Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

out.
    You’d think Sam might have given me a hug. Or maybe a high five. But he and Aunt Peg barely glanced at me. Instead the two of them pulled out scissors, comb, and hair spray, and went right back to work on Eve.
    Remember that crushed hair? They had only a minute or two to put it back where it belonged. Even though the part I really cared about was over, Eve was now eligible to compete for Best of Variety.
    Only moments later, we were called back into the ring. In that short amount of time Sam and Peg had worked a remarkable transformation. Eve once again looked like a contender.
    “Keep up the good work,” Sam said cheerfully.
    “There’s not much here to speak of in specials,” Aunt Peg whispered in my ear. “Eve’s got a real shot at taking the whole thing. So please try not to blow it.”
    My aunt considered that to be encouragement. It never occurred to her that her pep talks often came out sounding more like threats.
    Eve and I strode back through the gate. In the Best of Variety competition, the finished champions were at the head of the line, followed by the Winners Dog. Once again, our place was at the rear.
    As we moved into position, I stole a quick glance up the length of the mat, evaluating our competition. Two champions had been entered, a silver and a cream. Neither was a seasoned campaigner; most weeks Tar beat them both handily. Maybe Aunt Peg was right and we did have a chance.
    Mrs. Raines judged the class like a woman who’d already seen what she wanted and was only going through the motions until it reappeared. She examined the two specials and had another cursory look at the Winners Dog. Then she quickly pulled Eve out and placed her at the front of the line.
    This time she didn’t even bother to send us around again. “I’ll take the Winners Bitch for Best of Variety,” she announced in a loud voice. “Winners Dog is Best of Opposite Sex.”
    Some days, it’s just that easy. Now not only did I have a new champion, but we’d also qualified to compete in the Non-Sporting group. As we waited for the photographer to set up for our picture, I handed the ribbons back to the judge, thanked her for the points, and told her that she’d just created a new champion.
    “She’s a lovely Poodle,” Mrs. Raines said graciously. “I’m delighted to have finished her. I hope she does something for you in the group.”
    I started to pose Eve next to the plaque, then stopped. “Come on,” I said, waving Sam and Aunt Peg into the ring to join us. “I want you both to be in the picture with us.”
    “No way,” Sam replied quickly. “This is your day. Yours and Eve’s.”
    Aunt Peg hung back beside him.
    “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
    “She does have a point,” Aunt Peg mentioned.
    “Come along,” Mrs. Raines said. “The more the merrier.”
    Invited by the judge herself, Sam and Peg lined up beside us in a row behind Eve. This was, after all, all about the Poodle. The photographer waited until we were ready, then tossed a squeaky toy across the mat.
    Eve’s ears pricked. The camera flashed. I was grinning like a veritable idiot. Sam had his hand on my ass. Perfect.

    The Poodle judging over, we now had time to kill before the groups took place later that afternoon. Aunt Peg and Sam went off in search of edible food, not always an easy thing to find at a dog show. I was on a different mission. According to the catalogue, Bill and Allison Redding had Ginger entered in obedience. Their class was currently being held on the other side of the facility.
    Though they both take place at dog shows, conformation and obedience are two entirely different kinds of competitions. It takes a rare dog to excel at both; and it also demands a versatile dog owner. The fact that Ginger had achieved her championship in both events was a testament to the Reddings’ skill and their determination.
    Three large, fully matted obedience rings filled the area at the far end of the building. Three classes of varying difficulty were being judged. In the Novice ring, a jaunty Norwich Terrier was heeling on leash. In the Open ring, a sleek Rhodesian Ridgeback was skimming over a broad jump. And in the Utility ring, a Bulldog was shuffling across the mat in search of a glove he’d been directed to retrieve.
    A Bulldog, I thought. Imagine that. I had to stop and watch. The brindle dog went straight to the glove in the corner, pushed it briefly along the floor with his nose as he attempted