Paws before dying by Susan Conant Read Free Book Online

other dogs, my experience forced Leah into Novice B, even though Leah herself had never owned any dog or entered any match or trial before. In fact, if I’d done nothing more than put a C.D. on Rowdy, Leah would still have had to enter B instead of A. Most of the handlers in Novice B aren’t novices at all. “She hates wet grass,” I added, “so don’t be disappointed. And in this heat, she’s going to lag. When she does, give her an extra command. Just say, ‘Heel.’ You’ll lose points, but you can still qualify. All she has to do is stay within six feet of you. And whatever you do, don’t slow down yourself. If the judge thinks you’re adapting your pace, you’ll lose a lot of points.”
    “I know, I know,” she said, but smiled tolerantly. “You already told me. Relax, would you? It’s a fun match. Fun, right?” She stroked Kimi’s face and ran her fingers over the black of her Lone Ranger goggles.
    “Fun,” I said. “Okay. All you do now is wait near the entrance to your ring. Keep her sitting at heel, and keep her attention on you. The stewards will tell you when it’s your turn.”
    As Rowdy and I waited at ringside—we were in Open—I saw her enter the Novice B ring, and I noticed how composed she looked and how straight Kimi sat as the judge spoke to Leah. After that, my attention was on my own judge and on Rowdy, who slowed down in anticipation on the Drop command, but hit the ground smartly when it came and otherwise did pretty well. When we left the ring, Leah and Kimi were already on our blanket, and Kimi was chewing up the last bits of a dog biscuit. That didn’t mean a thing. I’d instructed Leah to reward Kimi no matter what happened.
    “So how was it?” I asked.
    “Great!” The normal response from a first-time handler at a match consists of a detailed account of everything that went wrong and concludes with a vow never to enter a ring again, at least with this dog. “The judge was so nice.”
    “Did he say you qualified? So far?” In case you don’t show in obedience, I should say that after the Novice and Open individual exercises—the ones in which you and your dog are the only team in the ring—come the group exercises, the long sit and the long down.
    Leah’s face fell.
    “If you hadn’t, he’d probably have told you.” Some of the judges at fun matches aren’t yet American Kennel Club judges—they do fun matches for experience—and they occasionally forget things. I questioned Leah about the obvious errors that would have made Kimi fail—not coming on the recall, leaving the ring, soiling, walking away on the stand for examination—and Leah claimed that Kimi hadn’t committed any of them. “So you probably qualified. That’s fantastic. Congratulations. We’ve qualified, too. So far.”
    The time between qualifying in the individual exercises and reentering the ring for the sits and downs is nerve-racking for most beginners. Leah drank some water from the dogs’ thermos, stretched out on the blanket between them, and propped herself up on her elbows to watch Jeff and the border collie, who were in the Pre-Novice ring. Rowdy was nuzzling the blanket in search of stray crumbs from his giant-size Old Mother Hubbard biscuit, Kimi was resting her lovely head on her forepaws, dogs and handlers were working in all the rings, Leah’s eyes were heavy, and the long day of heat and humidity was drugging me. I felt illuminated: the hot, damp greenery, my unexpected cousin, my beautiful dogs, other dogs, other handlers, a momentary satori in canine Zen. Then it broke.
    “You want to see something?” I said to Leah. “Watch over there, the Utility ring. You see the silver standard poodle?”
    “He was there the other night.”
    “That’s the one. And opposite is Heather, his handler, right? With the silver hair?”
    “So?”
    “So look in back of Heather, outside the ring. You see that really skinny woman with long brown hair? In the green flowered