Page 39 of Worst in Show

AlCaponesGhost25: Exactly!

SingerQueen: LOL AlCaponesGHOUL is more like it.

AlCaponesGhost25: *devil emoji*

The day passes quickly with the distraction of spirited conversations online, but after work, I load the dogs up and head out of town. Cholula is restless with excitement in the back seat while Cap glares at me for stuffing him into this moving tin can.

“We’ll get through this, bud,” I tell him. “We’ve got to be more like Cho now, okay? Ready for adventure.”

There are several other dog-human pairs already warming up when we arrive. Some are doing recall, others weaving between cones. All look like they’ve been taking classes forever. In the back of the property, there’s a large hangar-like building, and in front of it, two fenced-in fields and a smattering of small buildings. I leave the dogs in the car and go up to the main one to check in.

As I reach for the handle, the door opens from within and a smiling Leo exits, Tilly at his side.

“Cora?” His expression falters at the edges. “What are you doing here?”

You have got to be kidding me. “What are you doing here?” I counter.

“I asked first.”

I purse my lips. “If you must know, I’m training the dogs.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes narrow. “Does it by any chance have something to do with the Winter Fest’s dog show?”

My spine stiffens. “How do you know about that?”

“Well, no thanks to you. I went to check out the Winter Fest website after you mentioned it to see if I should get a booth there, too, and whaddaya know? You left out a small detail.”

I glance at my car. Two curious faces are following my every move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t blame you for not telling me about the contest, though technically one might say it skirts the agreement of our truce, but don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

I cross my arms. He’s so infuriating. “Fine. Maybe I didn’t want more competition from you than I already have, so I chose not to tell you. Clearly, you’re more than capable of figuring things out on your own.”

He cocks his head. “Sure am. And if you ask me, that’s the wrong attitude. Competition is what makes us better.”

I scoff. “I take it you’ve signed up for the show, then?”

“From a marketing standpoint, it’s a great opportunity. Lots of visibility. People tend to remember Tilly when they see her.”

Tilly looks up upon hearing her name, intent on her owner.

I can’t help it—a frustrated growl escapes me.

Leo chuckles. “Guess I’ll see you inside. Good luck and may the best dog win.”

Even his backside looks cocky as he walks toward the hangar. If I let down my guard in the car the other night, it is now firmly back in place. He’s enjoying this way too much, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to training Cho and Cap in front of him. They know the basic commands, but many dogs do. I’m sure Tilly is already show material.

I pay my fee and leash up the dogs. Cholula pulls like she’s twelve pounds going on forty-eight while Cap moves at a more reasonable pace.

The space is divided into two rectangles—for large and small breeds—separated by temporary three-foot fencing. Leo is in the other enclosure, thankfully, so I’m going to do my best to pretend he’s not here. I tie Cap up and start warming up Cho. Keeping her on a leash, I run her around the space a few times to let her get her zoomies out. Then I let her sniff the tunnel, cones, and seesaw at the edge of the space. She’s all over that, happily walking up the tilting board without much prompting. Promising.

Next up is Cap. I do the same lap with him, but he only sniffs the end of the tunnel and then returns to me for another treat. “You have to go through it, silly,” I coax. He doesn’t move. I sure hope the woman with the brown lab isn’t signing up for the contest because her dog knows all the tricks. She laps the course again and again, and all I hear is, “Well done, Boxley. Up and over. Yes!”

Leo is also watching them, his face mirroring the discouragement I’m sure is on mine. I can’t see Tilly, but I do take heart at his seeming dismay. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Tilly doesn’t have all this down. She is still a puppy after all.

Behind me, Cholula barks for my attention, and after that everything happens too fast to follow. A pale blur flies out of the large breed enclosure, clearing the fencing with margin. It’s Tilly, and she lets out a high bark, which sets Cholula off in an even more giddy fit. Before I can reach her, she’s snapped the leash and is ready when Tilly reaches us. It’s the park all over again. The two dogs circle each other as if they’re long-lost besties finally reunited and take off.

“Tilly, here!” Leo calls from afar, but I’ve seen this before. No matter how purebred Tilly is or how well-behaved at home—Leo’s got nothing on Cholula.

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