Chow Down (17 page)

And so the fun began.

A
fter that initial, tentative approach, Faith and I were seldom alone for more than a few minutes at a time. I'd bathed the Poodle and blown her dry the previous evening and even though her trim was nothing fancy by dog show standards, its precise lines and plush look drew a lot of favorable attention. After the fifth person in a row asked me how I got the pom pon on Faith's tail so perfectly round, I began to think that I should have printed up answer cards to hand out.

“Having fun?” asked Doug, coming over to see how we were doing.

Several hours had already passed. During that time, I'd been acutely aware of Doug and the other judges, wandering among the members of our group, observing the interactions, and surreptitiously taking notes. Meanwhile Charlie was busy snapping pictures, recording the day's events for what, no doubt, would be further discussion and dissection by the committee.

I'm normally not a self-conscious person but being the object of that kind of intense scrutiny had quickly led to paranoia. Though I'd devoted a decent amount of energy to promoting Faith, it was clear that I was neither as outgoing nor as motivated as some of the other contestants. Nor was I about to change my ways in an effort to keep up.

Ben continued to work the area effortlessly; drawing attention to himself seemed to come naturally. Dorothy, meanwhile, had mastered the consummate handler's trick of fading into the background and letting her dog shine. The Reddings played in the meadow with Ginger, the three of them gamboling in the grass like there was nothing else in the world that they'd rather be doing. Only Lisa looked strained and wary when people loomed above her little Yorkie and gushed about how cute she was. She seemed to dislike all the fuss and public adulation just as much as I did.

When Doug approached me, I was more than ready to take a break. Being center stage was a wearying experience. Even at dog shows, we'd never had to be “on” for hours at a time. Now both of us were beginning to feel the strain.

“Some of it's fun,” I replied honestly in answer to Doug's question. “But it's hard work, too.”

“I'm sorry if you expected differently.” He motioned toward a bench in the shade beneath a large elm tree and Faith and I followed him there. As the three of us got settled, Doug continued to talk.

“We on the committee spent quite a lot of time considering just that very issue before we initiated the contest. It's one thing to hire a ‘professional' dog to represent a product. Those dogs and their handlers know exactly what to expect from a job like this. They've seen the hard work that goes on behind the surface glamor, and that makes them easier to work with. But it also means that you lose the personal connection that comes with dealing with somebody's real pet.”

“You also forfeit the free publicity that a contest like this is able to generate in the media.”

“There's that, too,” Doug agreed. “At any rate, Faith seems to be handling things well. Better, I'd venture to say, than some of the others. She really is a people dog, isn't she?”

That went a long way toward softening some of the prickliness I'd been feeling. What can I say? Praise my dog and I'll love you forever.

“I wish I could take special credit, but honestly that's just the way Poodles are. It's highly unusual to find one that doesn't love people. Poodles would much rather spend time with their owners than with other dogs.”

As if on cue, Faith sat down, nestled herself next to my legs and rested her head on my thigh. Her dark eyes lifted to link with mine and she and blew out a happy sigh.

The effect wasn't lost on Doug. Actually it was my impression that the contest chairman didn't miss much of anything. I was also cynical enough to believe that even this seemingly spontaneous break we were sharing had probably been scripted ahead of time.

“We tried to take breed characteristics into account when we were choosing our finalists,” Doug said. “Not that every breed doesn't have some great qualities, but I think most people would agree that not every breed is equally suited for the unique function we have in mind.”

He leaned back, rested his arm across the top of the bench, and gazed out across the meadow. Even while sitting with Faith and me, he was still evaluating the other finalists' performances.

I wondered whether he'd been picking up on the same things I had: That Brando didn't always respond favorably to unwanted attention from strangers. That MacDuff could be aloof, showing more interest in the chipmunks and squirrels that crossed his path than in the people. That Yoda was sometimes overwhelmed by all the fuss; small children poking their fingers in her direction intimidated the Yorkie enough to make her hide behind Lisa's legs.

Not that I was trying to be overly critical of my fellow contestants. What the committee was asking us to do was a difficult task. But if the spokesdog for Chow Down was going to be required to make numerous personal appearances on behalf of the product, I supposed we'd all just better buckle down and get used to it.

“Picked a favorite yet?” I asked idly.

I didn't really expect an answer, so I was surprised when Doug said, “We all have our favorites. I suppose that's human nature. Right or wrong, it's been that way from the very beginning.”

As he spoke, he was watching Yoda. Lisa had gathered the Yorkie up in her arms and was standing off to one side. Body hunched protectively around the small dog as if shielding her from potential harm, Lisa's demeanor clearly proclaimed that the two of them wished to be left alone.

It wasn't to be. Simone strode purposefully toward the pair. She reached out and draped a comforting arm around Lisa's shoulders. I half-expected the dog owner to shrug her off, but she didn't. Instead, heads tipped toward each other, the two women quickly became engrossed in conversation.

“We're trying to cut her some slack,” Doug said when he realized I was watching, just as he was. “I'm sure none of this is easy for Lisa.”

“And yet it was her choice to stay in the contest,” I pointed out. “Some people would find that an odd decision under the circumstances.”

Doug only shrugged. “Who knows how other people's minds work? Especially women. Certainly not me.”

Charlie had been tracking Ginger, who'd been romping with some teenagers, but now he zeroed in on Lisa and Simone. The photographer started to head in their direction, but Doug caught his eye and waved him off. Then Dorothy plucked at the photographer's sleeve. Charlie turned and focused his lens on MacDuff. Doug relaxed and went back to speaking.

“We all noticed right away that Lisa and Yoda were uncomfortable out here. Then Simone pointed out that according to the information we'd received, Larry was the one who always took the dog in the show ring. Lisa was accustomed to remaining in the background.”

I hadn't thought about that either. I supposed it put a new spin on Lisa's somewhat defensive behavior.

“So maybe it was unfair of us to spring a test like this on her.”

“You sprang it on all of us. If Lisa and Yoda can't cope now, what's going to happen if they win?”

“Good question. And something we'll have to take into consideration when we make our decision.”

Doug's eyes were still following the two women. With all the activity going on around us, something about the pair continued to draw his interest.

I thought about Dorothy and Chris, who'd met the previous year over a Scottie puppy. I considered the fact that Doug had shown up within seconds of Larry's fall and yet somehow managed not to see anything. And I decided to ask another question.

“How long have you known the Kims?”

He looked around quickly. “What do you mean?”

It seemed like a relatively simple question to me. It was interesting that he didn't have a similarly simple answer.

“When did you first meet?”

“Last week. Monday morning it must have been. You know, at the opening reception.”

In the space of mere seconds he'd gone from being confused by the question to being so sure of his answer that he'd felt compelled to give it three times.

“The day that Larry Kim died.”

“Right.”

“So you hadn't had any prior contact with them?”

Doug paused to ponder his reply. “I imagine I might have spoken with them after Yoda was named as one of our finalists,” he said after a minute. “Just like I spoke with you.”

The difference wasn't lost on me. Doug remembered speaking with me. He merely imagined he might have spoken with the Kims. My ego is pretty healthy but even I know I'm not necessarily that memorable.

“So then—”

“Sorry,” said Doug. He quickly rose. “I've got to go see what Cindy wants.”

The product manager was standing on the dirt path with Ben and Brando. Though she was gazing in our direction, I wouldn't have guessed from that fact that she wanted anything.

It didn't matter. Doug was already gone, striding away across the field.

And I was left to wonder why my questions had made him so uncomfortable.

 

After that, things wrapped up pretty quickly. The contest committee decided that they'd seen enough. Unfortunately, if the judges had formed any opinions about which of the finalists might be best suited to fill the position, they weren't sharing the news with us.

Our group had been giddy with enthusiasm and anticipation on our way into the park. Exiting, we were more subdued. Actually, I think most of us were just tired. The bus was waiting where we'd left it. One by one, we climbed onboard gratefully.

“Well,” said Allison Redding, grabbing a seat next to me and Faith, “that was loads of fun, wasn't it?”

As Bill and Ginger had settled into a seat across the aisle, I looked over to make sure she wasn't talking to them. Neither her dog nor her husband was paying any attention to her. I took that to mean that the perky comment had been addressed to me.

“Loads,” I agreed. I'm afraid my level of excitement didn't quite match hers.

“Come on”—she poked my arm and bounced in her seat—“admit it. It was nice to do something that made Ginger and Faith look like a couple of stars.”

There was that.

Allison's voice dropped. “You were watching the others. I know because I was, too. Did you see Brando snarl at that little boy with the catcher's mitt? Ben covered it up pretty well, but I'm pretty sure that Simone noticed. And speaking of Simone, who died and left her queen? The way she was always bossing everyone around and telling them what to do? It was enough to really get on my nerves.”

Actually, though I'd seen Simone interacting with the other contestants throughout the day, for the most part, she'd left Faith and me alone. At the time, I hadn't thought much about it, but now I found myself wondering if she'd avoided us on purpose. A signal to the rest of the committee about whom she favored and whom she didn't? Or maybe she'd simply wanted to dodge my propensity for asking questions.

“Now Cindy . . .” Allison was still talking. Apparently I didn't even have to respond to keep the flow of words coming. “She's someone I think I could really be friends with. She loved watching Ginger play with her ball. Did you know she has a Border Collie named Gus that's a disc dog? How cool is that?”

While Allison chattered and bounced beside me, I was leaning against the back of the seat with my eyes half-closed. Faith had given up any pretense of interest in our surroundings. The front half of her body was draped across my lap and she was sound asleep, her body rising and falling with each rhythmic snore.

“They all have dogs,” I said. Adding a small amount of input to the conversation seemed like the polite thing to do.

“All who?”

“The judges. They all have dogs, not just Cindy.”

“I guess that makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, why work for a dog food company if you don't like dogs? That would be counter-intuitive. Simone, let's see, I could picture her with a Maltese.”

“Pomeranian,” I said.

Allison giggled. “That fits. Now Doug, he ought to have something sleek and kind of sexy. Maybe a German Shorthaired Pointer.”

I tipped my head her way. “Sleek and sexy?”

“Don't you think so?”

“I hadn't really thought about it.”

“What's to think? Just use your eyes, for Pete's sake.”

If I opened my eyes fully, I thought, they'd be staring at Allison's husband who, just for the record, was not very sleek and sexy. More like rumpled and comfortable.

“I'm a newlywed,” I said. “I've stopped looking.”

Allison reached over and patted my arm. “Time passes,” she said. “You'll get over that.”

I hoped not.

“Doug has a chocolate Lab,” I said. “His kids named it Hershey.”

“Doug is married?”

Allison sounded surprised, and maybe a tad disappointed. Which made me think that maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation almost within earshot of her husband.

“I believe he's divorced.”

“Ahh, that makes more sense.”

That comment got my attention. I actually opened my eyes. “Why?”

“Because, well . . . you know.”

No, I didn't. I hate it when that happens.

“I know what?”

Allison leaned closer. Her voice, already low, dropped to a whisper. “Don't you get the impression that he might have something going on with Simone?”

Doug and Simone? I hadn't picked up on that at all.