Free Hair of the Dog by Laurien Berenson

topknot, brushed through the long, thick hair, then replaced the rubber bands in a tighter formation that would set off her face and expression. Between brushing, scissoring, and spraying, I’d seen her spend nearly two hours getting a Standard Poodle ready to go in the ring. Then, when the judging was over, it could take half as long again to undo everything she’d just done. Peg, however, didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed by the effort it all took. She hummed softly under her breath as she worked her magic with comb and hair spray.
    When judging time approached, we all accompanied her to the ring. Holding Davey’s hand tightly in mine, I stood with Douglas at ringside and tried to explain how the competition worked.
    It was easy for him to understand the individual examinations, where the judge ran his hands over each dog’s body, making a mental image of the structure beneath the hair. And he was enough of an athlete himself to understand why so much time was devoted to assessing the dogs’ movement. But in the end, he still couldn’t detect the subtle differences that set a really good Poodle apart from one that was merely average.
    â€œI can see I’m going to have to work on this,” said Douglas, clapping with delight when the judge awarded Tory the purple ribbon for Winners Bitch. “Peg’s entry certainly looked the best to me, and of course I’m delighted she won, but I really have no idea why.”
    â€œTory’s very sound,” Davey said knowledgeably. “And she has nice feet too.”
    I stared down at my son. What he’d said was true, but how had he known that?
    Peg left the ring briefly while Reserve Winners Bitch was judged. Douglas started toward her, but Davey and I both held back.
    â€œWe’ll see her after,” I said. “She has to go right back in.”
    â€œBest of Breed, right?” Douglas guessed. “I may not know much about dog shows, but I have heard of that.”
    â€œBest of Variety,” Davey corrected Douglas. “That’s because they’re Poodles.”
    This time I could only shake my head.
    â€œWhat’s the difference?” asked Douglas.
    I couldn’t help myself. I waited a beat just in case Davey wanted to go on and explain that too. He didn’t, so I did.
    â€œYou’re right in thinking that most dogs are judged for Best of Breed. But some, like Poodles and Cockers and Dachshunds for example, have separate varieties within the breed. Poodles come in three sizes: Toy, Mini, and Standard, so they’re divided by size. Cockers are divided by color. And Dachshunds are divided by the kind of coat they have, either smooth, longhair, or wirehair.”
    â€œStop.” Douglas held up a hand. “You’re making me dizzy. Just tell me one thing. Did Peg accomplish what she set out to do today?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. That’s all I need to know.”
    Not only did Tory win the points, she also beat the Winners Dog for Best of Winners. Then there was a twenty-minute wait before Peg could have Tory’s picture taken with the judge. Douglas wandered off to check out the concession stands and took Davey with him. I could definitely get used to having that man around.
    Afterward, Peg and I strolled back to the grooming tent in a celebratory mood, passing Crawford’s setup on the way in. He and Terry were taking a lunch break, and they’d been joined by Ron and Viv Pullman. The Pullmans had apparently watched Crawford handle their Chow to Best of Breed, and were eager to discuss Leo’s chances of winning the Non-Sporting group.
    â€œWho won in Standards?” Crawford asked as soon as he saw us.
    â€œPogo,” said Peg, hopping Tory back up onto her table.
    â€œGood,” Crawford replied.
    It never ceases to amaze me how exhibitors manage to keep track of all their competition. They know one another’s dogs by show name, by