Page 2 of Worst in Show

He nods toward the corner that harbors his alcove bed and a robust closet. Then he looks at his watch and stretches. “Today’s going to be a good day,” he says, like he always does. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“If you say so, Pop.” I go to find a new top and holler to him, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

His footsteps are already receding, so I take to rummaging through his clothes. The closet smells like soap and cedar with a faint old-person undertone. Familiar and safe. In the back, there’s a bag of my grandma’s things, and in it, I find a soft denim shirt that must be decades old but also, somehow, once again fashionable. I pull my stained top off, and then out of habit, I glance out the window. I’m too high up for anyone to be able to see me, but I duck down regardless at the sight of activity across the street. No Tuesday morning peep show here. What are they doing over there anyway? Did someone finally lease the empty space?

Cholula’s beady eyes watch me from the doorway, her tongue flopping limply out the side of her mouth. She really is the ugliest little cutie pie. I dig in my waistband for lingering pieces of kibble, and she comes scampering closer.

“Here you go.” I hold my hand low enough for her to find the straggling goodie that had been stuck near my belly button and then stand to redo the messy bun on top of my head.

“Who cares what we look like, am I right?”

Cholula sits, anticipating another snack, but this time I’ve got nothing.

“Come on, Cho.” I scoop her up and head down to the store.

“Do you know what they’re doing over there?” I ask Harvey after setting Cholula down. I nod toward the street.

“Huh?” He blinks at me.

There’s an envelope stamped FINAL NOTICE in his hand that makes my stomach tighten. I thought I had tucked the late notices at the bottom of the pile when I brought in the mail, but clearly that wasn’t enough. What makes the situation even worse is that I moved back out here to Batavia three years ago to help him with the store, and all signs so far point to failure. Online retail chains obviously make it hard for small mom-and-pop shops like ours to stand out, but still. We’re well established, so I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.

“Across the street?” I point. “Looks like someone’s moving in.”

Harvey walks to the front and squints out the window. “I think you might be right.” A grin spreads across his lips. “Exactly what we need. Another store means more foot traffic, more commerce. New customers!” He slaps his thigh, which immediately sets the two smaller dogs running toward him. Boris only lifts his head from the ray of sunlight where he’s currently lounging.

“Fingers crossed.”

“That reminds me. End of month.” Harvey opens the till and pulls out an envelope. “Your paycheck.”

It’s tempting. My piggybank has seen as little action as I have this past year, but I just can’t. “I think you already paid me.” I look away and pretend to focus on Cap waddling toward me like a bowlegged cowboy. When I glance up again, Harvey has something soft in his eyes.

“You found Martha’s shirt,” he says, resting his hand on the counter.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, it suits you.” He sighs and looks down at the envelope. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He opens the till, extracts a few bills, and presses them into my palm. “You need some for rent at the very least. Normally, I’d insist you take what’s owed, but since I had to get the car fixed last month, I put off the phone company, and it can’t wait any longer or they’ll cut the line and the internet.”

“Pop, it’s fine. I’m fine.” I put on my most reassuring smile, pocketing the money. “We’re going to have a great fall. I’ll start making more clothes tonight, so we’ll have some ready by this weekend. How’s that?”

“Yes, excellent, excellent.”

Harvey is a young eighty-four. He and my grandma tried to retire twenty years ago, but that lasted only about as long as one of Cholula’s peanut butter treats when she’s hungry. Which is always. My grandpa is what the twinkly eyed ladies at the senior rec center call spry, but he shouldn’t still be working at his age. Unfortunately, he won’t even entertain the idea of slowing down. “Even if I didn’t have the dogs to care for, I refuse to be a charity case,” he always says. If only I could find a way to make us profitable enough that he could get some real help in here. Then I might…

No. I shake my head. Daydreaming doesn’t put food on the table, and this isn’t the worst place to be. There are a lot of memories here. The maple shelves have darkened with age, but this store mostly looks like it always did. I used to crawl into one of the big crates in the corner with a book when I was little. I found my first zit in the latticed mirror behind the cat toys. And I’ve stacked hundreds if not thousands of cans of food into humble pyramids on the tartan-covered display tables. Grandma looks down at me from a framed photo behind the counter. She’s grinning wide, holding up a blue first place rosette ribbon next to a lanky dalmatian mix in a Santa hat. It was taken when I was around twelve years old at the annual Winter Fest’s Amateur Dog Show. Patch was the only rescue ever to take her all the way. If I remember correctly, he found his forever home shortly after. That didn’t stop Grandma from participating year after year, though, just for “a bit of holiday frivolity.”

“Put that check away, Pop,” I say. “Time to open.”

“Fine.” He rubs his hands together. “I’m ready, are you ready?” As if we have a long line of customers outside in a frenzy over two-for-one bully sticks.

I chuckle. “I’ll set out the A-frame. Then I’ll take the dogs for a walk.”

He waves me off and starts arranging the bandanna display next to the register.

The late September air is still warm, the sun on its way to turn this into another beautiful day, but in the park down the street the tips of the trees are turning, slowly but surely. I don’t mind—fall is my favorite season. Sweaters and warm drinks all the way. I make sure our sale sign reflects our current specials and say hi to a few morning walkers. Then I take a deep breath and turn my face to the blue sky. Whatever Harvey needs me to do, I’ll do. So what if the pet store isn’t my dream?

I’m about to set off when the squeak of the scissor lift across the street stops me in my tracks. It’s coming down, revealing the name of our brand-new neighbor. I shade my eyes as the shiny letters come into view.

Canine King

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