Read Online Gone With the Woof by Laurien Berenson - Free Book Online Page B

about.”
    He slipped the Chow into an open crate, then tucked the ribbon into his tack box. At shows, Crawford’s almost always on the run. Now I waited for him to grab another dog off a table and head out. Pumping Terry for information is much easier when Crawford isn’t in the background, grumbling about our conversation.
    Now, however, he shrugged out of his sports coat and hung it on a hanger attached to a stack of crates. Then he pulled out an apron and slipped it on over his head. A white Standard Poodle was lying on its side on a grooming table next to him. Crawford picked up a pin brush and spray bottle.
    I must have looked surprised, because he glanced my way and said, “What? You don’t think I can brush out a dog?”
    â€œOf course you can. You just never seem to have time to.”
    He pointed to a schedule taped to the inside lid of the tack box. “Next up, Standards at one o’clock.”
    Since I obviously hadn’t already figured it out for myself, Terry leaned over and whispered, “Crawford has fewer dogs today because he isn’t showing under Peg.”
    Of course. I should have realized. Crawford and Aunt Peg were old friends, and both would want to avoid any appearance of favoritism or impropriety in the judging. The fact that Aunt Peg was doing all the toy breeds meant that half his string must have stayed home.
    Crawford pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his apron pocket and perched them on his nose. Then he misted the dog on the table and went to work. Expertly.
    Geez, I thought, even his line brushing was perfect.
    â€œSo,” he said. “Ask.”
    Crawford giving me an opening? That was a first. And I certainly wasn’t about to squander the opportunity.
    â€œEdward March is writing a book.”
    â€œOh, goody,” cried Terry.
    â€œNot really,” I said. “It’s going to be a kiss-and-tell memoir filled with juicy details about his amorous adventures in the dog show world. March thinks it will be a best-seller.”
    Crawford lifted his head and gazed at me over the rims of his glasses. “And we care about this, why?”
    â€œI’m his coauthor,” I admitted.
    I thought he might snort or grumble. A discreet swear word wasn’t out of the question. But once again, Crawford surprised me. Instead, he began to laugh.
    â€œI’ll give you this, Melanie,” he said. “You’re a constant source of entertainment. How in hell did that happen?”
    â€œAunt Peg.”
    The two words alone were explanation enough. Both men nodded.
    â€œI’d read that,” said Terry. “Seriously. It’s not like Edward March would lack for content.”
    â€œApparently not,” I agreed unhappily. “The only reason I got involved with the project in the first place is because I thought he meant to write a history of dog shows and great dogs. Instead, it seems that March thinks of himself as the Don Juan of the dog show world.”
    â€œUnderstatement has never been one of his problems.” Crawford’s hands continued to fly through the Standard Poodle’s hair. “Especially when it came to promoting his own dogs.”
    Crawford was modest to a fault. At the very top of his game, he was the least self-aggrandizing person I knew. I could see how March’s attitude might have gotten on his nerves.
    â€œWere March’s Irish Setters as good as I’ve heard?” I asked.
    â€œSure. Over the years, they were some of the best. I don’t know how many he has left anymore.”
    â€œOnly one,” I said. “I’ve been to his house twice, but I’ve never seen her.”
    â€œThat’s not surprising. Irish Setters are big, active dogs. Last time I saw Edward before he retired, he was looking pretty fragile. I think his health was worse than he wanted to let on.”
    â€œNo wonder he wants to relive his glory days,” said Terry.