Underdog Read Free

puppy; or they haven’t a clue what the dog show business is all about and they’re hoping to learn. Our group was pretty much evenly divided along those lines, which was good because it meant I wasn’t the only beginner.
    I watched Aunt Peg go through her routine with Hope. As usual her handling was both graceful and effective. Even though the Standard Poodle puppy was obviously inexperienced, they still made an impressive team. One thing I’ve learned so far is that handling a dog correctly is much like rubbing your stomach while patting yourself on the head. There are moments when it seems as though your hands—and your attention—must be everywhere at once.
    And I’ve only tried it in practice. I hated to think how I might perform in the actual show ring with the added pressure of nerves and competition thrown in.
    When Rick was finished with Aunt Peg, she and Hope came back to join those of us waiting our turn on the sidelines. But now that I finally had a chance to yell at her for the sneaky way she’d outmaneuvered me, the news about Ziggy had pretty much taken the wind out of my sails.
    I went over anyway. Hope and Faith immediately touched noses, wagged their tails in happy recognition, then leapt up to air-box with their front paws.
    â€œGo ahead,” said Aunt Peg, juggling her lead from hand to hand so the puppies wouldn’t get tangled. “Spit it out and get it over with. But bear in mind that the job needed doing and I didn’t see you getting anywhere with it. You know perfectly well I don’t sell my puppies to people without fenced yards. Just because you’re family doesn’t mean I was going to make an exception.”
    I was pleased to see she was on the defensive. That probably meant she was feeling guilty. “I wish you hadn’t done it, but I am grateful. I’m also going to pay you back.”
    A brow lifted. No doubt she’d expected me to make more of a fuss. I would have, too, if I hadn’t just heard about what could happen to dogs whose yards weren’t fenced.
    â€œFinish Faith to her championship. That’s all the payment I require.”
    Not exactly a small order, but one I was already pretty much resigned to. “Have you heard about Ziggy?”
    Automatically her gaze went to the stage. “No. Where is he?”
    â€œHe was run over.”
    â€œKilled?”
    I nodded, and she harrumphed under her breath. There’s nothing Aunt Peg hates more than people who are careless with their dogs.
    â€œSo that’s how I got off the hook.”
    Was I that transparent? I guessed so.
    â€œJenny must be devastated. She adored that dog.”
    We both looked toward the other end of the room where the handler had a Dachshund up on the table. She was running her hands down its long sides and chatting happily with the little hound’s owner.
    â€œShe’s covering it up,” I said, thinking of the near-tears I’d seen earlier.
    â€œPoor girl. I guess she’s had a lot of practice.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI gather she didn’t have the happiest of childhoods. Her parents were handlers, too. Did you know that?”
    â€œShe told me when I signed up.”
    â€œRoger and Lavinia Peterson. They’ve retired now and gone on to judging, but that pair was one of the strongest handling teams in the country for several decades. As children, Jenny and her sister, Angie, were always at the shows with them. Everyone just assumed that someday the girls would take over the family business.
    â€œBut the moment Jenny turned eighteen, she moved out and started up on her own. That wouldn’t have been so odd, there’s no rule that says parents and children have to agree all the time. But what made people wonder was that a few months later, Angie joined her. The girl was barely sixteen at the time.”
    I glanced once more toward the back of the line. Jenny was