Underdog Read Free Page A

repositioning a Cocker and talking about cow hocks. She seemed to have forgotten about Ziggy, at least for the time being. That was probably just as well.
    â€œDo you know what the problem was?”
    â€œNo. They weren’t Poodle people,” she said, as if that explained why she’d missed being privy to the best gossip. “But there definitely was some sort of estrangement there. I don’t think they talk to this day.”
    A throat cleared loudly in front of me and I turned to find that while Aunt Peg and I had been chatting, the line had moved on. Faith’s turn was next and while Rick was moving the dog ahead of me, I was supposed to be getting ready and setting up. I led Faith up to the front of the mat. Taking control firmly but gently, as I’d been taught, I stacked the puppy, which means I set her up in the four square position that best showed off her conformation and balance.
    When I was done, she looked terrific. Unfortunately, the effect only lasted about ten seconds. That was how much time Faith gave me before deciding she’d held the pose long enough and demonstrating her feelings by leaping straight up in the air. She landed just as Rick turned our way. Perfect timing.
    â€œAh, the flying puppy. I believe I saw your sister earlier.”
    â€œYes,” I said, mortified. “But she behaved.”
    â€œWouldn’t you with Margaret Turnbull on the end of your lead?” Rick slipped me a wink, and I immediately felt much better. But when I started to reset Faith’s legs, he reached out and stopped me. “Rather than fussing with her again right here, walk her in a small circle and start over. We want her to learn how to do this right from the beginning.”
    I followed his advice and, of course, it helped. Faith stood for his examination and we performed our triangle—trotting down one side of the mats, around the end, then back across the middle—smoothly and steadily. Faith even stood and baited for a piece of liver at the end.
    â€œShe’s learning,” Aunt Peg said when I’d rejoined the line. “And so are you.” Coming from her, that was high praise.
    Satisfied with what we’d accomplished, I watched the last of the big dogs take its turn. The sleek gray Weimaraner was being handled by Jenny’s sister, Angie. Since she worked as Rick and Jenny’s assistant, that probably meant he was a client’s dog that was being tuned up for the shows.
    Angie Peterson was a taller, paler version of her sister. Her medium brown hair fell to below shoulder length, but I’d never seen it hanging free. Tonight, as usual, it was fastened back with a clip. Her eyes were nearly the same shade of brown as Jenny’s—soft cocoa with amber highlights. A spray of freckles stood out against her fair skin.
    She wasn’t plain so much as unremarkable, and the same held true of her handling. She presented the Weimaraner well, but it was easy to see why Jenny headed the operation and Angie was the assistant. Though technically proficient, Angie’s handling skills lacked the intuitive magic of her sister’s. Although to be fair, so did most everybody else’s.
    Even my untrained eye could see that Jenny was one of those rare people who could pick up a leash and have the dog at the other end suddenly appear two hundred percent better than it had only moments before. It was as though an electrical current passed between them, and magic was the only way I’d figured out to explain it. I’d seen her take class dogs in hand to illustrate a point and within seconds, the animals were transformed from everyday hounds into show stoppers.
    It was a gift, Aunt Peg had told me. Unfortunately it was one I didn’t share.
    Faith, being a puppy and having a Standard Poodle’s sense of humor, felt honor-bound to demonstrate that to me repeatedly over the course of the next half hour. I prayed for patience and wished for