Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) Page 3

  “Or,” said Sam before she could slip the collar back into place, “I could light the grill and we could cook up some burgers and corn. You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you, Peg?”

  “I suppose I might—”

  “Great!” Walking past her, he skimmed the leash out of her hands and kept going. “Davey, come and help me in the kitchen.”

  By the time I reached the deck, Sam had opened the back door. The rest of the Poodles came spilling out into the yard. Lesson time was officially over.

  “I owe you one,” I told him.

  “You know it,” Sam agreed.

  Chapter 3

  Over dinner I told Aunt Peg about Nick Walden.

  “He’s a friend of Bob’s?” She arched one brow, signaling her disapproval. “And I would need to make this young man’s acquaintance why?”

  “Because you’ll like him anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Peg sniffed.

  “Where did Bob meet him?” Sam asked, trying to be helpful.

  “His neighbor, James, introduced them.”

  “James Fine?” Sam swiveled around and stared.

  “Precisely.”

  I wasn’t surprised that Sam would be interested. Like me, he had never met Amber’s husband. Unlike me, he had tended to treat our former neighbor with an attitude of bemused forbearance. And no wonder.

  Amber Fine was a pert blonde with a killer body and a penchant for running outside in the morning to pick her newspaper wearing little more than a diaphanous negligee. She had a houseful of cats and an irrational fear of dogs that was most likely to manifest itself when there happened to be a big, strong, man in the vicinity into whose protective arms she could flee. Like for example, my husband.

  “So the ever elusive James has finally shown up,” said Sam.

  “Not only shown up. He’s apparently around all the time now. He lost his job.”

  “I’ve met James,” Davey piped up. He had been helping Kevin with his mini-burger, and slipping Eve bits of food under the table when he thought I wouldn’t notice. Now we all stopped and looked at him.

  “You have?” said Sam.

  “Sure. James stops by Dad’s house sometimes when I’m there. He walks in the back door, opens up the fridge, and gets himself a beer. Then he just kind of hangs around.”

  “How very unusual,” said Aunt Peg. She picked up her ear of corn and nibbled a dainty row along its length.

  “What’s he like?” I asked Davey. “Aside from his obvious lack of manners.”

  “Dunno.” Davey shrugged. My disdain for James’s etiquette was lost on him. “Just a guy. He’s not cool like Amber.”

  In Davey’s eyes Amber qualified for cool status because she had seven cats, HBO, and a tendency to dole out candy like every day was Halloween. Considering the criteria, a little less cool would have suited me just fine.

  “So what’s the matter with this James character?” Aunt Peg asked. “Why have we never met him before? Was he missing? Was he in jail?”

  “When we lived next door to the Fines, he was always away traveling,” I explained. “Apparently he had a job that kept him constantly on the move. And now he doesn’t.”

  “Perhaps he was detained somewhere,” Peg said with interest. There’s nothing she likes more than a puzzle to solve.

  “Could be,” I said with a shrug. It was time to get the conversation back on track. “But what’s important here is what Nick does.”

  “And what would that be, pray tell?”

  “He’s a dog whisperer.”

  Sam laughed out loud. Quickly he lifted his napkin and covered his mouth. “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be,” I said. “That was my first reaction too. But he turned out to be an interesting guy.”

  “Whispering is overrated,” Aunt Peg said firmly. “What dogs really need is a sympathetic owner and quality training time.”

  “I only met Nick briefly,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure that he would agree with you. Just watching the way he related to Faith impressed me. I think there’s a lot more to him than the pop-psychology label might indicate.”

  “If Faith liked him, I suppose I might reconsider,” Peg mused.

  Abruptly I jumped in my seat. Sam had kicked me under the table. He knew I was about to say something we’d both regret. But seriously? My opinion of the man was open to question, but Faith’s sealed the deal?

  “Bob wants you to meet Nick,” I said. “He asked me to arrange an introduction.”

  “He thinks I’ll take him under my wing,” Peg said shrewdly.

  “Your approval would mean a lot,” Sam pointed out. “And if I know Bob, he’s thinking about the bottom line.”

  My ex was an accountant. He was always running numbers in his head.

  I nodded. “Bob thinks your support will attract new customers to Nick’s business.”

  “For once, your ex-husband is right.” False modesty had never been one of Aunt Peg’s faults. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I haven’t even met the man yet.”

  “I’ll see if Bob can bring him to the dog show this weekend,” I said. “That way the two of you can meet on neutral ground. If you like Nick, you can spend some time with him. If not, you can simply tell him you’re busy and walk away.”

  “Tell him I’m busy?” Peg said archly. “I plan to be busy.”

  “Really?” Sam managed an innocent look. “Doing what?”

  “This is Davey’s first dog show in two years! I’m sure he’ll need help grooming Augie and preparing for the ring. Not to mention handicapping the competition.”

  Davey was still occupied with Kevin, but I heard him suck in a breath. Grateful as I had always been for Aunt Peg’s assistance when I was showing my own dogs, it was time to tamp down her ambitions on my son’s behalf before they got wildly out of hand.

  My initial experiences as a dog show exhibitor had been those of a wide-eyed neophyte confronted by an alien, and often capricious, world. With much to learn, I’d willingly absorbed every nugget of knowledge and advice that Aunt Peg had provided. From wrapping ears and setting topknots, to scissoring just the right lines, she had taught me everything I knew about showing a Standard Poodle.

  But that education had come at a cost. Acquiring the skills necessary to present a Poodle well enough to compete with the pros was a rare and difficult achievement. The fact that Aunt Peg had been doing so for many years and that such expertise was now second nature to her, didn’t make her the most sympathetic of teachers.

  It was one thing for me to choose to immolate myself on Aunt Peg’s rather steep learning curve. It was quite another for me to allow Davey to do the same. Besides, hadn’t we already been here once before?

  But before I had a chance to argue, Sam had already stepped in smoothly. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, Peg. Between us, Davey and I will have things well in hand. Your only job will be to stake out a good place at ringside to sit down and watch.”

  Aunt Peg looked around the table, gazing at each of us in turn. “If you’re quite sure . . .” she said dubiously.

  “We are,” Sam replied. Beside him, Davey nodded. “This isn’t Augie’s first show. And Davey knows his way around the ring. The two of them will have a great time together.”

  “And that’s what it’s all about,” I said firmly.

  Kevin, who had been largely ignored by the adults at the table for at least five minutes, began to squirm in his seat. “Get down,” he demanded.

  Belatedly paying attention, I was pleased to see that his plate was nearly empty. How much food had ended up in Kevin’s mouth, and how much might have gone to the Poodles lying innocently on the floor beneath his chair, was probably open for debate. At least he only had one smear of ketchup across his shirt.

  “Come on, kiddo,” I said. “You’re with me.” I plucked the toddler out of his booster seat and balanced him on my hip. “We have ice cream for dessert. Want to help me di
sh it out?”

  “Ice cream,” cried Kevin. “Yay!”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  Saturday’s dog show, sponsored by the Hudson Valley Kennel Club was held at a county fairground near Rhinebeck, New York. Not only was the location spacious and easy to navigate, it was only an hour’s drive from home—a perk that any dog show exhibitor knows better than to take for granted.

  Even better, the weather chose to cooperate beautifully. The morning was cool, but with a promise of afternoon warmth. A light breeze ruffled the tent’s raveled flap as Sam pulled the SUV up beside the grooming area and we began to unload our gear.

  It came as no surprise to any of us that Aunt Peg was already there. With Standard Poodles scheduled to be judged at noon, Sam and I had decided on a midmorning arrival. We’d calculated that would give us plenty of time to groom Augie and let Davey become comfortable with his surroundings, but not so much that the two youngsters would begin to grow bored and lose interest in the whole idea.

  Aunt Peg had probably gotten there shortly after dawn. By the time we arrived, she was holding court under the handlers’ tent. In the grooming area, exhibitors tend to group together by breed. Half the fun of going to a dog show is catching up with friends and sharing all the latest gossip. Win or lose, the time spent under the handlers’ tent is often the best part of the day.

  Aunt Peg had saved us room to set up in the middle of a sea of Poodles. Sam and I placed the grooming table and Augie’s wire crate side by side. The wooden grooming box—holding everything from brushes and combs to tiny colored rubber bands and hairspray—went on top of the crate for easy access. Space was at a premium so I shoved Kevin’s diaper bag under the grooming table and wedged a small cooler containing snacks for the boys under a table from the setup next door.

  “Oh excellent, goodies!”

  Terry Denunzio, assistant to top Poodle handler Crawford Langley and one of my best friends, leaned around the Mini he was line brushing on top of that table, and aimed a pair of air kisses in my direction. His hair—currently golden blond and styled in waves—was impeccably coiffed. His skin was smoother than my own. Sadly his outfit was more stylish as well. In my own defense, I try not to make comparisons when Terry’s around, but sometimes it just happens.

  “It’s about time you people arrived!” he trilled.

  “I believe that’s supposed to be my line,” said Aunt Peg. “Where have you been?”

  “Sleeping,” I told her. “Then eating breakfast, then packing the car, then driving.”

  “But we’re here now,” Sam said cheerfully. “Morning, Peg.” He sketched a wave in her direction, left me with puppy and children, and went to park the car.

  I put Kevin down for a minute so that I could hoist Augie up onto the rubber matted grooming table. The puppy knew the drill. When I lifted his front paws and placed them on the table’s edge, he leapt up in the air then landed lightly on the rubber surface.

  Kevin, meanwhile, ran across the aisle and wrapped his chubby arms around Aunt Peg’s knees. “Pick up!”

  Peg gazed downward uncertainly. Dogs were her specialty. Children, not so much.

  “Go ahead,” I invited. “Make yourself useful.”

  Behind me, Terry snorted under his breath. Useful people were Aunt Peg’s favorite kind. Over the years, we had both been the object of similar commands at her behest.

  While she considered that, I began to unpack the grooming box. One by one, I laid out the tools of the trade on top of the table. Several seconds passed.

  Finally Aunt Peg bent down and looked Kevin in the eye. “I will pick you up, young man,” she said. “But only if you promise not to wiggle.”

  “Wiggle,” Kevin agreed happily. He held up his arms.

  “Just pretend he’s a puppy and hold him firmly,” I told her. “Trust me, it’s easier than you think.”

  Ready to begin brushing, Davey looped his arms around Augie’s legs and gently laid the puppy down on his left side. The right side—the one that faced away from the judge while the dog was in the ring—was always worked on first since it would inevitably be flattened while the show side was attended to. Davey picked up a pin brush and spray bottle of water and began to carefully work his way through Augie’s thick coat. Later he would need help setting the puppy’s topknot, doing the final scissoring, and spraying up Augie’s neck hair, but Sam and I were both determined that he should do as much of the prep work as possible on his own.

  “Good morning, all!” Crawford Langley came striding back into his setup.

  Tall, tan, and Whippet-thin, he moved with the assurance of a man who was at the very top of his game. Like Aunt Peg, Crawford had been in dogs for decades, and even on his bad days, he was a force to be reckoned with. Having come from the ring, the handler had a Silky Terrier tucked snugly beneath his arm, and a purple and gold Best of Breed ribbon clutched in his hand.

  Crawford paused to glance down at Augie, then addressed himself to Davey. “I see you’ve brought the tough competition today. I’ll be showing against you in the Puppy class. I’m going to have to be on my toes.”

  Davey beamed beneath the handler’s regard. “I’ll do my best to beat you,” he said seriously.

  “And you may well succeed.” Crawford laughed. “How many points does that puppy have now?”

  “Six,” Davey told him. “But no majors.”

  In order to complete its championship, a dog must earn a total of fifteen points. The number of points awarded at each show is determined by the size of the entry. Included within the fifteen points, a dog must accrue at least two major wins—awards of three or more points, indicating that he has defeated a significant number of dogs on the day.

  So far, Augie had amassed only “singles.” But today, with more than forty Standard Poodles entered in the various classes, the competition would be topnotch. Presiding over the Poodle ring was Vivian Hadley, a popular judge admired by professionals and owner-handlers alike. She had drawn major entries in dogs and bitches both.

  In an entry that size there was every possibility that Davey and Augie would be in over their heads. But Sam and I had both exhibited under Mrs. Hadley in the past. She was known to have a gentle touch on a puppy and to treat all of her exhibitors with kindness. While it was unlikely that Augie would take home any points, he and Davey were almost assured of having a good experience in the show ring.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Crawford said to Davey. “That puppy’s only going to get better as he matures. There’ll be plenty of time for you to look for majors when he’s an adult.”

  Davey nodded. He’d heard much the same thing from Sam and me.

  Crawford removed the Silky’s leash, opened a wooden crate in the middle of his stacks, and slipped the small dog inside. As soon as his hands were free, Terry handed him a Pomeranian that was ready to go.

  Deftly the assistant slid the Silky’s numbered armband out from beneath the rubber band looped at the top of Crawford’s arm, and replaced it with the Pom’s number. Then the handler spun around and headed back to the ring. Judging by the size of his setup, Crawford had brought a full complement of dogs to the show. He and Terry would be running all day just to keep up.

  “Look who I found on my way back from the parking lot,” said Sam. He was threading his way toward us through the packed tent. Following along behind were Bob and Nick Walden.

  “Dad, you came!” Davey cried happily.

  “Of course I came,” Bob replied. “Your first show with your puppy? You didn’t think I‘d miss that, did you?”

  He reached over to give Augie a careless pat, his hand heading straight for the hair that Davey had been working on for the last ten minutes. Without missing a beat, Davey intercepted his father’s hand before it could make contact and guided it gently away.

  “You can play with Augie afterward,” he told Bob. “But right now, he and I have to get ready.”

  I bit back a smile. Aunt Peg harrumphed her
approval. Only Bob was happily oblivious.

  He ushered Nick forward and introductions were made. I stood back and watched with interest as Aunt Peg and Nick Walden sized each other up. I was guessing it wouldn’t be long before the two of them were trading war stories.

  Terry sidled up behind me. “Who’s the hunk?” he whispered in my ear.

  Terry is the gayest man I know. He cuts my hair, he critiques my clothes, and even though he and Crawford have been in a committed relationship for years, he’s not above keeping tabs on any new talent that wanders into his vicinity.

  “Nick’s a dog whisperer,” I told him. “He fixes peoples’ problem dogs.”

  “Yeah, right. Peg will cut him off at the knees,” Terry predicted.

  “No, she’ll be charmed. Just watch.”

  “Five bucks says you’re wrong.”

  “You’re on,” I said.

  Chapter 4

  I won the bet. It didn’t even take five minutes.

  In less than half that amount of time, Nick and Aunt Peg were already chatting like old friends. Terry sighed and conceded defeat. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill.

  “Keep it,” I said. “The thrill of victory is compensation enough.”

  Terry stuck out his tongue and went back to work.

  Sam took over helping Davey so I walked across the setup to join Nick and Aunt Peg. As soon as I approached she extended her arms, offering my child back to me. Kevin dangled between us with a goofy grin on his face. I lifted the toddler out of her hands and put him down in the grass.

  “If you were tired of holding him, you could have done that,” I told her.

  Aunt Peg frowned. “How was I supposed to know? He’s not wearing a leash. What if he wandered off?”

  I grabbed a pair of Matchbox cars out of the diaper bag and handed them to Kevin. He immediately sat down and turned the ground beside him into an impromptu roadway.

  “He won’t,” I said. “See? It’s like magic.”

  “I take it he’s yours?” asked Nick.