himself another profession. Iâm sure Mr. Perkin will find my remarks eminently useful.â
âOr something,â I agreed.
Sam watched the byplay with a small smile, but he knew better than to get involved. Instead, he reached out and patted Davey on the shoulder. âIt looks like todayâs going to be a wash. So just go in and have some fun, okay?â
âSure, Sam.â Davey grinned. The politics of exhibiting are meaningless to him. As long as he and Augie were together, he was having a good time.
Oh, to be twelve again, I thought. When life was just that easy.
Augie, now mature and ready to take on the best of the competition, had been entered in the Open Dog class. When the puppies were called into the ring for the start of the Standard judging, Aunt Peg produced a comb from her pocket. She leaned over and ran it lightly through Augieâs ears to smooth them down. The rest of us pretended not to notice.
âHey, doll,â said Terry, coming over to stand beside me. His partner, Crawford, was handling a handsome, brown puppy in the ring. By my estimation, he would probably win the class.
I glanced at Terry over my shoulder. His look is an ever-changing, work-in-progress and I never know what to expect when I havenât seen him for a few weeks. Now Terryâs hair was dark again. It was also gelled and marcelled into waves.
It was a style few men could carry off. Terry, however, has the panache to make anything look good. With his smooth skin, chiseled features, and baby blue eyes, he could have been a model. Luckily for all of us, Terry had opted for a career in dogs instead.
âWhatâs new?â I asked.
Thatâs my standard greeting for Crawfordâs assistant. Terry always has all the best gossip and he loves to share.
âBertieâs in the doghouse,â he said in a low tone. âShe broke the major in Minis.â
âThatâs old news,â I sniffed. âWhat else have you got?â
âOh my.â Terry reared back. âWeâre snippy today, arenât we?â
âYou try being assigned to run a school Christmas bazaar on one weekâs notice, and see how cheerful you feel about it.â
âNo, thank you very much. I think Iâd rather stick to Poodles.â He turned an appraising eye on Augie. âHe looks good.â
âOf course he looks good,â said Aunt Peg. In a roundabout way, Augie was a product of her breeding program. âFor all the good that will do him today.â
âWhat do you mean?â
She lifted a brow. âHave you been watching the judging?â
âNo. But we took the variety in both Toys and Minis,â Terry said with a shrug. âCrawford was happy.â
That pretty well summed of the life of a professional handler. As long as the end results were good, it didnât much matter how theyâd been achieved.
âMr. Perkin is all over the map with his placings,â said Aunt Peg.
As if to prove to her point, the judge pulled a weedy apricot puppy from the back of the line and sent it up to first place. Even the puppyâs handler looked surprised by that turn of events. Crawford and his handsome puppy ended up third out of four.
âIt looks as though Mr. Perkin is spreading things around,â I said to Terry. âAnd you already got yours in Toys and Minis.â
âBetter than not getting it at all.â He favored us a cheeky grin and hurried away to help Crawford.
The Bred-By class, with its single entry, was done in a flash. Then it was Augieâs turn.
âIn you go,â said Sam. He gave Davey a small nudge toward the gate.
The long line of seven, black, male Standard Poodles that comprised the Open Dog class filled one entire side of the ring. Standing among his peers, Augie looked great, I thought. But either the judge didnât share my opinion, or else he was so overwhelmed by the sight of so many large black dogs