The Dogfather

he was clearly expressing his ardent desire to get in the ring and win: “Let’s go!”
    As Mary was replying to Mr. Wookie, I glanced at the judge’s table and saw to my horror that Harry Howland was standing by the gate in conversation with—oh no!— Al Favuzza. Having dispatched the horrible twins and Zap the Driver on errands, I’d finally rid us of Favuzza by sending him off to buy a new show lead. Show leads are thin leashes that come in a zillion styles and materials. The nylon ones are available in dozens of colors. With luck, I’d thought, the vampire would linger over a bewildering display and then be unable to find us because we’d have moved from the grooming area to ringside. Hah! Here he was. Worse, here he was talking to Harry Howland.
    Noting Favuzza, Leah said, “He’s probably asking where we are. He wouldn’t know not to do that. You know, Holly, when I saw him at the Museum of Fine Arts, it was just so sad. He didn’t actually ask me for directions. He asked me how to get in, and finally I realized that he didn’t know that all he had to do was walk in and pay. Can you imagine a person who doesn’t realize that the museum is open to the public? It’s terrible that anyone would feel so disenfranchised.”
    “Disenfranchised!” I didn’t share Leah’s egalitarian interpretation. Favuzza was probably planning to rob the museum. “Leah,” I said, “I don’t like the way he looks at you. Stay away from him.”
    She laughed. “That’s ridiculous! He’s a middle-aged man. All of a sudden, you’re a paranoid snob?”
    “I am not a snob, and I am not paranoid.” Fleeing the repulsive image of Leah as the object of Favuzza’s interest, I changed the subject. “This is one of the puppy classes, right?”
    Male puppies. As I’ve mentioned in passing, the judging of dog-show classes is not coed. The boys go first. I don’t mind: I’ve so used to the system that I expect to arrive at the Pearly Gates and hang around while St. Peter judges the men. Without doubt, I’ll get there with a spray bottle of water in one hand and a brush in the other, and I’ll mist my own hair and pretty it up just as I was now spritzing and stroking Rowdy’s coat. The entry will presumably be larger than today’s malamute entry, which, although small, was decent for our part of the country. The total number of malamutes entered was twenty-two, with ten in the dog classes, seven in the bitch classes, and the remainder, including Rowdy and Mr. Wookie, in Best of Breed. It was unlikely that everyone would show up.
    Unfortunately, the people who showed up in my immediate vicinity were not malamute exhibitors, but the entire crew of mobsters, led by Al Favuzza, who said, “What are you waiting for?” Favuzza’s line of work, I thought, had left him sadly unable to delay gratification.
    “My turn,” I said. “The ones in the ring now are class dogs, meaning that they aren’t champions. They’re competing for championship points. Rowdy’s finished. He has to wait until after the class dogs and then the class bitches are judged. Then there’ll be a sort of grand finale, with the winners from the classes—and the champions. The judge picks his Best of Breed, Best of Opposite Sex, and Best of Winners, which could be... well, let’s just say that at the moment we’re waiting for Kimi’s turn.”
    In case it seems as if I’ve disparaged AKC judges with my talk about the polite fiction of numbered armbands and so on, let me say that judging is hard work. AKC judges have to follow a prescribed protocol, do their AKC paperwork correctly, and keep to a schedule that allots only a few minutes to evaluate each dog. New judges are expected to do twenty dogs per hour; experienced judges, twenty-five. Harry Howland was experienced. And he was good: He was paying attention to every dog while simultaneously moving the judging along in an appropriately efficient manner. Also, his first-place winner in Open Dogs, who also went Winners Dog, was the one I’d’ve picked myself.
    Then he started on the bitches. The one puppy entered was a no-show, and the single Bred-by-Exhibitor bitch obviously had no trouble winning her class. As Leah, Kimi, and the others entered in Open Bitches filed into the ring, one bitch passed close to Mr. Wookie, who for once turned his attention from Mary and showed every intention of following the fetching femme instead. “No girls!” Mary told him. Meanwhile, Favuzza was