High in Trial - By Donna Ball Page 0,4
the past ten years alone over a horse.”
I stared at him. “How do you know things like that?”
He shrugged, not looking up from his phone. “I keep up.”
I rolled my eyes elaborately, and a woman taking a seat a few feet away from me caught the expression and grinned. “Husbands,” she said.
“He’s not my husband,” I objected quickly.
Miles said at the same time, “Not her husband.”
That caused me to frown at him a little. I couldn’t say why, but he was still checking messages and didn’t notice. The woman, who should by now have no doubt as to the nature of our relationship, nodded at Cisco. “Great dog,” she said. “I was watching you warm up. He’s got real heart.”
I rubbed Cisco’s ears and said proudly, “Thanks.” Cisco, who always knew when he was being complimented, tilted his head back to grin at me. “This is Cisco, and I’m—”
“Raine Stockton,” she said. “I know.”
Cisco and I are pretty well known in our hometown, both for our search-and-rescue work and as a therapy dog team. We get our pictures in the paper now and then, and if there’s a fundraiser for the humane society, I’m always the one who does the radio interview. But had our fame spread as far as Pembroke, South Carolina? Even my ego was having trouble believing that.
My surprise must have been evident because she explained. “I recognized you from your Facebook page.”
“Oh.” I relaxed. Everyone in dogs was on Facebook and Twitter; we posted action shots of our champions to each other’s timelines and tweeted our triumphs like gleeful children. I tried to remember if I’d seen this woman’s picture anywhere before.
“I’m Aggie Connor,” she went on, reaching across the bleacher to extend her hand. “Celestial Goldens.”
Of course she was. The sweatshirt she wore had the kennel name, Celestial Goldens, written in script above the happy face of a golden retriever on the front. Since the AKC frowned upon apparel that identified a dog to the judge, I assumed she must be here to watch someone else complete. She was a large woman in her forties or fifties with short curly hair and work-worn hands, and as I shook one of those hands, I made the connection.
“I know who you are,” I said, relieved to be out of the dark. “My friend, Maude, has Sundance Goldens.” The dog show world is a relatively small one, and the chances are good that you will meet someone you know, or almost know, at every show.
She grinned. “I know. My daughter Ginny is running Gunny in Novice. One of Maude’s dogs is Gunny’s sire.”
I nodded. “Sure, I know Ginny and Gunny.” In fact, I’d never met Ginny, but had admired her young golden’s focus in the ring, and they had had a clean run.
She nodded proudly. “Gunny is one of the most honest dogs I’ve ever met. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Ginny, and he’ll get his title this weekend. First time out.”
I thought that might be a little optimistic, but smiled encouragingly.
“Maude has fine dogs,” Aggie added. “That’s why I wanted to use one in my breeding program. I got four champions out of that litter.”
I said, “I’ll be sure to tell her.” But the chances were that Maude already knew the history of any dog in which her kennel name had been involved. She’d been my father’s clerk for thirty years and her propensity for meticulous recordkeeping had carried over into the world of dogs.
Aggie chuckled and confirmed my thoughts with, “She knows. We keep up with each other’s dogs. In fact, that’s why I’m glad to see you here. Maude’s line has produced some solid working dogs, and I hear your Cisco has a pretty good start on a career in search and rescue himself. Ginny’s moving to Boulder next month, and she’s been talking about training Gunny for avalanche search and rescue when she gets out there. I know she’ll want to talk to you about it, since Cisco and Gunny are practically cousins.”
I started to protest that I didn’t know anything about avalanche dogs when Miles, one of the most social people I know and an annoyingly efficient multitasker, glanced up from text-messaging and invited, “Why don’t you and your daughter have dinner with us tonight? The hotel dining room isn’t bad. Miles Young,” he added, stretching across me to offer his hand. “Not her husband.”
Aggie shook his hand, pleased to accept the invitation, and I smiled a little weakly. Of course I’m