Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

conversation with Davey had.
    After Sam and Davey had gone outside to unpack the car, I dialed the number on the letterhead and asked to speak with Doug Allen, the contest chairman.
    “May I ask what this is in reference to?” the receptionist inquired.
    I considered for a moment, then said, “No.”
    Obviously it wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting.
    “Is it about the results of the contest we’re currently running?” she asked after a pause. “Because if it is, I need to inform you that the decision of the judges is final. We at Champions Dog Food are terribly sorry if your pet wasn’t selected, but with so many worthy applicants to choose from . . .”
    The woman sounded as though she was reading a prepared speech. I wondered if the company had actually been fielding phone calls from disgruntled losers. And more to the point, since I’d found out only that morning, how did the people whose dogs hadn’t been chosen already know the results?
    “That isn’t the problem,” I broke in. “My dog is supposed to be one of the finalists.”
    “Oh well that’s different, then. Congratulations! In that case, you’ll be contacted shortly—”
    “I’ve already been contacted.” It was an effort not to grind my teeth. “Otherwise how would I know she’d been chosen?”
    “The preliminary results were posted on our web site last night,” she said helpfully. “And it’s been a madhouse around here ever since. Well, frankly, it’s been like that ever since the contest started, if you want to know the truth. We hoped the contest would strike a chord but we never expected a response like this. Who would have guessed there were so many people who were dying to get their dogs on television?”
    Who indeed? I wondered. Davey was eight. What was everyone else’s excuse?
    “I’ll get Mr. Allen for you right away.”
    I was put on hold and left to listen to music that my grandmother would have found boring. “Right away” turned out to be ten minutes. I spent the time watching Sam and Davey unload what looked like enough lumber to build a second garage. Or maybe an addition to the house.
    Surely they weren’t planning to haul all that up into the branches of the old oak? The tree would probably collapse with both of them in it. And if I was really unlucky, the Poodles, all of whom had gone outside to oversee the project, would be under the tree when it came down. That gloomy thought was interrupted by two quick clicks, then I was reconnected to a live person.
    “Ms. Travis?” Doug Allen sounded bright, highly motivated, and more enthusiastic than anyone had a right to be about dog food. “Sorry to keep you waiting! How are you and Faith doing this morning?”
    “We’re fine but—”
    “I’m happy to hear that! And congratulations, by the way. I want you to know, getting this far was no small feat. Not only that, but it’s going to be one heck of a competition from here on in.”
    “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about—”
    “Each of our five finalists would make a very worthy spokesdog for Chow Down dog food. Narrowing the selection process down further is going to involve splitting some very fine hairs, if you’ll pardon the pun! Not that all our remaining competitors are long-haired dogs, of course. That would hardly be fair, now would it?”
    I assumed the question was rhetorical. Good thing because Doug didn’t pause long enough for me to answer.
    “Of course you would know that by now. I’m sure you’ve looked on the web site and scoped out the competition. Let me tell you, though, just between the two of us”—his voice lowered confidentially—“I’ve always been partial to Poodles. I mean, what’s not to like about a breed that combines beauty and brains with such panache?”
    At least Doug Allen had good taste.
    “Nothing,” I said quickly, wedging in the word when he paused for breath. “Poodles are superb, they’re wonderful dogs. But they’re not pushovers. They have minds of their own. They don’t eat just anything that’s put in front of them like Labs or Beagles do.”
    “Oh, we’re not worried about that. All dogs like Chow Down.”
    “How do you know?”
    Suddenly I found myself picturing an eat-off among the finalists. Five dogs and five big bowls of Chow Down dog food: a race to see who could gobble down their kibble with the most gusto. Eve liked most foods, but Faith was finicky. She liked to take her time and sample new things