Hair of the Dog by Laurien Berenson Page A

by the A.K.C are divided into seven groups: Sporting, Hound, Working, Terrier, Toy, Non-Sporting, and Herding. Later in the day, Midas would go on to compete in the Sporting group against all the other BOB winners. If he won there, then it was on to the ultimate pinnacle—competing against the other six group winners for Best in Show. I guess when you aimed that high, Best of Breed might seem like just another stepping-stone along the way.
    Davey and I did some more browsing around the rings, then made our way over to the handlers’ tent. Most casual spectators at a dog show never bother with the grooming area. They figure the action is in the rings. And it is, up to a point. But for every dog that spends ten minutes in the ring being judged, someone has spent an hour under the grooming tent, getting it ready.
    That’s where people have time to talk and visit with one another. They look at puppies, compare equipment, and exchange all the latest gossip. What happens in the rings is important, certainly; but the interaction that goes on under the handlers’ tent is what keeps the sport alive.
    Poodle people bring a lot of stuff to a show. Even Aunt Peg, with only one dog, had a portable grooming table, a big metal crate, and a wooden tack box filled with brushes, combs, scissors, and hair spray. Inevitably she finds someplace interesting to set up, so I wasn’t surprised to find her parked just down the aisle from Crawford Langley.
    What did surprise me was to see Douglas Brannigan backing her station wagon out of the unloading zone beside the tent. At nine-thirty in the morning, no less. I stared at Aunt Peg. She gave me a saintly smile. Davey, luckily, was transfixed by a litter of Norwich Terrier puppies in an exercise pen beside the tent and didn’t notice a thing.
    â€œGood morning, Melanie,” Aunt Peg said cheerfully. “You’re here early.”
    â€œSo is Douglas.”
    â€œSo he is.” Aunt Peg bent down and began unpacking her tack box, pulling out slicker and pin brushes, a wide-tooth comb, and a spray bottle of water. “This is his first dog show. I hope he doesn’t find it too long a day.”
    â€œI guess that depends.” I hiked myself up and sat on the edge of the grooming table. “Did he get a good night’s sleep last night?”
    â€œVery,” Peg said smugly. The woman had no shame.
    â€œI can’t believe it!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou just met.”
    â€œOh, pish,” said Peg. “You’re just sorry you wasted so much time with Sam.”
    All right, maybe she was partly right. Sam and I had taken things slowly in the beginning; my choice, not his. But with Davey’s feelings needing to be taken into consideration too, I hadn’t wanted to make any mistakes. Now, in hindsight, it seemed as though I’d worried for nothing. Which didn’t mean I still didn’t find Aunt Peg’s actions to be slightly precipitous.
    â€œMom,” Davey interrupted, coming up behind me. “Can I have a puppy?”
    â€œNo.” I didn’t even have to think to answer. Any mother of a five-year-old knows the feeling. “You already have a dog at home.”
    Davey gazed wistfully at the Norwiches. “Two would be nice.”
    â€œTwo would be too much.”
    â€œCome and give me a hug,” Peg said, and Davey did, his short arms circling her hips.
    â€œAunt Peg has lots of dogs,” Davey mentioned. “She doesn’t think they’re too much.”
    I glanced meaningfully toward the parking area. Douglas was making his way toward us across the field. “Apparently Aunt Peg is more liberal than I am.”
    She untangled my son’s arms, lifted him up, and set him down on top of the big metal crate. “Don’t be such a prude, Melanie.”
    â€œI’m not,” I said, just to set the facts straight.
    â€œWhat’s a prude?” asked