her hand clean. For a few seconds, no one said anything.
Lois broke the silence. Her voice was hoarse, sad, and belligerent. “Which puppy was it?” Her eyes stayed on Rowdy, almost as though she expected him to answer the question.
He didn’t, of course. I did. Same thing, more or less. “The dam is named Icekist Sissy.”
Lois’s eyes were blank. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
In case you aren’t a specialist in AKC regulations, let me explain that Lois meant Sissy, not Icekist, which was her registered kennel name and couldn’t be used to register a dog from another breeder. Supposedly, puppy buyers aren’t obligated to use the registered kennel name prefix. In practice, though, virtually any reputable breeder will insist that you use it, and most will enter it on the puppy’s registration application, thus leaving you free to choose the rest of the dog’s name. Why? When your pup goes on to take Best in Show at Westminster, the breeder wants—and deserves—the credit, of course.
“I copied down the whole pedigree,” I said. “I should’ve brought it with me. I meant to. I’m sorry. Call me tonight or whenever. Maybe you can find out where she is.”
“I screen my buyers,” Lois repeated. “I educate them. They have to visit. Everybody visits at least twice. I don’t ship to people I don’t know.”
“Stop it!” Betty ordered her.
“What are you supposed to do?” I added. “Move in with people? Live with them for a month before you’ll sell them a dog?”
“Maybe,” Lois said. “Maybe that’s what you have to do. That or something else.” Color began to return to her face. “Puppy Luv,” she said bitterly. “God damn. You know something? I’ll find out who did this. And I’ll get my bitch back, too. Count on it.”
“Good,” I said. “Lois, if there’s anything I can do...”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have to think. I have to do some follow-ups. I don’t know yet. But thanks, Holly. I’ll call you.” Then with a note of angry confrontation, she asked, “Hey, what does this pet shop bitch look like?”
“Pretty,” I said. I described Missy and added, “Nice temperament, too.”
“I’d take her,” Lois said, her eyes on Betty, “but I haven’t got room now, you know. I’ve got two litters on the ground. I’d like to help, but I’m full up.”
The merest flicker of annoyance crossed Betty’s face. “I’m taking her. Holly’s driving her out to me tomorrow. But the next time you get someone looking for a pet puppy...”
You probably don’t need a translation, but just in case: A pet puppy means one who isn’t of show quality and can’t go to a show home. Let me add that a pet-quality puppy from a good show kennel is precisely what to look for if you ever buy a purebred puppy that you aren’t going to show. You’ll get the benefits of buying from a responsible breeder—genetic screening for hereditary conditions like hip dysplasia and eye disease, selective breeding for good temperament, the permanent availability of a knowledgeable person who cares about the dog, and the comfort of knowing that your dog’s Parents are healthy, safe, happy, and well-fed. And, of course, a pet pup usually costs less than a show pup. But please consider a rescue dog first. I mean, puppies chew everything, and they wake you up at night. They leave puddles and messes all over the floor, and before long, they turn into dogs, anyway.
Back to the Shawsheen Valley show. Lois, Betty, and I had retreated to the area where they’d set up their crates, chairs, and grooming equipment. In muted bellows, Lois was explaining that she’d love to take Missy but didn’t have room, and Betty Burley, who had no extra kennel space, either, was making Lois feel really guilty about not helping with rescue. Rowdy was sniffing through the wire mesh door of the crate that held Lois’s bitch, and I was standing there with my knees and thighs locked together.
Dog people
Lois broke the silence. Her voice was hoarse, sad, and belligerent. “Which puppy was it?” Her eyes stayed on Rowdy, almost as though she expected him to answer the question.
He didn’t, of course. I did. Same thing, more or less. “The dam is named Icekist Sissy.”
Lois’s eyes were blank. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
In case you aren’t a specialist in AKC regulations, let me explain that Lois meant Sissy, not Icekist, which was her registered kennel name and couldn’t be used to register a dog from another breeder. Supposedly, puppy buyers aren’t obligated to use the registered kennel name prefix. In practice, though, virtually any reputable breeder will insist that you use it, and most will enter it on the puppy’s registration application, thus leaving you free to choose the rest of the dog’s name. Why? When your pup goes on to take Best in Show at Westminster, the breeder wants—and deserves—the credit, of course.
“I copied down the whole pedigree,” I said. “I should’ve brought it with me. I meant to. I’m sorry. Call me tonight or whenever. Maybe you can find out where she is.”
“I screen my buyers,” Lois repeated. “I educate them. They have to visit. Everybody visits at least twice. I don’t ship to people I don’t know.”
“Stop it!” Betty ordered her.
“What are you supposed to do?” I added. “Move in with people? Live with them for a month before you’ll sell them a dog?”
“Maybe,” Lois said. “Maybe that’s what you have to do. That or something else.” Color began to return to her face. “Puppy Luv,” she said bitterly. “God damn. You know something? I’ll find out who did this. And I’ll get my bitch back, too. Count on it.”
“Good,” I said. “Lois, if there’s anything I can do...”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have to think. I have to do some follow-ups. I don’t know yet. But thanks, Holly. I’ll call you.” Then with a note of angry confrontation, she asked, “Hey, what does this pet shop bitch look like?”
“Pretty,” I said. I described Missy and added, “Nice temperament, too.”
“I’d take her,” Lois said, her eyes on Betty, “but I haven’t got room now, you know. I’ve got two litters on the ground. I’d like to help, but I’m full up.”
The merest flicker of annoyance crossed Betty’s face. “I’m taking her. Holly’s driving her out to me tomorrow. But the next time you get someone looking for a pet puppy...”
You probably don’t need a translation, but just in case: A pet puppy means one who isn’t of show quality and can’t go to a show home. Let me add that a pet-quality puppy from a good show kennel is precisely what to look for if you ever buy a purebred puppy that you aren’t going to show. You’ll get the benefits of buying from a responsible breeder—genetic screening for hereditary conditions like hip dysplasia and eye disease, selective breeding for good temperament, the permanent availability of a knowledgeable person who cares about the dog, and the comfort of knowing that your dog’s Parents are healthy, safe, happy, and well-fed. And, of course, a pet pup usually costs less than a show pup. But please consider a rescue dog first. I mean, puppies chew everything, and they wake you up at night. They leave puddles and messes all over the floor, and before long, they turn into dogs, anyway.
Back to the Shawsheen Valley show. Lois, Betty, and I had retreated to the area where they’d set up their crates, chairs, and grooming equipment. In muted bellows, Lois was explaining that she’d love to take Missy but didn’t have room, and Betty Burley, who had no extra kennel space, either, was making Lois feel really guilty about not helping with rescue. Rowdy was sniffing through the wire mesh door of the crate that held Lois’s bitch, and I was standing there with my knees and thighs locked together.
Dog people
Similar Books
