The Dogfather

ogling Leah so disgustingly that I almost issued the same order to him: “No girls!”
    As to the malamute girls in the ring, one of Kimi’s competitors struck me as no competition. She had a snipey muzzle, big ears, and a tight tail, and when she moved, her extra flesh jiggled like Jell-O. Of the remaining three, one was probably going to lose for an unfair reason: She was red. Here in New England, we see very few reds. According to the AKC standard of the breed, color counts for nothing; it’s strictly a matter of personal preference. Still, most judges hesitate to put up a dog that looks radically different from the others in the ring. The other two were gray and white. Both were lighter than Kimi and, in contrast to Kimi, they had “open faces” like Rowdy’s, all white, without bars, goggles, or other markings. In malamutes, markings are supposed to be symmetric. Otherwise, like color, they’re nothing more than interesting variations in a variable breed. What does count? Type: Malamutes should look like malamutes, not like Siberian huskies, collies, or akitas, for example. Soundness: Malamutes should be built to move heavy loads over great and bitterly cold distances. One of the two light gray bitches was, to my eye, delicately pretty, not to mention cow-hocked, but her professional handler, Johnny La-motte, was a wizard. Lamotte could get correct movement from a dog with no legs, so this bitch’s gait looked at least passable. That’s better than I can say about the second light gray bitch, who moved by flinging her hind legs skyward. The hindquarters are supposed to drive the dog efficiently forward; it’s a waste of energy to treat the heavens to a prolonged view of the pads of the feet. Kimi, in contrast, moved beautifully. Furthermore, Leah handled her well. Together, Kimi and Leah created a winning picture. And won the class. As I’ve said, Harry Howland is a good judge.
    As he handed out the ribbons, Mary joined in the applause. I did, too, of course. Favuzza, Zap, and the twin thugs didn’t. Barbarians! Worse, Favuzza jerked his thumb toward the ring in an apparent effort to tell me to get Rowdy in there. As if I needed direction at a dog show!
    “Not quite yet,” I said. “Now the winners from the bitch classes, the first-place bitches, go back in again.” That’s what they were doing, of course. The class is called Winners, and—surprise!—the victor is called Winners Bitch. She and the Winners Dog are the ones who get the championship points. With the wisdom born of experience, the AKC recognizes that snafus occur. Therefore, the judge also selects an RWD and an RWB, reserve winners, the dog and the bitch who earn the points if the WD or the WB is “disallowed,” as it’s said.
    “Kimi’s my Reserve Queen.” I said to Mary. “I could wallpaper a room in purple and white ribbons. People keep telling me to hire a handler, but I really want Leah to be able to finish Kimi herself.”
    “She’s going to win,” Mary said. “Howland loves her. I can tell.”
    Mary was right. Just as I’d taught her, Leah, having accepted the ribbon, was speaking politely to everyone else in the ring instead of rudely ignoring the other handlers while leaping up and down in obnoxious celebration of the win.
    I nervously ran the brush over Rowdy and joined the dogs and handlers lining up for Best of Breed. Rowdy would be competing against Kimi, as well as against the Winners Dog and against the other specials, including Mr. Wookie. As I entered the ring, Harry Howland’s eyes met mine. In this situation, even if the judge is an old family friend, he’s a judge first: Harry Howland wouldn’t stroll up to me to spend twenty minutes chitchatting about how my father was doing and how I liked my new stepmother. On the other hand, nothing in the AKC regulations or guidelines prevented him from wearing a pleasant expression, and absolutely nothing required him to glare at me and grit his teeth. Instead of focusing on Rowdy, I looked down at Leah’s red blazer and my way-too-informal pants. Just ahead of me, the professional handler of an oversized, ponderous dog slowed way down. Fortunately, I caught the change of pace in time to avoid running Rowdy into the dog.
    After that, I paid attention. Rowdy free-stacks well. I let him pose himself. My tension was already traveling down his show lead, and my trembling hands would’ve given him an alarm message if I’d fussed around in an effort to improve