Jingle Bell Bark by Laurien Berenson Page B

mused when I was done. “And the two daughters who presumably will inherit the estate may or may not want them.”
    â€œProbably not,” I said. “At least not if Betty Bowen is correct. At any rate, they have yet to put in an appearance. If the daughters were aware of the dogs’ existence, don’t you think they would have made some attempt to check on them?”
    â€œOne can only hope,” Peg said, though her expression indicated that humans had let her down on that score before.
    â€œI’m expecting that we’ll have to find homes for them. I was hoping they could stay here in the meantime.”
    â€œOf course they’ll stay here,” Aunt Peg said firmly. In her mind, that part of the problem had already been settled. “It’s what comes after that that needs to be figured out.”
    â€œDo you know any Golden Retriever people who could put us in touch with their local rescue group?”
    â€œThese two don’t need to go to rescue. That would be a last resort. First we need to find out where they came from. If they were bred by reputable people, chances are both their breeders will take them back.”
    Like many of her peers who bred for the dog show world, Aunt Peg’s puppies were sold with a contract guaranteeing that she would take a dog back at any point in its life if it was unable to remain with its current owner. Considering how much time and thought had gone into planning and executing each breeding, not to mention finding exactly the right homes for those puppies she didn’t keep, Peg felt it was only prudent to keep a judicious eye on her offspring’s welfare even after they’d left the nest.
    Even in the best of homes, circumstances could change unexpectedly. Death, divorce, loss of a job could all create situations where dog ownership was no longer possible. Aunt Peg wanted it clearly understood that any Poodle who bore the Cedar Crest name would always have a home with her.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I should have thought of that. But what makes you think there would be two breeders? I just assumed these guys were brothers.”
    â€œThey’re not.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I hated it when Aunt Peg was so certain of something that wasn’t at all clear to me.
    â€œFor Pete’s sake, Melanie. Look at them.”
    I was looking at them. In fact, I was staring. All I saw was two very similar male Golden Retrievers. Remington was slightly larger; his coat was also a lighter color. Other than that, they looked remarkably alike to me.
    Aunt Peg drummed her fingers on the countertop, waiting for me to get a clue. It wasn’t happening.
    Finally she gave up. “I can’t believe you don’t see it! Those two barely have a single trait in common. Pepper has quality written all over him; it’s obvious he came from a good line. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear that he has littermates who have finished their championships. Remington, on the other hand, is probably a pet store puppy. Lucky for him he seems to have a good temperament because he certainly isn’t going to get by in this world on his good looks.”
    There was no point in asking how she could do that: look at a pair of dogs she’d never seen before and make what were probably accurate predictions about their parentage. By now I’d been involved with Standard Poodles long enough that I could tell a good one from a bad one. I couldn’t sort out an entire class with Aunt Peg’s effortless ease, but I could definitely cull the wheat from the chaff. Other breeds, however, were still a mystery to me.
    Not to Aunt Peg. Her eye for a good dog was honed to such a degree that even those she’d just met could immediately be slotted into their proper categories. I didn’t doubt for a minute that she was correct in her assessment. And assuming that Pepper had come from a quality line, I wondered