Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

slowly.
    “We’ve done taste tests, of course! They were an integral part of the development process. Every dog that saw Chow Down lapped it right up.”
    “Were they hungry?”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Were the dogs hungry when you fed them? Had they missed a meal or maybe two?”
    Doug seemed surprised by the question. “Well I should think so. That would be the whole point, wouldn’t it?”
    Or perhaps the point was that a dog that was hungry enough would eat almost anything. Rather than mentioning that, however, I steered the conversation back to the topic I’d meant to discuss.
    “What I wanted to ask about is how much of a time commitment I’d be looking at. You know, in terms of Faith continuing on with the selection process.”
    “Pretty extensive, I’d say. Choosing just the right spokesdog to represent our product and our company isn’t something we take lightly. It’s important for us to see the dog as it will appear in a variety of challenging situations. First on the agenda will be the personal interviews. And then all of you will be vetted by our PR department and focus groups. We’ve booked an appearance on the This Is Your Morning Show , which will be followed by a press conference . . .”
    Doug kept talking, but I was so stunned by the enormity of what he was proposing that his words had stopped registering. Focus groups? Appearance on a morning show? Those didn’t sound like the kinds of things I needed to have on my agenda. Especially not when I was supposed to be enjoying a lazy summer with my new husband and my darling child who—at that moment—I could cheerfully have strangled.
    “Listen, Doug,” I said. Amazingly he stopped speaking. “I’m not really sure that any of this is going to work for me.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean I don’t think Faith is the dog you’re looking for.”
    “Of course she is! Or at least,” he quickly amended, “she might be. You’re just feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of the opportunity. Believe me, her chances of being chosen are as good as anyone’s. Better than some, though I shouldn’t say that—so let’s just keep it between us. Several members of our committee loved Faith, adored her, in fact. She was a very, very popular choice.”
    “Thank you,” I said firmly, “but I’m afraid she needs to be unchosen.”
    There was a long moment of silence. Then Doug said slowly, “That’s not possible.”
    “Sure it is. You’re right, this is an honor and a wonderful opportunity. But for somebody else, not us. We respectfully decline. Go get your number six pick and bump them up.”
    “We can’t do that. The announcement’s already been made on the web site. The media’s already been notified. Faith’s picture was included in all the material that went out. Changing things now would undermine the integrity of what we’re trying to accomplish and I’m afraid we can’t allow that to happen. People who have been following the contest will expect to see a big black Poodle eating Chow Down dog food.”
    “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” I said. “I’m withdrawing my entry.”
    “Maybe I was the one who wasn’t clear,” Doug shot back. “You can’t do that.”
    “I hardly see how you can stop me.”
    “When you submitted the entry form, you were making certain warranties about the ownership and availability of your pet. You entered into a binding contract. All of that was spelled out on the web site and in the brochure. Didn’t you read the fine print before entering the contest?”
    I hadn’t read any print, that was part of the problem. Admitting that, however, would only get Davey in trouble, so I didn’t bother.
    “Let me read it to you,” said Doug. “Wait a minute, I have it right here.

    “I, the undersigned, agree to abide by all rules and conditions of this contest, as spelled out above, including but not limited to permitting my dog’s name and likeness to be used in print or television advertising as deemed suitable by the Champions Dog Food Company . . .”

    Doug continued reading but once again I’d stopped listening. It was beginning to look like Faith would be remaining a finalist whether I wanted her to or not.
    That part was bad enough. Even worse was the fact that, left to her own devices, Faith was a formidable competitor.
    If I wasn’t lucky, she might just go ahead and win the whole damn thing.

3
    “L et me get this straight,” said Bertie. She was trying hard not to