Yoda too, I guess. Anyway, they both ended up in the final five. Which is okay. Over all, I think it turned out to be a pretty good group.”
    Cindy glanced down at Faith who was still half-sprawled across my lap. While we’d been speaking, the Poodle had laid her long muzzle down between her front paws and fallen asleep. Now she was snoring softly, her body rising and falling gently with each deep breath.
    “Geez, I can’t believe you let me go on like that,” she said, pushing herself up off the desk. “My mother always told me that I talked too much. It looks like our time’s just about up. You and Faith are seeing Chris next, right?”
    “If you say so.”
    I’d seen a story on TV once about something called speed dating. These quick, back-to-back interviews, where Faith and I had only a very limited amount of time to make a good impression, were beginning to feel pretty similar. Except for the lack of alcohol and the fact that we’d be leaving by ourselves at the end.
    “Don’t worry about Chris,” Cindy said, misreading my silence. “He’s really a big teddy bear.”
    “One who likes smaller dogs, apparently.”
    “I don’t think he has anything against big breeds necessarily. It’s just the way things shook out.”
    Like the other judges we’d already seen, Chris Hovick was waiting for us. He welcomed us into an office that looked rumpled and well used. Kind of like Chris himself.
    Faith, refreshed from the catnap she’d taken while I was talking to Cindy, danced happily through the doorway. I followed more slowly behind. The pressure of having to be eager and enthusiastic all over again each time we changed judges was beginning to wear me out. Maybe it was time to let the Poodle speak for herself.
    “Greetings,” Chris said. When he stooped down to Faith’s eye level, she sat down and offered him a paw, a trick I’d taught her several months earlier when we’d been making nursing home visits.
    “Cute.” He accepted the paw, shook it gently, then returned it to the floor. “Did you give her a cue to make her do that, or did she come up with it all on her own?”
    “That was Faith’s idea. Poodles are thinking dogs.”
    “So I’ve heard. Have a seat on the couch over there, and we’ll talk about what else she knows.”
    I sat down and Faith hopped up next to me. She turned a tight half-circle on the cushion, then sat down beside me, also facing outward. Chris, busy pulling up a chair for himself, watched curiously.
    “You’re still not telling her what to do?” he asked.
    “No, would you like me to?”
    “Hell no. This is fascinating to watch. She behaves just like a person.”
    “Poodles do that. Most are convinced that they are people.”
    “Fast learners?”
    I grinned. “What do you think?”
    “Yeah. I guess I could have figured that out for myself. I was just talking to the Reddings. Their dog, Ginger, has all sorts of titles and degrees. How does Faith measure up in that department?”
    “She’s a champion, for one thing.”
    “That’s for conformation, right? That means she’s a good looking Standard Poodle?”
    “Yes.”
    “She ever win that—what’s it called?—Best in Show?”
    “No.”
    Chris leaned back in his seat. He rested his elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “How come?”
    “I showed Faith to her championship myself. And the two of us together weren’t good enough to compete at the Best in Show level. Besides I really didn’t want her to be a specials dog. Do you know what that means?”
    “More or less. Like MacDuff.”
    “Exactly.”
    “He won Bests in Show.”
    “Lots of them,” I agreed mildly.
    I wasn’t about to dispute that. If the point of the contest was to find the dog with the best show record, MacDuff was the winner hands down. The rest of us might as well go home.
    “What about obedience?