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CHAPTER 7

The following day - Saturday, April 13th.

The perpetually confounding and occasionally frustrating three-dimensional reality seemed to be set on 'Repeat' the following morning, albeit with one or two minute changes that were nevertheless important in the overall scheme of things.

Wynne, Mandy, Blackie and Goldie were once again on their way north to the big dog show at Thunder Park Raceway. The bright and early time of 9:15am made the trip a far more pleasurable one as there was hardly any traffic for the woman behind the Silverado's steering wheel to contend with.

1970s-vintage truck-driving songs played from the Chevrolet's many speakers as the Down-Home Ol' Country Shack did its best to keep everyone's - particularly Wynne's - mood up there in the high register.

The music hour was dedicated to the long-haul truckers who kept the country alive by hauling goods from A to B, and the tunes reflected that by being a non-stop cavalcade of such classics as C.W. McCall's Convoy, Jerry Reed's Texas Bound And Flying, Bradley Gordon's Lost Them Brakes, Harvey Daggett's Mean Ol' Highway, Lightning-Joe Craig's Gotta Get Home To My Good, Li'l Mama, Earl 'Mack' Driscoll's Dangerous Curves and Tallahassee Jack Culpepper's Keep Them Wheels Rollin' - the latter was also the theme tune of the entire hour so snippets of it were played around the commercial blocks.

When the next block of music was replaced by a few trucking-related commercials from companies like Lacey Campbell's Truck and Trailer Rentals, R.D. Samson Oils & Lubricants and the Gas 'n Go! chain of gas stations who advertised their new Turbo-Fast Truck Diesel Pumps, Wynne rolled down the driver's side window and stuck out her head.

A loud Rebel Yell of "Yeeeeeeee-hawwwwwwwwwwwwww!" escaped her before she reached up to make the age-old gesture of pulling the cords for the airhorns. "Hawt-dang, I gotta get me some big, ol' freight-train horns installed on this he' thing!  Yessirree!  I ain't sure whah'dahell I ain't nevah done so befo', but I deffa-nete-ly gonn' do it now!"

"That's nice, dear," Mandy said, reaching over to pat Wynne's denim-clad thigh.

"Haw, yer durn tootin' it is!  Don't reckon them horns would fit on mah TransAm, but ya nevah know… mebbe they would. Gotta ask Fat-Buhh-tt 'bout that," Wynne said, furrowing her brow as she thought about where such a set of horns could fit in the tight confines of the Pontiac's engine bay. "Anyhows, I can't wait ta cruuuuuui-se down tha State Route with y'all bah mah side an' them dawggies in tha back an' all. Like in that there mooh-vie there I plum fergot tha name of… anyhows. That be fer latah."

Mandy had a huge, toothy grin plastered all over her features - a rare sight, indeed - that offered a good indication of her present frame of mind.

The past week had been so mentally draining that she had made an executive decision late on Friday evening during their supper at Moira's: she had informed Rodolfo Gonzalez that she had given herself Saturday and Sunday off so he would be in charge of the sheriff's office for the entire weekend. Although Don Woodward had returned to the watch desk after his court appearance in Jarrod City, the entire political nonsense surrounding Barry Simms' career change would undoubtedly run and run - in short, there was no telling when the next possibility to take some time off would present itself.

To mark the special occasion of a family day out, Mandy wore black shoes, a pair of black jeans that she saved for the big events, and an all-white flannel shirt that covered a charcoal-gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. A black-and-bronze Letterman sat loose around her shoulders. The open collar of the flannel shirt provided room for a thin strap of leather that carried a jade pendant in the shape of the famous women's symbol.

Wynne just wore her regular Last Original Cowpoke combo of decorated cowboy boots, faded blue-jeans and a denim jacket over a sweatshirt commemorating the 2005 NASCAR Nextel Cup Championship for Jimmie Johnson and Hendrick Racing's #48 Lowe's Home Improvement Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Her beloved cowboy hat had been pulled down to sit low and sexy over her eyes - despite the hat's battered and sweat-stained state, she made the look work as always.

Blackie sat high, mighty and certainly proud on the back seat as she kept track of the desert landscape zipping past the Silverado. She wore no special accessories for the grand day out save for a special leather collar that had been a Christmas present from her owner.

To Blackie's right, Goldie was in such a good mood that - although the biggest part of her remained down in the footwell - she even dared to put her muzzle on the back seat. The scaredy-dog had no intention of keeping track of where they were as bitter experience told her that Bad Things Happen To Those Who Look Out At The Wrong Moment.

Unlike her stern canine companion, she had wanted to wear so many accessories that she could hardly walk straight. She had red, pink and white ribbons here, there and everywhere, and her collar was a gemstone-studded affair that sparkled like a little sun whenever she put one paw ahead of the other. The only accessory she didn't wear was the set of paw footies - they looked far too ridiculous and were simply too scratchy to be comfortable.

Up front behind the steering wheel, Wynne broke out in a wide grin at the sight of what the road ahead held in store for them. "Yuh, darlin'…. them truckin' songs sure did da trick 'cos he' we be alreddy," she said, nodding toward the T-intersection that led to the access road at Thunder Park Raceway. The matte-black Silverado soon made a turn onto the concrete lanes that went up to the row of booths at the entrance.

Wynne turned off the radio so they'd have a moment of quiet before the world around them would turn loud and hectic again. "Lawrdie, makin' this he' early start wus tha dang-blasted best ideah we done had fer a while. We didden hafta pass many cahhh-rs an' no slowpokes at all or nuttin' comin' he… an' lookie there, darlin'… jus' a-cuppel-a vee-hickles waitin' at that there booth there. Yessirree, this he' gonn' be a fihhhh-ne day… haw, I bettah knock on wood. Wood… wood… wood?  Shoot, ain't got no wood ta knock on!"

Chuckling, Mandy reached over to pat Wynne's thigh again. "We'll knock on the first piece of wood we'll find. I'm sure it won't mind waiting for us."

"Haw, it bettah not!  Okeh… he' we go an' all."

Wynne brought the Silverado down to the 10 miles per hour speed limit so she wouldn't get in trouble with the law. The organizers of the dog show still only had one booth open, but it looked as if they were ready to open more when the pressure would start building as several of them were in the process of being readied by the fairgrounds' regular groundskeepers.

"Howdy, pardnah!" Wynne said to the booth operator once they came to a halt in front of the glass window. "Lawrdie, it sure be dif'rent an' all not ta hafta get one o' them there general admis-shun tickets fer da big event, haw?  I reckon we jus' need-a buy one o' them there all-day parkin' permits instead, okeh?  How much them things be?"

'That'll be eighteen dollars, Ma'am,' the operator said through a small, circular hole in the booth's large pane.

"Hooooooly shittt!  Eighteen bucks fer parkin'?!" Wynne cried - it made the booth operator so startled he jerked back which nearly made his swivel-chair take off without him. "Lawwwwr-die… okeh… okeh, yuh, okeh… eighteen bucks fer parkin'. Okeh. Say, pardnah, can y'all crack this he' twentah?" she continued as she held up a $20 bill.

'I'm afraid not, Ma'am. We don't have access to cash here.'

"Haw, shoot… okeh, it gonn' be plastic, then," Wynne said, swapping the bill for her wallet and credit card.

---

Once they had reversed into a parking space in section #2, Wynne let the dogs out to run free for the last time in a long while. The air held a chilly edge as the perpetual desert breeze swept over the Raceway, so she closed her denim jacket and donned a pair of stylish gloves. As always, she followed the Cowpoke fashion requirements to the letter by having the red bandanna peek out of her left rear pocket.

After Mandy had walked around the front of the truck in a stroll rather than her patented stride, they took time out of their busy schedules for the item that would always be at the top of the agenda: a handful of little kisses.

Wynne finished the short kissing-session by adding a smooch on Mandy's blonde mop-top and hooking their arms together. "Yuh, this he' day gonn' be fihhh-ne. We gonn' have mebbe a li'l-ol' beer an' deffa-nete-ly a big-ass burgah or som'tin… bettah not have a hawt dawg in this he' comp'ny, haw?"

"We better not," Mandy said with a grin.

"Yuh. An' them dawgs gonn' be competin' in them contests an' events an' whutnot. Jus' too bad we be in parkin' sec-shun numbah two."

As Wynne spoke, she looked at the vehicles closest to her Silverado: an older-model GMC long-bed truck was parked to their left while the right-hand spot was occupied by a 10-seater Dodge minibus. The Dodge was clearly an official vehicle as it had been vinyl-wrapped in the familiar colors and logos of Cazamore Pet Foods Corp. - a four-by-four-foot portrait of Ricky The Happy Dog, Cazamore's current mascot, graced the side of the vehicle.

Mandy cocked her head to shoot a puzzled glance in Wynne's direction. "Why is that, hon?  There's plenty of room here… and we found a good spot not too far from the access gate to the infield."

"Yuh, but I woulda preferred sec-shun one, three or eight. Eight is bein' repaved so that be off-limits until that there racin' season starts an'… lemme see… yuh, sec-shun three ain't even open yet. Anyhows. Sec-shun one sure always reminds me o' that there D-E-I Pennzoil Monte Cahhhr-lo back in them good, ol' days, or even that there Trackhow-se Camarah now. But numbah two… whah, that be a Fohhhh-rd numbah, yuh?"

Mandy scratched an eyebrow for a moment or two before she broke out in a long chuckle. "I see. Well, let's get the leashes on the girls. It's time to find out what's shaking here."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

---

The attitudes of the dogs couldn't be more different as the four members of the Jalinski-Donohue family strolled along the paved forecourt en route to the access gate that would take them into the infield.

Being confined by the despised leash had Blackie dragging her feet and often shaking her head in the hope the darn thing would fall off, but Goldie was literally all over the place in a fit of boundless giddiness that saw her sniffing all and sundry, rubbing her fur against complete strangers and letting out a hundred happy yaps at the countless dogs they encountered along the way.

"Haw, this be kinda weird an' all," Wynne said as they went through the pair of spectator gates that led to the infield. "I mean, lookie ovah yondah at that there main grandstand there… ain't it weird seein' it all empty-like?  It wussen even open fer spectatahs or nuttin'. Okeh, not that it would be any fun sittin' up there when all the ac-shun be goin' on down he', but still… yuh. Weird."

"Yes, it does look like a ghost town, doesn't it?" Mandy said, looking at the tall, wide concrete grandstand that lined the entire front straight of the dirt oval. Two of the groundskeepers worked on something on one of the upper rows, but it took place too far from the infield to see any details.

In Thunder Park Raceway's infield section, everything was just as hectic as on the busiest days of the year's racing schedule. Hundreds of people and an even greater number of dogs milled about even at that time of the morning. The level of noise created by all those two-and-four-legged creatures was deafening and just as loud as when the race cars warmed up their engines or took to the track on a qualifying heat or even the finals.

Blackie and Goldie shared a long look before they both let out what could only be described as doggy-chatter. A long sequence of woofs and yaps rolled back and forth between them that meant 'Oh brother, I'm going to get a headache before this is all over…' -- 'No, this is so much fun!  Would you look at all this?!' -- 'I'm looking, all right. Looking and disliking what I'm seeing.' -- 'You can be such a grouch sometimes. I'm loving it!' -- 'In any case, we're going to face some stiff competition today, that's a fact. Look at those meathead bruisers over there.'

The dogs Blackie referred to were overly muscular fighting dogs who were held on very short leashes by a pair of Humans who appeared to be on a similar level of meatheaded-ness as their dogs. The foursome strode ahead to get to a small stage set up to display the special breeds preferred by that crowd.

Goldie only needed a single glance at the ferocious hounds before she broke out in a shiver and a sequence of brief yaps that meant 'La-la-la-la, I can't hear you!'

---

The infield had been split into several zones that would each host different contests over the course of the weekend: a square area had been cordoned off for the time being, but the signs said it would host an Attack Show later on Saturday - undoubtedly starring the bruisers Blackie and Goldie had seen.

The advanced Agility course was just inside and to the right of the main entrance, with a smaller, easier course for more inexperienced and/or older dogs next to it.

A runway 45-feet long, dressed in pink cloth, needed no explanation neither did a hedge maze that would see the contestants search for the right route to a snack or two - the banner advertising Professor Bassett T. Hound's A-MAZE-ing Labyrinth featured a cartoon dog wearing a deerstalker and holding a magnifying glass just like Sherlock Holmes.

Three footpaths snaked their way through the various activity zones to give the visitors easy access to everything. Savvy entrepreneurs had taken full advantage of that by setting up plenty of concession stands, soft-drink vendors, pet-accessory stores and other types of booths all designed to tempt the pet owners into parting with a few dollars.

The far end of the infield was home to a small collection of classic, family-friendly amusements that included Whack-a-Critter, Horseshoes, Dunk The Clown, a traditional merry-go-round and the evergreen Wheel of Fortune. As to be expected of the gambling-friendly state of Nevada, a small cluster of slot machines had been set up beyond the amusements. Merry music already played from the area, but it didn't appear as if too many families had been drawn in yet.

"Haw, this place sure be rockin'!" Wynne said as she craned her neck to take in the colorful sights - she needed to keep a firm grip on Goldie's leash at all times or else the excited dog would run off in a heartbeat. "Lawrdie, I be gettin' flashbacks he'!  Yessirree, I be gettin' flashbacks ta them there gigantoh fairs an' all them things back hoah-me in Shallah Pond, Texas!"

"I'll bet," Mandy said with a grin. She kept Blackie on a short leash at all times, but even though scores of other dogs came over to say hello, the black German Shepherd was subdued to the point of appearing melancholic. In short, the pleasant lack of drama meant that Mandy could maintain a firm, loving grip on Wynne's hand as they strolled along the path.

Wynne nodded as she continued to take in the colorful spectacle around them. "Yuh… them days out at tha fairgrounds where that there Baptist congrega-shun and the Associa-shun o' Housewives offen held public prayah meetin's an' open-air bingo events. All them things. Yessir… o' course, there ain't no reli-guss stuff nowhe'ah 'round he' that I can see… d'ohhhhh!"

The words had barely left Wynne's mouth when she found herself face to face with none other than one of her long-time nemeses: Tiffany Worth - the newest Mission Chief of the Virgin Tower Religious Organization. Just like in their run-ins at the trailer park and the Bed & Breakfast, a team of well-dressed missionaries followed Tiffany around like goslings to a mother goose.

The shock and horror was split equally between Wynne and Tiffany who was, as always, dressed impeccably in dark shoes and a somber, charcoal-gray skirt-suit. The Mission Chief recovered first. Clutching her indispensable document folder filled with introductory reading material, she sent Wynne several Evil Eyes before she hurried away to gain plenty of distance between herself and the tall, denim-clad devil in disguise.

"Lawwwwwwwwwr-die…" Wynne said once she had regained the ability to speak in her regular tones. "They let anybodda in he'… dag-nabbit. Who we gonn' run inta next?  Artie dang-blasted Rains?"

Mandy had only heard the last part of Wynne's croak, but she hurried over to her partner to shoot her a pointed look. "Don't. Even. Think. It," she said in an edgy voice that she took the sting out of with a subsequent wink.

Wynne blinked several times before she whipped off her hat and shook her head in shame. "Haw… yuh. I dunno whaddaindahell I done said that fer. Y'all know how them things I spew out got a tendency ta come true an' all. An' don't ferget, we still ain't found no wood ta knock on or nuttin'," she continued, plonking the cowboy hat back onto her dark locks. "Anyhows. I need mah whissel wetted. Les'go find one o' them there beve-ritch vendahs, yuh?  Haw, mebbe we gonn' find a beer tent or som'tin."

Chuckling, Mandy hooked her arm inside Wynne's to carry on. Down below, Blackie and Goldie shared a long look before they performed identical doggy-shrugs and let their owners take them further into the busy infield.

-*-*-*-

Despite the cheerful nature of their surroundings, Wynne's mood was headed due south in a hurry. The reason was simple: the first, second, third and fourth beverage vendors they visited in various spots in the infield had no beer for sale.

The fifth vendor actually found them when his transport bicycle thumped into Wynne's legs, but that also failed to bring any salvation in the shape of barley, hops or malt as the young man worked for McKendrick's Juice Co., Est. 1997.

The sixth vendor seemed more promising when it came to the Brew Of The Gods so Wynne and Goldie tagged onto the end of the line. Mandy and Blackie joined them before long. "Howdy ag'in, darlin'," Wynne said as she turned her head to look at Mary-Lou Skinner's retreating form.

As expected, the senior member of the Town Council had brought her tiny Chihuahua Foo-Foo to the big event. The asthmatic woman needed to carry the miniature dog or else it would be stomped flat by some of the bigger hounds there - not out of malice, but simply because the Great Danes, the Broholmers and the Rottweilers didn't even recognize the spindly shape as a fellow canine.

Chuckling, Wynne turned back to Mandy. "Did y'all greet ol' Mary-Lou from me?"

"I did."

"Okeh. She done hadda look on her face that said there wus som'tin she didden 'xactly enjoy. Haw, that wussen y'all, wus it?"

"Not as such, although we did get into something of an argument during a Council meeting this week," Mandy said as she followed Wynne's lead to look at Mary-Lou walking away. "Her asthma is bothering her. Her doctor has prescribed a new medicine that's cheaper but less effective."

"Owch. I sure hope I can avoid shit like that when I grow up… or grow ol'. Or whutevah. Anyhows. This he' line sure does move slow, haw?  Lawrdie, them folks up yondah bettah have a beer fer me when we get there an' all…"

---

"Whaddahell all y'all mean y'all don't got no beer?" - Wynne's eyes narrowed down into blue slits as she spoke. At the same time, she pushed her cowboy hat forward to look like a perfectly menacing gunslinger of yore.

The young people behind the booth's counter - a guy and a gal in their early twenties - shot each other nervous glances. "We only sell healthy drinks, Miss. Carbonated and uncarbonated mineral water, tonic water, spring water, lemon-flavored water, peach-flavored water, orange-flavored water, grape-flavored water, apricot-flavored water, watermelon-"

"Lemme guess… watahmelon-flavah'd watah?"

"Yes…"

"Yuh, okeh. Much obliged. Yuh. Whah, ain't that bayu-tah-ful?  Lawrdie, I sure been dreamin' 'bout chuggin' down some watahmelon-flavah'd watah!  Fer cryin' out loud!  Thanks a whoooooole bunch fer nuttin', gals an' pals!"

The fact that Wynne's voice grew in volume and intensity for each syllable made a good deal of the visitors nearest her crane their necks to gawk. Wynne's rapidly burning fuse continued to send out plenty of sparks and smoke until Mandy hooked an arm inside hers and lead the fiery Cowpoke away from the flavored-water booth.

Down below, Blackie growled at the people manning the booth just to show they shouldn't mess with anyone in their family - Goldie whimpered and glued herself to Wynne's denim-clad legs as they stomped along the footpath.

"Dang-blasted them healthy folks," Wynne said while taking her hat off to fan her face. "I can't bah-lieve I shoudda brought ou'ah coolahs!  I done got three six-packs o' Dubbel-Zerahs in da fridge an' all back hoah-me… haw!  Who'da thunk it'd be so dog-gone diff'cult ta get a beer up he' ?  Shoot."

They eventually came to a halt somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Wynne let out a growl as she plonked her hat back on her dark locks. Mandy didn't really know what to say so she kept quiet and settled for leaning against Wynne's side to show her support.

The loving contact worked wonders as Wynne broke out in a smile and soon wrapped a long arm around Mandy's shoulders. The smile and accompanying loving glances lasted for all of five seconds - then her face fell all over again. She mumbled: "Lawrdie… if them folks ain't got no beers, can we even get a burgah 'round he'?  Or a bratwurst?  Or fries?  Shoot…"

Nodding in sympathy, Mandy assessed the concession stands closest to where they had ended up - although they all saw plenty of customers lined up in front of them, it appeared as if they only sold healthy foods. "It looks like we should have asked Mr. Lane to make us a few sandwiches. Or full trail packs for that matter."

"Yuh, I reckon we shoudda," Wynne said as she cast a somber glance at the myriad of people and dogs that flocked all around them - suddenly, a familiar figure caught her eye. "Aw, lookie there. Ain't that Ritchie Lee?  Haw, sure is!  An' speakin' o' sandwiches, he be carryin' that there big-ass sign ag'in. Ritchie!  Son!  Ovah he'!"

The tall, gangly Richard 'Ritchie' Lee carried a cumbersome sandwich-sign over his shoulders which meant he could only turn around at a slow rate of knots - if he moved too fast, gravity would take over and cause him to wobble sideways like a spinning top.

He had learned that lesson the first time, so he craned his neck every which way instead to find out who called his name. When he caught wind of Wynne, Mandy and the dogs, he smiled at them and shuffled over to their spot.

"Hello, Miss Donohue. Sheriff," Ritchie said before he lowered the sign onto the ground so he could use his arms. As always when he spoke to people of the female kind, his cheeks gained a reddish blush known as Boundless Shyness. Fortunately, a certain Golden Retriever was present as well so he had someone to greet in a far more enthusiastic fashion: "Hiya, Goldie!  You're looking sweet and fine today!"

A quick Yap-yap-yap! that meant 'Why, thank you!  I do feel very, very pretty,' was soon followed by an enthusiastic licking of Ritchie's fingers.

Blackie let out an annoyed Woof at the fact the young fellow hadn't greeted her yet. The lack of attention no doubt stemmed from an unfortunate case of mistaken identity some time ago where she had let out one of her legendary thunderous barks at a hooded figure who had turned out to be Ritchie - the resounding bark had caused him to wet his jeans, but at least she hadn't taken a bite out of his rear quarters.

"Whah, it sure be nice ta see all y'all young folks in town workin' hard ta make a buck," Wynne said as she studied the two posters Ritchie Lee carried around on his sign. The one on the front was the regular advertisement for Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures while the one on the back was for the dog show itself - the rear poster said to ask the carrier for an information pamphlet that contained the updated timetable. "Haw… okeh… y'all got one o' them there informa-shun pammm-flets or som'tin?  We kinda be flyin' blind he'."

"I sure have, Miss Don-"

"Mah name is Wynne, son!  Wynne like dubya, whah, enn, enn, eeeh, yuh?  Wynne!" the Cowpoke said with a grin. "How come that be so dang-blasted dif'cult fer y'all ta 'membah?"

"My Mom has always told me to respect the elder- I mean, the grown-ups," Ritchie said with a smile - the previous faint blush soon turned into a red tide that exploded all over his cheeks.

Mandy had caught the cut-off comment and needed to scratch an eyebrow to stop from chuckling out loud, but it had passed Wynne by completely:

"Whah, that sure is good advice, yessir. So, the informa-shun pammm-flet?  I be hopin' it got a layout o' this he' dawg show so we can see where mebbe a beer tent or som'tin could be hidin'… 'cos, dang, I sure be gettin' a li'l thirsty he', catch mah drift?"

Ritchie reached under the sandwich sign to dig into the large bag he carried across his chest. One of the pamphlets was soon handed over to Wynne. "Well, I've been pretty much everywhere and I haven't seen any beer tents, Wynne… not saying there aren't any, but…"

"Aw-haw?" Wynne said, barely looking up from studying the pamphlet. Her eyes went left-to-right half a dozen times reading the paragraphs and studying the event's layout before a gloomy mask fell over her face. "Crap. No beer tents. No nuttin'. Okeh. No panic, neithah. Panic ain't good fer nuttin' 'cept mebbe when y'all be… naw. Panic ain't good fer nuttin', full stop. Ain't dat right, darlin'?"

"Very much so," Mandy said with a grin.

"Yuh…"

Ritchie picked up the sandwich-sign once more now that it seemed his audience with some of Goldsboro's esteemed elders was over. "What kind of events are Blackie and Goldie entered in?"

Mandy quickly noticed that Wynne was too busy giving the pamphlet a second look to see if a super-secret beer tent had somehow been missed on the first pass, so she stepped forward with Blackie in tow. "Blackie here is going to participate in the K-nine Agility event. And Goldie will be walking down the fashion runway in the beauty pageant."

"Oh!  She's a shoo-in for sure!" Ritchie said, looking down at the Golden Retriever and all her red, pink and white ribbons. "Okay, I better get on my way… I'm paid two bucks fifty for each full tour of the infield!  Bye, Wynne. Have a nice day, Sheriff."

"Bah-bah, Ritchie," Wynne said as she shoved the pamphlet into her jeans pocket. "No beer tents. Dang'it."

Mandy hooked an arm inside Wynne's once more to move them both along; the leashes soon nudging Blackie and Goldie into following their owners around the infield section of Thunder Park.

---

A short fifteen minutes later, they had all lined up in the spectator enclosure at the Agility course to watch a professional dog-wrangler guide a Jack Russell Terrier through the many obstacles. The object of the event was to show the dog's ability to overcome the many, greatly varied challenges presented to it - there would be hoops to jump through, water traps to jump over, ledges to run across, pipes to crawl through and mazes to be navigated.

The onlookers responded with cheers when the Terrier cleared a hurdle, and heartfelt Ohhhhhhhs when it failed to do so. Since it was a demonstration of an Agility event for non-professional dogs, the handler ran alongside the dog throughout the course.

"Haw… wait a minnit," Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. "When ol' Blackie gonn' hussel through that there race track there in a li'l while… Lawrdie… we ain't saposed ta run along with 'er, are we?  'Cos, dang, mah lungs an' mah legs an' mah back an' mah ev'rythin' sure ain't up ta that challenge or nuttin'…"

Mandy shook her head as she kept track of the Jack Russell Terrier going through the various challenges. "No. The rules are different for the pro event. Don't forget the dogs are all experienced K-nine officers. They'll navigate the course on their own using their physical skills and mental capabilities."

"Okeh… that sure iz a load off, yes Ma'am. Haw, Blackie gonn' ace that there event there, no trubbel. Ain't no dawggie or nobodda gonn' get even close or nuttin'. Them folks might as well give 'er that there cup this he' minnit so ev'rybodda can go hoah-me nice an' early on this he' Satahr'dy."

A sudden burst of hard, threatening barking and growling made all four turn to look at the commotion across the footpath. It appeared that two of the attack dogs who were to perform a demonstration at the Attack Show display had jumped into a tiff with each other instead of the life-sized straw puppet they were supposed to maul later on.

When the large, beefy dogs got in each other's face to trade thunderous barks and the occasional nibble with their strong jaws, Blackie and Goldie shared a long look.

It wasn't long before Blackie let out a couple of woofs of her own that meant 'Didn't I tell you?  What a couple of meatheads… brainless jerks. I'll bet they're inbred.'

A Yap-yap-yap-yap by Goldie acknowledged her companion's statement and added a 'Absolutely. Those types give us nice dogs a bad name.'

Wynne stared wide-eyed at the confrontation that wasn't helped whatsoever by the two wranglers who were just as brawny and hot-headed as the dogs they were meant to literally keep on a tight leash. "Holy shittt… them dawgs sure be like them rasslahs, haw?  Well… apart from da fact them dawgs there got big, pointy teef an' all. Many rasslahs done lost their teef from headbuttin' tha canvass an' all them things. Tell y'all whut, darlin'… I reckon we oughttah get ou'ah bee-hinds outta he' befo' them mutts ovah yondah go all Coo-Joe onnus or som'tin."

Mandy furrowed her brow at her partner's odd phrase. When it became clear she couldn't figure it out on her own, she leaned in to say: "Before they what, hon?"

"Go all Coo-Joe onnus. Ya know, tha ol' Stephen King book 'bout that there killah dawg, yuh?  Some folks made it inta a mooh-vie, too."

"Oh… Cujo."

"Yuh, like I done said," Wynne said, breaking out in a shrug.

"Ah, yes. In any case, I agree," Mandy said and gave Blackie's leash a gentle tug to get the German Shepherd to follow them.

Unlike Blackie, the scaredy-dog Goldie was so eager to escape the scene of mounting tension that Wynne was forced to hurry along with the leash - and her arm - stretched out ahead of her as far as it would go simply to keep up. Even a croaked "Whooooooah, Goldie!  Simmah on down, wouldya!  Y'all be bustin' mah hump he'!" couldn't stop the fleeing Golden Retriever.

*
*
CHAPTER 8

Some time later at the Whiff-O-Waffles bakery trailer, Wynne moved back through the line of excited customers-to-be balancing two cardboard trays laden with a pair of freshly baked waffles each powdered with icing sugar and accompanied by large globs of golden syrup and blackcurrant jam.

She only had to say "Pardon me, son," "Haw, I sure be sorry 'bout that, friend," and "Wynne Donnah-hew comin' thru', dontchaknow," six times in total before she made it back to the small picnic area set up thirty feet from the vendor itself.

Mandy and the dogs were already there, waiting patiently at a wooden picnic table that would do nicely as a spot for some sweet refreshments. Goldie sat high, wide and handsome on the bench seat next to Mandy so the world at large - and her competitors at the upcoming beauty pageant in particular - could get an eyeful of her and all her pretty accessories.

Blackie had withdrawn to a self-chosen solitude down on the ground below the table having grown dead-tired of all the noisy, frantic hubbub that surrounded them - along the way, she had been approached by no less than fourteen male German Shepherds who had all made woofing inquiries about her marital status. She had lost her last ounce of patience by the tenth such hopeful bachelor, and the last four had been treated with nothing but thunderous barks that would scare off any suitor for good.

The second Wynne put the trays on the picnic table, she eyed a coffee vendor operating an electric push cart out on the footpath just on the other side of a low fence set up to mark the outer boundaries of the Whiff-O-Waffles's customer area.

"Wa-hey!  Son!  Son, dontcha be goin' nowhe'ah!" she hollered as she hurried over to the fence to catch up with the vendor. "Yuh, I be ovah he' tawkin' ta y'all!  Yessir!  This he' ol' Cowpoah-k gonn' buy two reg'lars!  Large mugs o' ol'-school black coah-ffee, yuh?  Hold that there shoo-gar an' any othah stuff y'all might be thinkin' o' addin'… well, 'cept cream if y'all got some 'cos this he' be Satahr'dy. Yuh?"

A minute later, Wynne put two large to-go mugs and a small pile of napkins on the picnic table. "Haw, darlin'!  Wouldya lookie he'!  We got coah-ffee an' cream an' waffles an' syrup an' jam an' aw-hell-yuh!  It be feedin' time!"

"They certainly smell fantastic," Mandy said and picked up her extra-large waffle to give it a little sniff. The first bite transformed her face into a huge grin.

"Haw, they sure do!  Yuh… he' goes," Wynne said, mirroring Mandy's actions. The waffle came within one inch of her mouth when a large commotion broke out just on the other side of the low fence. "Whazzat?  Haw?!  Lawwwwwwwr-die, this ain't happenin'!  Cantcha see I be eatin' an awesome waffle he'?!  I'mma-gonn' get so dang-blasted peeved if some weird shit gonn' interrupt mah waffle-eatin'!  An' all y'all can take that ta da bank, yessirree!"

The commotion caused the dogs to react in polar opposites of each other: while Goldie jumped off the bench seat and flew into hiding under the table, Blackie flew the other way and jumped up onto the bench seat. She put her paws on the table top and let out several barks and strong woofs that immediately made many of the dogs around them reply in a similar fashion.

Mandy craned her neck to discover the cause of the commotion. It was explained a few seconds later when Thunder Park Raceway's Chief of Security Donald 'Donnie' Cummins and several of his uniformed officers ran past the Whiff-O-Waffles concession stand en route to the Attack Show stand.

Out of sheer reflex, Mandy assumed her game face, jumped to her feet and reached for the spot on her utility belt that usually held her portable radio. It wasn't until she felt the characteristic texture of her jeans that she realized it was in fact her day off and that she should forget all about it. Grunting, she sat down and took the opportunity to give Blackie's neck a little rubbing.

Across the table, Wynne chuckled as she waved her hat in the air. "Howdy, Donnie!  Aw, I reckon he didden hear me."  The warm, icing-powdered waffle in front of her soon had her full attention. Opening up wide, she bit off an entire corner in one go and chewed on it with great relish - several droplets of glistening, golden syrup soon appeared on her chin just like tradition dictated.

"They ran toward the Attack Show site. Perhaps those fighting dogs butted heads for real after all. Or perhaps their handlers did," Mandy said before she took another bite of her own waffle which rendered her unable to do anything but chew.

With the drama and excitement seemingly over - at least for the time being - Blackie shrugged and moved back down underneath the picnic table. Down there, she and Goldie had a small woofing-yapping conversation that ended with the Golden Retriever climbing back up onto the bench seat so the world could see her in all her sparkly glory once more.

Just like her doggy companion, Goldie had attracted a long line of eligible bachelors who had all praised her pink, white and red accessories, shiny coat, pretty eyes, exquisite stance and that certain mystical something known as Woofness. Unlike Blackie, she had enjoyed all the attention and had made sure to flirt a little here and a little there so the other dogs would remember her.

Wynne nodded, chewed hard and swigged some of the to-go coffee to wash it all down. "Haw, them big dawgs prolly got inta one helluva ass-chewin' rasslin' match. Aw, dat be their game. This is mah game right he'!  Yessir, this he' waffle he' be tha good stuff, ain't no doubt 'bout dat. An' tha coah-ffee be perdy dog-gone good, too… dontcha reckon?"

"I haven't had time to sample it yet," Mandy said, taking a sip from her mug. To allow the warm beverage to be introduced to all her tastebuds, she let the sip remain in her mouth for a few moments before she swallowed it. "It's not bad at all, but I think Mr. Lane's coffee is better."

"Yuh, ol' A.J. sure knows how ta make some durn fine coah-ffee-"

"Oh… hon, you have some syrup on your chin. Right there," Mandy said, pointing at the spot on her own chin where the glistening droplet could be found on Wynne's skin. "Careful, it might stain your jacket. Lean forward."

"Haw?" Wynne said, getting all cross-eyed from trying to glance down at her own chin.

"Just lean forward. I got it… it's only a little mess," Mandy said and took a napkin. She dunked a corner of it in the coffee before she reached over to rub it on Wynne's chin with a comical squeak-squeak-squeak sound that could have come from one of the classic Three Stooges short films. "There. All gone," she said with a wide grin.

"Whah, much obliged, darlin'!  Yuh, this he' moah-lassie sure is awesome… an' it sure also is runny."

Still grinning, Mandy got back to her own waffle that she promptly took a large bite of. Once she had finished chewing on it, she studied the pastry. "You know, I think it's maple leaf syrup, actually."

"Haw… don't mattah none ta me. I jus' reckon it be awesome an' all!"

Before Wynne had time to take the next bite, they were greeted by Gwen and Audrey Gilmore who - with their Cocker Spaniel Little Evie - had joined the tail-end of the line that ran up to the counter of the Whiff-O-Waffles bakery trailer. "Well, if it isn't!" Gwen said with a grin. "Hello, Wynne. Sheriff."

She and her wife both wore sandals, gray slacks and loose T-shirts - Gwen's was peach while Audrey's was held in a shade known as Old Rose. Wide-brimmed sun hats and dark sunglasses offered good protection against the rays that shone down from above. Gwen wore a fanny pack around her waist while Audrey preferred an old-fashioned clutch for all their essentials.

The easily-excitable Little Evie wore a set of pale-gray paw footies that looked just right on the smaller dog. The frilly-haired Cocker Spaniel soon let out a long line of introductory yaps and woofs that were responded to in kind by Blackie and Goldie.

"Whah, howdy, gals!  An' howdy, Li'l Evvie!  Sure is nihhh-ce seein' all y'all out he'. I deffa-nete-ly be glad thatcha decided on stayin' aftah all," Wynne said, tipping her hat at the married couple. "Haw, Audrey, y'all didden meet tha Sheriff the othah day, so he' she be… darlin', this he' nice lady be Audrey Gilmoah-r from up yondah in Yoo-taw, haw?  Hey, dat rhymes!"

Mandy rose from the picnic table to shake hands with Gwen and Audrey. "Hello, I'm Mandy Jalinski. Also known as the Sheriff of Goldsboro. Wynne told me you're thinking about moving here?"

Audrey nodded. "Well, we've been talking about it, Sheriff-"

"Oh, it's just Mandy. It's my day off!" Mandy said with a grin.

Audrey grinned back as she continued: "Yes, we've been talking about it after seeing there's a house for sale over on Josiah Street. We're still counting our nickels and dimes, though. It could go either way. We need a sea change in our lives, and Goldsboro seems to be a nice, quiet, little town."

Wynne and Mandy shared a brief look before Mandy turned back to Gwen and Audrey. "Oh, it is. Of course, we have the occasional drama… what town doesn't?  But in any case, the Sheriff's Department runs a tight ship and makes sure to stay on top of everything before it can grow into a larger problem."

Gwen and Audrey mirrored the brief look, though for different reasons. "That sounds reassuring," Audrey continued with a smile. "Oh, we don't want to take any more of your time. I think the line is about to move, so… perhaps we'll run into each other again. Goodbye for now."

"Bah-bah, Audrey… Gwen. An' Li'l Evvie!" Wynne said, tipping her hat at the couple from Utah.

Grinning, Mandy sat down and pulled her tray closer so she could continue enjoying the excellent waffle. "They seem nice," she said before she took the next bite.

"They sure is. I woudden object ta havin' them live he'. O' course… we didden tell 'em ev'rythin' 'bout Goldsborah, but… yuh. I reckon it woudden be tha smartest thing ta say when they still be makin' up their minds an' all. Anyhows. That be fer anothah time, haw?"

"Definitely."

---

A couple of minutes of chewing and sipping later, Donnie Cummins and two of his uniformed officers walked back past the Whiff-O-Waffles picnic area. The burly mid-thirty-something - whose teen dream of pursuing a career in the California State Police had been thwarted by his color blindness - spotted Wynne and Mandy sitting at the table, so he made a left-hand turn to walk over there. "Hiya, Wynne!  Hello, Sheriff Jalinski," he said as he put out his hand for the traditional shaking.

"Howdy, Donnie!  Lawrdie, we gonn' hafta take a rain-check on that there handshakin' there 'cos I sure be sticky way-da-hell up ta mah elbows!" Wynne said and held out her glistening fingers so Security Chief could see for himself.

"Okay… thanks for the warning!  Sheriff, you seem different somehow," Donnie said, moving to the other half of the Jalinski-Donohue household instead.

Mandy had used a protective napkin through her waffly adventure so she had managed to stay dry and un-sticky for the most part - it meant she was able to complete the handshake. "It's my day off, Chief. Today, I'm just Mandy."

Donnie Cummins, whose uniform consisted of black boots, dark-brown pants, a black, insulated jacket and a black baseball cap that had Thunder Park Security printed on it in white, grinned at the news. "All right. I wish it was my day off!  Have you guys ever seen anything like this?  It's nothing shy of chaotic around here. Not even the rowdy spring breakers who rented the track last year caused this much hooplah. The spectators expect… no, make that demand… that we do this, do that, do everything for them. That's what the groundskeepers are for!  Not the security detail, but… they don't understand that."

"Yuh," Wynne added, "an' all them dawggies, too!  Lawrdie, there be dawggies yappin' an' woofin' an' barkin' an' whinin' an' howlin' an' whutnot ev'rywhere. An' all them tiny, li'l puppies an' reg'lar-sized dawgs an' big-ass hounds an' sniffin' coondawgs an' them there awesome wolfhounds an' all. Okeh, I reckon that be kinda inevitable considerin' this he' gig be a dawg show, an'… an'… som'tin. Haw, ain't sure where I wus goin' with that. Nevah mind."

Donnie briefly furrowed his brow as he tried to parse Wynne's stream-of-consciousness. When he reached the end of her sentence without having discovered much in the way of logic, he shrugged and turned back to the Sheriff. "Okay. We responded to a code two just now. The initial reports were code threes, and there was even someone who called in a code one, but it wasn't that bad yet when we got there."

"I see," Mandy said. "With all these people, disturbances are inevitable."

"Yes-"

Wynne held her to-go coffee mug aloft to break into the conversation in the politest possible fashion. "Haw, Donnie, fella!  Whaddahell them codes mean fer us folks who don't speak-a no po-leese lang-vitch or nuttin'?" she said before chugging down the last of her coffee.

"A code one is aggravated assault with the use of a deadly weapon. Code two is also an aggravated assault only without the use of a weapon. Code three-"

"Haw, dat be mah favah-rite numbah right there!  Yessir!"

Donnie briefly furrowed his brow then scratched his neck. "What's so neat about drunken disorderly with aggressive behavior?"

Wynne looked at the Security Chief with large, round eyes that only slowly went back to normal. "Aw… okeh… yuh, that wussen whut I done meant or nuttin'. Yuh… drunken disorderly sure ain't neat at all, nosirree… ya see, Donnie, numbah three be that there… aw, nevah mind."

"Okay?" Donnie said, once more turning to Mandy for even the smallest explanation. When all he got was a smile and a shrug from the off-duty Sheriff, he continued: "Anyway, on my way over to the Attack show, all I could think of was 'Gawd, what if we have to face rabid dogs?' Well, it turned out to be rabid handlers instead. A couple of real dumbbells who tried to kick each other's behinds-"

"Those foo's gotta be them there wranglahs we done saw, darlin'!" Wynne said, waving her empty mug in Mandy's direction. "Yuh, they sure wus a-cuppel-a dumbbells, awright. Haw, that be a good expres-shun, Donnie. I'mma-gonn' steal that, if y'all don't mind or nuttin'."

"Be my guest," Donald said with a grin. "As it turns out, the dogs that had been at the root of the mess had sorted it out between themselves by the time we got there. They were just sitting there watching their owners duking it out!"

Unlike Mandy, Donnie did in fact have a walkie-talkie on his utility belt, and it chose that moment to let out a squawk and a semi-garbled message - it seemed his presence was required elsewhere. "Damn, I gotta run. See ya, Wynne. Bye, Sheriff," he said as he tipped his cap at the Last Original Cowpoke and the Sheriff of Goldsboro.

"Bah-bah, Donnie!  Tawk ta y'all latah!" Wynne cried, waving her own hat high in the air. Once it was back on her locks, she pushed the empty coffee mug and waffle-tray to the side to have room to put her denim-clad elbows on the table. "Haw. Now what we gonn' do, darlin'?"

"Well, the starting time for Blackie's Agility event is at noon, right?"

"I reckon. Iz whut it done says in that there pammm-flet, anyhows."

"Right," Mandy said with a nod. "I'm guessing we need to get her signed in so the event officials can verify that she's here… and I think we should get that done before Goldie's beauty pageant in case it runs longer than scheduled."

"Now, that there is whut I done call one helluva good point, darlin'. Yuh. We bettah get that done ASAP. An' I got a ques-chun connected ta that point," Wynne said as she leaned forward to take the pamphlet from her rear pocket. "Aw… aw… lemme see… aw… shoot, I ain't sure it be… haw… I reckon it ain't listed. Or mebbe I jus' ain't seein' it. Anyhows, mebbe y'all can figgah it out," she continued as she handed the six-page pamphlet to Mandy.

Mandy winked. "It would ease the search if I knew what I was looking for, hon."

"Yuh, sure does sound logical an' all," Wynne said, pushing her hat back from her brow. "Naw, I wus jus' wonderin' if we hafta pay mo' o' them there registra-shun fees or som'tin. I woudden put it past them money-grabbahs ta cook up som'tin else as well."

"All right. Let me see…"

The text written on the various pages of the pamphlet was soon put under great scrutiny. Though Mandy's eyes zipped across the various lines and paragraphs, she didn't find much in the way of usable information.

She came up short finding what Wynne had asked for, but the tidbit she did in fact find made her take a very deep breath and smack her free hand onto the table top. The sleeves of her Letterman jacket and her shirt were soon yanked upward so she could check her wristwatch - a long, dark groan escaped her as she promptly bolted to her feet.

Wynne jerked upright at this unexpected action on Mandy's part. "Whaddinda-wohhhh-rld?" she cried, staring wide-eyed at her partner's frantic state.

To Mandy's left, Goldie whimpered and dove for cover under the table. The Golden Retriever went down there so fast that she stumbled over Blackie's back and ended up in a mess of doggy-legs that took plenty of sorting - and woofing - to straighten out.

"Wynne!  The sign-in for the Agility event closes in five minutes!" Mandy said, thumping an index finger onto the pamphlet several times in a row to underscore her words.

"Awwwwwww-shittt!  We gotta hussel!" Wynne cried, managing to jump up from the bench at the picnic table without thumping into anything or anyone. While Mandy hurriedly took care of a spooked Goldie and a puzzled Blackie, Wynne scooped up all their litter and dumped it into the nearest trash can before she took off for the booth at the K9 Agility event.

---

Storming along the footpath to literally beat the clock, the four racers caused quite a stir among the other visitors. Some cast disapproving glances and uttered various disparaging comments at Wynne & Co. while others cheered them on without actually knowing what all the running was for.

Had Wynne had time to think, she would undoubtedly have described her approach as 'taking every corner on the edge of adhesion' like a classic NASCAR Winston Cup stock car at Darlington, The Track Too Tough To Tame, but since her neurons had no time whatsoever for any kind of thought process, a better analogy would be that she took the corner on the very edges of her cowboy boots - her arm was once more stretched out far ahead of her as Goldie acted as the crowd-piercer and pacesetter.

Leading the way up front, the Golden Retriever didn't fully understand the context of the mad dash, but Chase Your Tail had always been her favorite game so if her owners wanted to play it, they'd definitely get their money's worth.

"Whooooooah, dawggie!  Hit them brakes, girl!" Wynne cried as they nearly raced past the tent at the entrance to the Agility course. The amount of litter on the ground offered a hint that a long line of people had waited there earlier on, but the members of the extended Jalinski-Donohue household were the only ones there now.

Goldie came to a four-paw stop right in the middle of the footpath. Perfectly content with the fact she seemed to have won the game, she let her tongue hang out and waited for the treat she was sure would follow.

Huffing, puffing, moaning, groaning and panting far worse than her dog, Wynne needed to use the sleeve of her jacket to wipe her brow. A look over her shoulder confirmed that Mandy and Blackie had almost caught up going at a far more sedate pace. "Haw, we be he'… but there ain't nobodda else he', darlin'. Ya reckon we done missed that there deadline aftah all?"

"We have two minutes to spare," Mandy said after she had glanced at her wristwatch. She looked up at once when she caught a glimpse of an official-looking fellow walking toward them. "Look, there's one of them now… okay, we need the registration card… Wynne?  The card?  Wynne… Wynne, we need the card!"

"Haw?  Shoot, yuh… the card… got it right he' an' all," Wynne said and dug into her jacket's right-hand side pocket. No card. Then she tried the left-hand side pocket. No card. The right-hand thigh pocket of her jeans came next, but all she found there were the sets of keys for the Silverado and their trailer. Patting down her remaining pockets finally yielded the desired result when she found the elusive card hiding behind the red bandanna in her left-rear pocket. "Good shittt almighty, that wus durn close, that… betcha done thunk I had lost that there durn thing somewhere, haw?" she said as she whipped it up so she could present it to the Agility official.

"Not in the least," Mandy said in a bone-dry voice while her tongue tried to poke through her cheek. "I thought you'd forgotten it back home on the dresser."

Smirking, Wynne let out an embarrassed snicker at herself and her occasional lapses in concentration, but she needed to assume a neutral expression when the event official finally reached them. "Howdy, Mista!  This he' be a registra-shun card fer that there awesome black dawg down there fer this he' Agility race, yessirree!"

The event official was in his mid-forties and the owner of a semi-bald head, a pair of stern eyes, a large, beakish nose and a mouth that was even sterner than the other parts of his face. He wore round reading glasses of such a strength that his gray eyes seemed extraordinarily large. He was dressed in an old-fashioned felt hat and a pale-brown smock that reached his knees - underneath the smock's lower hem, a pair of pale-gray slacks featuring sharp creases were visible. Loafers that were even more old-fashioned than his felt hat rounded off the ensemble.

"Good morning. I'm Chester Duffield," he said in a disinterested voice. Although he reached out, it was to get the card rather than to shake Wynne and Mandy's hands.

Down on the ground, Blackie and Goldie rubbed shoulders and exchanged a few yaps and woofs that proved they were excited and somewhat on edge, respectively. Goldie tried hard to cheer Blackie up by continuing to nudge her sideways, but it seemed the German Shepherd was simply too preoccupied with the mounting tension of the upcoming event to have enough mental surplus to acknowledge her canine companion.

"Like I done said already… howdy, Mista Duffield!" Wynne said, tipping her cowboy hat. "We be Wynne Donnah-hew an' Mandy Jalinski. She be Mandy an' I be Wynne, dontchaknow. An' these he' awesome dawggies be Blackie an' Goldie. I reckon I don't gotta tell y'all which is which, haw?"

Wynne's humorous quip had zero effect on Chester Duffield's completely blank face. Instead, he studied the registration card several times before he gave Blackie a brief once-over. "Let me get this straight," he said in a voice that held little warmth or even empathy, "you want to enter a bitch in this competition?"

"Y'all watch yer lang-vitch, Mista!" Wynne said, standing up straight. "We call her a she-dawg, okeh?  Lemme suggest real politely that y'all do tha same 'cos ol' Blackie be a fihhh-ne dawg, awright. Hell-yuh, we wanna entah her in this he' event. Whah?"

"You can't. Here," Chester Duffield said as he slapped the card back onto Wynne's open palm.

"Whaddahell?  We ain't late or nuttin'!"

The event official shook his head - he made even that simple gesture seem like a complete brush-off. "It doesn't have anything to do with that. Excuse me. I have important things to do before the first runs."

An entire sequence of little things happened over the course of the next few seconds. The starting point was Goldie whimpering and diving for cover behind Mandy's legs. The sequence gained pace when Mandy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest while shooting Chester Duffield a severe glare. A little bit of momentum was lost when Blackie just let out a sigh and shook her head - but the uncontrollable chain reaction really got going when Wynne slammed her hands onto her hips and lit the proverbial fuses of all forty of her broadside cannons:

"Hooooooooold it right there, Mista!  Whaddinda-flamin'-pits-o'-hell y'all be tawkin' 'bout?  I be tellin' y'all right he' an' now, ain't nobodda goin' nowhe'ah until me an' mah dawggie get one helluva good explana-shun 'bout that there bullcrap y'all jus' done puked ontah mah boots!  Now be a good tihhh-me ta start, Mista!"

Chester Duffield shot Wynne such a disdainful glare that any ordinary human being would have withered from the wake alone - not so the Last Original Cowpoke who stood her ground with an angry look upon her face and her hands firmly ensconced on her hips.

The event official continued to glare at Wynne until he realized she wasn't about to budge an inch. Taking a step back, he began glaring at Mandy with an even surlier expression etched onto his face. "This Agility competition is for male dogs only. And even beyond that, your bitch simply doesn't have a suitable curriculum vitae to take part. Has it-"

"One… I done tole ya alreddy that Blackie be a she-dawg, Mista. Two… ain't no point in y'all usin' them fancy-ass worhhh-ds 'cos I'mma-gonn' ask y'all ag'in an' ag'in an' ag'in what they mean. Catch mah drift?" Wynne said in a low, slow voice that would have made the gunslinging outlaw she played in her B-horror Western proud.

Chester simply shook his head. "Did your dog complete K-nine training?  Or even start it?  There's no paperwork… there's nothing that indicates it did. This competition is for proper police dogs only. We can't have household pets messing it up for everyone else."

Wynne clammed up and shoved her clenched fists into her rear pockets so she wouldn't say or do anything she'd regret a second later, but an entire dictionary's worth of four-letter words were visible in her fiery, ice-blue eyes.

Mandy had no such qualms, so she stepped forward with a look of pure, steely determination written all over her face. "Blackie has worked for the MacLean County Sheriff's Department for a good number of years without ever messing up. Not once. She's been part of numerous pursuits and operations. She was injured in the line of duty in March of last year, but was able to come back to active service after physical therapy by Doctor Byron Gibbs. All of that, and you focus on her not going to K-nine school?"

Chester Duffield looked at Mandy, Wynne and the dogs in turn before he said: "Well, that's certainly an impressive resume. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Awright, pal, that frick-frackin' does it!" Wynne roared at a volume only a single notch below the launch of the Apollo 11 moon rocket. "This he' lady be tha dang-blasted Sheriff o' dang-blasted Goldsborah in tha dang-blasted MacLean County!  May I suggest y'all treat tha Sheriff with tha dang-blasted respect she done desuhrves?!  Or izzat too much ta ask fer, haw?  Haw?  Hawwww?!  Whaddayasay ta that, Mista?!"

"Wynne-" Mandy tried, but it was to no avail.

Chester let out an impressive huff and crossed his arms over his chest. "Frankly, Miss, I resent being spoken to in such a tone!"

"Yuh-well, ain't that jus' too dang bad!  First y'all insult mah dawg, then y'all insult tha Sheriff who jus' happens ta be somebodda very near an' dear ta me… an' then y'all be all pissy 'bout it!  Well, lemme tell y'all som'tin, Mista…"

While Wynne carried on defending everyone's honor, Blackie had jumped into an offensive stance down among the legs of the Humans just in case her tall, denim-clad owner would require urgent assistance.

Goldie had spun around four times while searching for somewhere to hide, but the leash had been in her way more often than not. The hectic scramble eventually resulted in her being fully wadded up in the leash. She let out a brief yelp to inform her companions that she needed a hand or two getting released, but the shouting match had seemingly only just moved into phase two so nobody was able to hear her.

Blackie finally noticed Goldie's plight but had very little time to do anything about it herself. Instead, she poked Mandy's leg and pointed her muzzle at the mess Goldie found herself in.

The Sheriff had more than enough on her plate already, but found time to cast a sideways glance at the dogs. A sigh escaped her before she began untangling the Golden Retriever.

Once the leash and the dog it was supposed to hold back had restored their positive working relationship rather than keeping both in suspended animation, Goldie took the moment of relative peace to lie down on the ground and cover her eyes with her paws - a moment later, she moved her paws up to cover her sensitive ears instead.

Mandy wasn't about to give up: "Wynne, please… you're wasting your breath. He won't change his mind. And think of your blood pressure," she said in a quiet voice - she even grabbed hold of the Cowpoke's elbow although it had little effect.

Ultimately, she just hooked her arm inside Wynne's and dragged her away before the verbal warfare between The Last Original Cowpoke and the obstinate event official could turn to actual fisticuffs or a pro-wrestling Piledriver, a Figure-4 Head Lock or a similar move down in the dirt.

Goldie jumped up and followed with eager steps. Blackie was more reluctant to leave the living ham sandwich known as Chester Duffield behind, but her owner tugging on the leash made her stand down from her offensive stance and shuffle off after her companions. She glanced over her shoulder after a few yards to see if the obnoxious Human watched them moving away - he did, so she bared her teeth in a sneer that made her impressive canines come out to glint in the sunlight.

Wynne continued to curse and swear for the first twenty yards or so of their journey, but then she started breathing again which meant she could calm down just a fraction. "Haw, that there sombitch sure done rubbed me tha wrong way," she said in a voice that had turned raw from all the venom that had flowed past the vocal cords. "Lawwwww-rdie, I woudda ripped 'im a new one if y'all hadden pulled me away from 'im. Whadda dang-blasted a-hole… them foo's be ev'rywhere. Whah, I 'membah a situa-shun from back hoah-me in Shallah Pond, Texas, where me an' an ol' pal o' mine done went ta tha shoppin' mall an' one o' them there security guards done accused us o' shopliftin' when we wussen doin' nuttin' o' tha kind an'… an'… aw. That don't mattah none now, anyhows."

Mandy let out a long sigh and rubbed her face. She looked around the infield to find something - anything - that could take Wynne's mind off the confrontation. An easy answer came in the shape of the amusements that had been crammed into the farthest corner of the infield. Although the small cluster of huts seemed to be mostly suited for children, chances were it could bring a smile to the irate Cowpoke's lips. "Hon, thank you for not blowing up… ah… too much. Okay. With this going down the drain, we have plenty of time before we need to get Goldie over to the beauty pageant. How about we did something lighthearted in the meantime?"

"Aw, yer sure is welcome an' all. Som'tin lighthearted?  Yuh… like whut?"

"The amusements," Mandy said, pointing in the direction of the small section that echoed with kids' laughter and merry music.

Wynne pushed her hat back from her flushed brow - the volcanic eruption still caused a vein to pulse on her forehead. "Haw… yuh, whah'dahell not?  Mebbe they got one o' them there magnet duck ponds or som'tin?  Ever done played that when y'all wus a li'l girl?"

Chuckling, Mandy hooked her free arm inside Wynne's once more. She briefly got up on tip-toes to place a kiss on her partner's flushed cheek before they began moving along the footpath in a more sedate tempo than what they had arrived in. "I may have, but it doesn't ring a bell. Let's check out what they have for us."

-*-*-*-

The Mansfield family, the fourth-generation owners of the traditional, carnival-like amusements, had been touched by divine inspiration when they had on a whim applied for an infield spot at the dog show.

Although their handful of amusements had only been allocated the farthest corner of the area inside the famed dirt track, the flow of guests was so constant that they had needed to ask Donald Cummins to provide a couple of permanent guards from Thunder Park Raceway's security detail. Thus, two beefy men wearing black-and-brown uniforms, wraparound shades and permanent scowls watched over a horde of squealing kids - the tallest of whom were a mere one-quarter the size of the guards.

Scores of children had flocked to the amusements with their parents in tow. The first had arrived within five minutes of the gates opening, and it didn't appear as if they wanted to leave before closing hours. The merry laughter that rose from the classic games was constant proving everyone was having a good time. Of course, the occasional mishap and resulting tearful wailing was inevitable with so many children in one place, but it was nothing a quality snow cone or a tub of ice cream couldn't cure.

Collin's Nice Cream Co. - whose electric push cart held 21 exquisite blends for the young and old - had seen the light before anyone else and had thus found a good spot just outside the entrance to the amusements. The turn-over had been so massive that an emergency request had been sent back to their base to have an entire extra batch of products delivered to the track on the double.

The last of Wynne's fiery anger was swept away by the rich taste of the mango-strawberry-chocolate-chip combo she dug a spoon into. The three scoops filled the tub to the brim, but since the ambient temperatures weren't yet at the terrible highs of the summer, there was no risk of the ice cream melting before she could eat it. "Haw," she said as she wiped her chin on a napkin, "this sure is some goooooood ice cream, yessir… whah, them folks from Collin's sure know how ta get it jus' right. Haw!"

Mandy had to settle for nodding as she was too busy savoring a pistachio-blueberry-peppermint triple-treat.

"Lawrdie, lookie at all 'em kids, haw?  Whah, I bet them ol' folks o' theirs be happy fer tha break an' all," Wynne continued as she let her eyes sweep over the amusements. "I luv how they got all them classic games an' stuff from mah childhood all in a row he'. I mean, ain't nuttin' wrong with all them modern video arcade games an' all that stuff, but there jus' be som'tin charmin' 'bout these he' ol'-school things. Ya know?  There be a Whack-a-Crittah ovah yondah… an' a merry-go-round… an' them Horseshoes, too… an' ain't dat a Wheel o' Fortune?  Sure is. Haw!  An' a Dunk-da-Clown!  Well, whaddaya know… I ain't seen me one o' those since back hoah-me in Shallah Pond a whooooooole buncha years ago."

"Well, let's go inside, then. Can't try any of it standing out here," Mandy said with a grin. She held out her free hand that Wynne promptly snatched out of thin air and began to swing back and forth.

Down below, Goldie jumped to her feet and let out a series of happy yaps at the sight of all the kids playing at the classic amusements. Blackie's first utterance in a while was a muted and somewhat disconcerted Woof… for the exact same reason that had her companion so excited. Both dogs were still tethered by their leashes, but they knew better than to move around in unpredictable patterns while their owners had their hands full with the ice cream tubs - and each other.

Goldie soon let out a Yap-yap-yap-yap-yappp! that meant 'Oh, I could eat one of those yummy sticks of chicken jerky… I wonder if there's one to be had around here?'

Blackie replied with a Woof, woof-woof-wooooof that meant - 'Probably, but I think you'll have to wait until we get back out of this noisy mess. And that looks as if it might take a while…'

The dogs shared a brief look before Goldie let out an annoyed Yappp! that didn't need any interpretation.

---

Throwing horseshoes had been one of Wynne's favorite amusements back in the day, but the target peg seemed to be a lot smaller - and a great deal further away - now she was an adult, so her rate of success was limited. The line for the Whack-A-Critter amusement was so long that Mandy didn't feel like waiting - and the game was so hectic that Wynne saw no point in looking like The Last Original Slowpoke rather than The Last Original Cowpoke compared to the hyper kids playing it - so they strolled on at a leisurely pace until they reached the traditional fairground attraction Dunk The Clown.

Unlike the old days where the unfortunate individual sitting on the collapsible plank had literally been dunked into a water tank, the basin below the plank was now filled with foam balls in every color of the rainbow.

Even the designs of the clown's makeup and clothes had gone through radical changes over the decades: the often grotesque and rarely less than offensive costumes made to resemble plantation slaves, Native Americans, Chinese immigrants or rural Mexicans had all been replaced by outrageous makeup, colorful wigs, huge, red noses and puffy outfits typically held in greens, reds and blues.

The line for Dunk The Clown was even longer than the one at Whack-A-Critter so Wynne, Mandy and the dogs strolled on. Just as they went past the amusement, a kid scored a bullseye on the small target which sent the clown kicking and squealing into the foam balls to a loud cheer.

Given that it was a family-friendly zone, the prizes on the Wheel Of Fortune were restricted to soft toys, little dolls, small packs of plastic building bricks or simply tokens for a free spin. Because of the great disparity in size between the wheel and the children lined up at the counter, the person responsible for the amusement took care of all the spinning.

Mandy let out a grunt as she watched the person's efforts to get the wheel to spin. Her casual watching soon turned into careful studying of the method used.

The racket around them was so strong she didn't need to lower her voice at all, but old habits had a tendency to die hard: "Hon, tell me… do you see anything suspicious about the way the wheel is operated?" she said for Wynne's ears only.

"Haw?  Lemme see," Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow to give her eyes plenty of room to take in a couple of spins. "Hmmm. Can't say I do… y'all got som'tin specific in mind, darlin'?"

"It lands on a bust field too often compared to the number of them. I suspect the operator can manipulate it."

"Izzat a fact?  Well, lemme get a closah look…"

The Wheel of Fortune spun around several times before it landed on a Bust! field that - obviously - held no prize. After the next kid had put the required fifty cents on the counter, a second spin followed that also ended in a Bust! The third spin that Wynne kept an eye on landed on a Free Spin! field, but the subsequent try went to a Bust! field just like all the others.

The next kid in line was more fortunate by winning a small soft toy, but the next couple of players all landed on Bust! fields.

Wynne broke out in a slow nod as she turned to Mandy: "Yuh, darlin', I do see som'tin funky, but I ain't sure… haw… whut it… how it might be done or nuttin'. Whadda-y'all see?"

Mandy moved her free hand out to point at the handle used by the operator. "Look at the varying amount of effort that's put into each spin. Busts tend to spin slower. And I'm thinking that since the last couple have been busts, the next will be a winner to stop anyone from getting annoyed. Or growing suspicious, for that matter."

"Haw, ya reckon?"

"Yep."

"Well, les'test that there theory, then!" Wynne said and moseyed over to the counter. She put down a one-dollar bill that would buy her two spins. "Howdy, son!  This he' dollah done says I get a-cuppel-a chances with Lady Fortune there, ain't dat so?"

The operator nodded and let out a "Yes, Ma'am!" before the dollar bill disappeared into a strongbox below the counter. Moving back to the wheel, the operator suddenly happened to lock eyes with Mandy whose steely gaze offered a strong hint that she watched every move made at the spin-handle.

With the soundtrack being the typical rachet-song played by the wheel's countless pegs, the Wheel of Fortune spun freely for a while before it began slowing down. The last few clickety-clacketies brought it to a field that held a pocket-sized soft toy resembling the famous cartoon character Snoopy - for reasons of copyright, it was merely an approximation of the black-and-white dog's iconic looks, but everyone knew what it was supposed to be.

"Yeeeee-hawwwwww!" Wynne cried, waving her cowboy hat high in the air. "Ain't dat som'tin?  I done won a cuddly, li'l Snoop'eh!  Awwwww-righty!  Gimme!"

Once a small pack containing the soft toy had been placed on the counter, Wynne pointed at the wheel once more. "An' now fer da second spin, if y'all don't mind!"

On the second pass, the wheel ran noticeably slower and promptly landed on a Bust! field which made all the little kids and several of the parents watching Wynne's progress let out an Ohhhhh… in sympathy.

The Cowpoke in question stuffed the prize into her pocket before she tipped her hat at the operator - then she moseyed back to Mandy. "Haw, darlin', I reckon ya might be right 'bout that there wheel there. Y'all wanna get in touch with ol' Donnie Cummins an' let 'im know?"

"Maybe," Mandy said as she and Wynne strolled on with the leashed dogs in tow. "On one hand, the stake is only fifty cents, but on the other, it's still an unlawful manipulation of the game. And that falls under my jurisdiction, even if I'm here off-duty."

"Yuh… I hear ya. It sure be one o' them there Conan-drums, haw?  Say… on anothah subject entiah'ly an' all… that there signin'-up time fer Goldie's pageant gotta be closin' in, yuh?"

Nodding, Mandy pulled back her sleeve to look at her wristwatch. "Yes. We still have some time, though. We don't have to run like crazy."

"Lawrdie, mah back an' mah legs sure be grateful fer that… ain't no lie," Wynne said, pressing her hand against the small of her back.

"I'll bet your muscles will need some Pain-B-Gone tomorrow morning, hon," Mandy said with a smile.

Wynne nodded, wincing as she reached down to massage her knee joint. "Yuh, ain't no doubt 'bout that. An' I happen ta know a gal with an angel's touch who I be hopin' can be persuaded ta rub it in!"

A playful smile spread over Mandy's face as she leaned in toward her partner. "Oh?  And who might that be?"

"Awww, I reckon I be lookin' at her right this he' minnit," Wynne said with a wink. They gazed at each other for a few moments before they both let out a warm, husky laugh. "Returnin' ta tha present an' all… I got one o' them there feelin's that we oughttah meandah ovah ta that there runway an' all where tha othah big event gonn' happen. Mebbe we be lucky an' be first in line or som'tin, yuh?"

"We could definitely do that," Mandy said, once more hooking her arm inside Wynne's.

Behind the two Humans, Blackie moved over to nudge Goldie's shoulder. She let out a brief Woof? that meant 'Are you getting excited or nervous?'

Goldie replied with a Yap-yap-yappp that meant 'Oh, excited. There's no reason to be nervous. Have you seen any dog here that can beat moi?'

Blackie shot her canine companion a long look before she let out a brief doggy-snicker that earned her a shoulder-bump in return.

---

The family of four made it to the pink runway in such good time that the previous beauty pageant hadn't even finished yet - the sixteen-feet-deep crowd of cheering spectators lining the area proved it had been a popular event.

Flashing, multi-colored spotlights and thumping rhythmic music playing from hidden speakers created a mood of a beauty pageant or fashion show for human ladies. An enthusiastic MC took care of the introductions as a long line of Chihuahuas and other breeds of tiny dogs strutted around like proverbial peacocks while their owners tried to keep the temperamental dogs on the literal straight and narrow.

A three-person-strong panel of judges sat close enough to the runway to catch all the physical details of the dogs, their personalities and their accessories. Forms were filled out and copious amounts of notes were taken on each dog as it paraded by the panel.

Wynne couldn't help but snicker at the sight of the diminutive dogs mincing along the runway while their owners begged, pleaded, coaxed and bribed the typically headstrong and high-strung animals into completing the presentation.

One of those owners was Mary-Lou Skinner whose Foo-Foo had reached the halfway point of the runway. The senior member of the Goldsboro Town Council held out a box of Cazamore dog treats to make the Chihuahua move the rest of the way without losing the plot - just like all the other small dogs there, Foo-Foo was decked out in a bonnet that was almost as large as the rest of her hairless body.

Blackie and Goldie planted their rear ends on the front row so they had a good look at the proceedings. Now and then, Blackie leaned in to offer her golden friend a few woofing tips and pointers on what to do and what to abstain from doing. The latter was demonstrated by another Chihuahua that leaped off the runway and took off in a wild sprint instead of going to its owner who waited by a ramp at the other end.

Seeing that, Wynne leaned her head back and let out a braying laugh that made several of the spectators gawk at her instead of the runway. "Holy shittt, wouldya lookie at that li'l thing run, haw?!  I swear, it ain't gonn' stop until it bumps inta that there fence ovah yondah!  I reckon that wussen saposed ta happen!"

"Probably not," Mandy said with a sly grin that was matched by both Blackie and Goldie.

The Great Doggy Escape caused plenty of commotion and confusion among the MC, the judges, the spectators and the event's organizers, but since the show had to go on, the next group of tiny dogs was soon sent onto the runway for their own moment in the spotlight - and everyone tried even harder to get the high-strung animals to behave themselves.

*
*
CHAPTER 9

As a polar opposite of the blinkered, bull-headed Chester Duffield's attitude toward Blackie and her owners over at the Agility event, the organizer of the beauty pageant couldn't stop swooning over Goldie and her pink, white and red accessories.

The middle-aged lady in charge of the whole thing - who wore an elegant, white jumpsuit equipped with so many silvery sparklies that it seemed she had only just stepped off the stage at an Elvis tribute concert in Las Vegas - clapped her hands together in glee as she took in all the little details regarding the exact shade of pink Goldie wore, the type of the bow ties used and even where they had been attached to the golden fur.

Mandy needed to scratch her eyebrows several times whenever the organizer's gushing grew too much for the pragmatic Sheriff to handle - Wynne just grinned at the extraordinarily happy look etched upon Goldie's face from being the center of everyone's attention.

Down on the ground, Blackie was far more passive than usual and kept gazing toward the Agility course as if she had unfinished business there. When the gushing-seance took too long for her liking, she let out a brief Woof! before she got down on her stomach to make herself comfortable.

The organizer of the beauty pageant moved like a small-scale whirlwind as she redirected her attention to Wynne and Mandy to greet them: "Helloooo!  I'm Kimberley Howell and I simply have to tell you that your Retriever is one of the prettiest I've ever seen!  Her stance is perfect, the symmetry in her bone structure is remarkable and her facial features are soooo exquisite!  She's such a daaaaah-ling!"

Goldie, who had understood the gist if not the exact words of the gushing, replied with a confident Yap! that meant 'But of course I am…' - it earned her a snort from Blackie.

"Whah, much obliged, Ma'am," Wynne said and tipped her cowboy hat before she shook hands with the lady. "Yuh, we sure do luv ou'ah li'l Goldie, ain't no doubt 'bout that. Haw, we luv ev'rybody in ou'ah fam'ly. I be Wynne Donnah-hew, howdy."

Mandy put out her hand as well. "And I'm Mandy Jalinski. Hello."  Her arm was soon pumped up and down like the handle of an old backyard well.

Kimberley clapped her hands together in glee for a second time when she took in Blackie's powerful presence. "Ohhhhhh!  And would you look at that German Shepherd!  Goodness me, he's a strong one-"

"Haw, Blackie be a she-dawg, ack-chew-ly," Wynne said with a grin.

"Oh, you don't say!"

"A-yup, I sure do."

"Remarkable!  Is she entered in the beauty-"

Wynne had time to utter a chuckling "Aw-hell no!" before she realized the comment was more than a little disrespectful and even patronizing toward the organizer who clearly loved what she was doing - not to mention knew a great deal about the matter. Wynne tried to get her neural connections to scramble so they could produce a new and improved reply, but it was to no avail since all they came up with was a stuttering "Aw… aw… I mean… naw… she ain't."

Mandy, who gave Wynne's hand a little squeeze, stepped in to save the day: "We had entered her in the K-nine Agility event, but they refused to accept her when we came to sign in. Apparently, they won't allow female dogs in their contest."

"I'm not surprised. They seem like an obdurate bunch if you ask me," Kimberley said in a more subdued tone than earlier. "Speaking of signing in, let's make it official so your Goldie can strut her stuff on the runway!"

---

The necessary paperwork was soon studied, filled out, dated, stamped and signed by the gushing pageant organizer. "Here you go!" Kimberley said as she handed it back to Wynne. "All right!  Please wait in our staging area behind the main tent. It's right over there. Do you see it?" she continued, pointing at a large section of white tarpaulin that acted as a shield against the sun.

Wynne, who was the tallest by far of the three women, craned her neck to look in the direction the organizer was pointing. "A-yup!  I got an eyeball onnit, awright. We gonn' be ovah there in a flash… yes, Ma'am."

"Excellent!" Kimberley continued, beaming broadly. "When it's Goldie's turn, one of my assistants will call her and her guide out. You'll make two tours of the podium after which you must return to the staging tent. Any questions?"

"Yuh, I got one li'l ques-chun," Wynne said and waved a hand in the air. "Whaddaya-mean when y'all done said Goldie's guide?  She sure don't need no seein'-eye dawg, catch mah drift?  Naw, she be havin' excellent vis-shun 'cos she can spot that there Lafayette's Quality Draaah Feed from a dog-gone mile away. Okeh, I reckon that mebbe tha smell an' all, but I digress."

Kimberley Howell furrowed her brow and offered Wynne a wide-eyed stare for a few seconds before she snapped out of it. "Well, I'm glad to hear that… but the rules state quite clearly that her owner, or one of her owners in your case, must guide her along the runway so we can avoid any mishaps. Of course, it can still go wrong on occasion as I'm sure you just witnessed, but the rules are the rules."

"Okeh… yuh, okeh. I guess I didden read tha small print. Ag'in. Anyhows. Darlin', y'all wanna-"

"Let's figure that out when we've found a spot to wait, hon," Mandy said before she turned to the organizer and put out her hand once more. "Thank you very much, Miss Howell. We'll be in the staging area."

---

The interior of the staging tent appeared more spacious than its exterior suggested. The way the tent's ceiling moved up into a handful of peaks in the style pioneered by the North African desert Bedouins created plenty of headroom for everyone, and the perception of space was aided by the entire back wall literally being a net that flapped in the gentle, though constant, breeze that swept in from the desert.

All that space was badly needed as every inch of floorspace was taken up by dogs, dogs and more dogs who were all in various stages of severe pampering. In addition to all the four-legged creatures, the tent saw dozens of handlers, owners and random family members who were just there to work as cheerleaders.

Most of the myriad of dogs present were quiet as they geared up for their moment in the sun, but quite a number of them yapped, woofed and barked to bring their owners up to speed on various subjects that seemed important at the time - with several breeds and age groups present, those utterances came in all keys known to Dog.

"Holy shittt!  Wouldya lookie he' at all them dawggies!" Wynne cried the second she and the others stepped through the tent's opening to enter the inner sanctum. The cry wasn't enough by itself, so she threw her arms out wide to illustrate just how many dogs were present. "Haw… good flip almighty, darlin'!  There be dawggies he', there an' ev'rywhere!  Li'l dawgs an' medium dawgs an' big dawgs an' realllly big dawgs… Lawwwwwwwr-die!"

Mandy let out a chuckle when she saw the beehive-like conditions of the tent. Despite the great number of participants, it didn't take her long to eye a vacant spot they could use. "Hon, over there… an empty cafe table. See it?"

"Whah, I sure do!  Les'move ovah yondah befo' somebodda else done gets tha same no-shun," Wynne said and gave Blackie's leash a gentle tug.

Mandy didn't need to tug anything to get Goldie to move along as the Golden Retriever had already set off toward the spot with a distinct bounce in her step and a merry Yap-yap-yappety-yap-yap! on her lips.

Once they had sat down on a pair of wicker chairs that had been placed at a round cafe table, Mandy let her eyes glide over their fellow dog-owners. Even off-duty, she couldn't help but study everyone around her to see if any kind of shady business went on underneath the tables. The shadiest seemed to be a particular fashion-challenged doggy-accessory that soon had her shaking her head. "Look, hon… everyone has their dogs wearing those idiotic-looking paw footies," she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Wynne nodded slowly as she took in the sights around the large staging tent. "Yuh… but I ain't too sure if dat means we be hopelessly behind or way ahead… haw, I reckon we gonn' find out soon enuff, yuh?"

"Goldie didn't want to wear them. That's good enough for me."

"Yuh. Deffa-nete-ly, darlin'. Sure ain't no lie." Wynne soon noticed that one of Goldie's pink bow ties had come loose, so she reached down to re-tie it. After completing that task, she dug into her jacket pocket to find a doggy-comb that she ran through the golden fur to give everything a quick smooth-down.

Blackie had found a safe, almost secluded spot down by the leg of the cafe table. It was most unlike the ferocious guard dog to remain quiet for as long as she had, but the glum look that tainted her doggy-face proved the snub at the Agility course stung and had left her bitterly disappointed - not even listening to Goldie's blissful yapping while being combed could improve her grim disposition.

Mandy continued her visual inspection of the staging tent but soon focused on the dogs at her feet. She reached in under the table to give Blackie a little rub while she spoke: "This reminds me of when the Miss Nevada show came to San Cristobal one year. It was pure chaos from first to last. Scores of reporters, photographers, TV crews, cheering spectators, booing protesters, semi-militant feminists… they were all there and it was awful."

"Yuh?  Didya get ta see any o' the bevy o' Misses?"

"We didn't get to see a single second of the glitz and glamour, much less any of the finalists. The Coleman County Sheriff's Department was called out to assist the boys in blue with crowd control and all those boring tasks. We weren't even close to the concert hall where it was held."

"Shoot," Wynne said and broke out in a cheesy grin. She leaned down toward Goldie who looked 100% pretty once more - a quick rub-'n-scratch soon followed. "Okeh, li'l ol' Goldie he' don't really need no furthah fixin' up or nuttin'… one o' them there pink bow ties had come loose, but that didden take me but three seconds ta tighten. Othah than that, well, I reckon she be reddy fer her big show. Say, darlin', we need-a figgah out who her guide gonn' be an' all that?"

Mandy mulled over Wynne's question for a short while before she offered the Cowpoke an apologetic smile. "I'd rather not do it, if you don't mind. Most of the visitors are from out of town so they won't know me, but I feel it would undermine my authority if I was seen participating in a beauty pageant. We both know that everyone will film it and take hundreds of pictures… that'll end up on all the social media within minutes."

"Ugh, the anti-so-shal media. Hate that shit," Wynne said in a mumble. Thinking of said social media made her retrieve her telephone to check if anyone had called or texted her since they had arrived at Thunder Park Raceway. Since no one had, she put it away once more.

Pumping dance music started playing out by the runway. The spotlights that were all equipped with brightly colored lenses - that gave them a hint of the psychedelic late-1960s - soon began tilting and swiveling to create the perfect atmosphere for the beauty pageant.

"No problemo, darlin'. I be used ta folks starin' at me. Hell, on da occa-shunnal occa-shun, I been happy fer folks ta stare at me," Wynne said while she made sure to look her best by pulling her denim jacket's collar up flush with her neck. "I'mma-gonn' give 'em da full Cowpoah-k treatment, yessirree… boots, acres o' denim, them coo' gloves, mah bandanna, mah jacket an' mah hat… tha Cowpoah-k, tha whole Cowpoah-k an' nuttin' butta Cowpoah-k, darlin'!  Yee-haw!"

Around them, the first contestants were called out to perform their brief runs on the raised platform. To add a little more Sexy Stuff to the already spicy blend, Wynne pulled her cowboy hat down to sit just above her eyes. "Hawww-yuh. This gonn' be fihhh-ne," she said to herself.

Mandy let out a cheeky laugh before she leaned forward to pat Wynne's hand. "Hon… you do realize this is a dog pageant, right?  Not for Cowpokes or ex-pat Texans… this is for Goldie."

Wynne tried to look perfectly scandalized at Mandy's words, but she was unable to hold the mask in place for more than a few seconds - then she leaned her head back to let out a loud laugh. "Haw, I sure do, darlin'!  But then I figgah'd… whadda-hey, whah not show these he' fihhhh-ne folks a real Texas gal, haw?"

A call of 'Attention, please!  Contestant number eleven needs to get ready at the access to the stage!' was suddenly heard from the P.A. system's speakers installed in the staging tent. A moment or two went by before it was repeated with even more urgency: 'Attention!  Contestant number eleven!  Please come to the stage access!'

"Haw… shoot, we got numbahs?" Wynne said, promptly losing all her sexy attitude. "But we didden get no numbah… whut's ou'ah numbah-"

'Goldie, a Golden Retriever, and her handler… please get ready to get on stage. I repeat, Goldie, a Golden Retriever, and her handler… please get ready to enter the stage.'

Down below the table, Goldie recognized her name being called - jumping up at once, she let out several impatient yaps directed at her owners. Blackie soon joined her with a Woof-woof-woof!

"Hawwwww-shittt!  That be us!  Lawwwwwr-die, we nearly done missed it!" Wynne said as she bolted to her feet. "C'mon, Goldie-girl!  Yes, Ma'am, we be headed fer Paris, Noo Yawk, Burr-lin an' jus' north o' Goldsboro, too!"

Yap-yap-yapper-yapper-yap!

"Yuh, like I done said!  Bah-bah fer now, darlin'!  Me an' li'l Goldie he'… naw, ain't got no tihhh-me fer long good'bahs!  Lawrdie, we gotta hussel like we ain't nevah not hussel'd since tha las'time we did so!"

---

Wynne and Goldie came to identical screeching halts at a section of the tent that separated the staging area from the runway. They didn't even have time to catch their breaths before one of the pageant's assistants ushered them onto the runway that consisted of a dais forty-five feet long and two feet tall so everyone could get a good view of the contestants strutting their stuff.

Wynne stared wide-eyed at the flimsy pink cloth that had been spread over the wooden structure - it had only been fastened by regular clamps and even cable ties so it didn't look particularly safe to venture out on. At least the edges of the runway were clearly defined as the cloth simply drooped over the sides of the dais. "Holy shittt… y'all bettah keep them boots on tha straight an' narrow, Wynne!  No trippin'… no trippin'… no trippin'!" she said in a mumble.

A happy Yap-yap-yap-yap! proved that Goldie was more than ready to - literally - face the music and dance, but Wynne's courage almost deserted her when she put down her cowboy boot for the first step of the show. "Whoa… dad-gummit, I didden think this he' thru'," she croaked when she caught an eyeful of the seventy or so spectators who had lined up several rows deep to see the beauty pageant for medium-sized and large dogs.

Loud cheers rose from the onlookers as Goldie sashayed along the runway like a proper supermodel. Somewhat embarrassed, Wynne just sort-of shuffled along a couple of paces behind the Golden Retriever - she had her arm stretched out ahead of her so she could control the leash without getting in Goldie's way.

When they reached the end of the runway, Goldie performed two 360-degree ballet-like pirouettes so everyone could see all angles of her. Once she had her muzzle lined up with the panel of judges, she let out several happy yaps to offset the sourpuss faces of a few of her competitors.

Wynne, who had plenty to do to untangle the leash that had knotted itself up after Goldie's spinning, nearly missed the excited Golden Retriever sashaying back toward the other end of the runway.

A "Whoa, dawggie!" escaped her when the leash was suddenly pulled taut at the most inopportune moment: wrapped around her legs. Her immediate choices stood between falling flat on her nose - and perhaps off the dais - or hop-hop-hopping along the runway in a less-than-flattering display while her far more graceful dog continued to strut her stuff.

"Lawwwwwr-die, this sure ain't goin' tha way I done hoped it would!  Awwwww-shoot, I'mma-gonn' wreck he' if I ain't real careful… think positive… ain't gonn' wreck… ain't gonn' wreck… ain't gonn' wreck…" Wynne mumbled as she hopped along on a leg and a prayer while trying to untangle the leash. By the time she had everything sorted out, Goldie had already moved down the ramp at the far end of the runway. The staging tent beckoned, and Wynne let out a moan of relief as she shuffled back to the table.

Mandy crouched down at once and swooped Goldie into her arms for a huge round of hug-and-rub now that the dog no longer needed to look a million. Plenty of loving flowed back and forth between the two before Goldie decided that Blackie needed some support as well - the Golden Retriever hurried under the table to lie next to her canine companion. Not a moment later, she broke out in a yapping frenzy to explain everything that she had experienced in colorful detail with only a tiny number of exaggerations and embellishments.

"So… how was it, hon?" Mandy said as she got back to her feet - her arms were soon put out wide in an open invitation for a hug.

Before the hug could be initiated, Wynne let out a croaking "I need a beer…"

"That bad, huh?" Mandy said, going ahead with the hug regardless.

They shared the moment for a little while before Wynne moved back at arm's length - she managed to pull a crooked grin and a little wink in spite of her dry palate. "Haw, lemme tell y'all som'tin, darlin'… that there wus tha scariest minnit an' a half of mah lihhh-life!  There musta been… I dunno… mebbe eighty folks out dere, an' ev'rybodda done had their eyeballs on me!  Well, an' them dawggies as well, ob'visly, but I wus right there… yuh?"

"You certainly were. I'm proud of you," Mandy said with a grin. She got up on tip-toes to place a small peck on Wynne's lips before they sat down at the table.

Wynne pushed her hat back from her brow to have room for the wide grin that spread over her features like a raging wildfire. "Whah, much obliged, darlin'!  I reckon I needed that li'l kiss an' all!  Now whadda we do?  Okeh, I reckon we hafta wait for them judges ta tally their scores an' all… but aftah that?  Ain't no way we evah gonn' persuade that there mean sombitch ovah bah that there Agility course ta let ol' Blackie in."

"No… unfortunately. I'm afraid we'll have to accept that rejection."

Down below the table, Blackie added a sad, long Woof-Woof to the conversation.

"Yuh, Blackie… I feel yer pain, girl. Lawrdie, I sure hope it ain't mah rotten luck that done rubbed off on ya or nuttin'," Wynne said before she fell silent to observe the hubbub around them.

A few moments later, she let out a dark chuckle. "Haw, I reckon it be best if we don't bump inta that there mean, ol' curmudgeon ag'in anyhows. Mercy Sakes, I almost done served that sombitch a knuckle sandwich he woudden ferget in a hurry."

"Wynne…"

"Yuh, I know, darlin'. Violence ain't gonn' solve nuttin', it only makes ev'rythin' worse," Wynne said as she took off her cowboy hat to wipe her brow on her sleeve. Once it was back on her dark locks, she added under her breath: "But hell, mebbe we get lucky. Mebbe he gonn' slip-slide in some dog poop an' ruin them loafahs o' his or som'tin…"

---

The next twenty minutes went by with plenty of teary drama and arm-waving histrionics from the other owners as they ventured onto the stage with their dogs.

The well-behaved dogs caused no problems whatsoever, but the not-particularly-well-behaved owners seemed to offset the politeness of their pets by letting out constant moans and groans about this, that and everything in between - one contestant's owner even had to be escorted out of the staging tent by one of Thunder Park's beefy security guards when a hissy-fit turned so loud and disruptive it could be heard all the way out on the footpath that led past the pageant's area.

Wynne could do nothing but sit there and stare in wide-eyed disbelief at how some of the other owners handled themselves. Mandy chuckled, Goldie whimpered at the sudden influx of negativity, and Blackie just sighed all over again.

"Yuh, okeh," Wynne said, scratching her neck at the unwanted spectacle. "Now this he' sure does remind me o' som'tin I done watched in person right he' at Thundah Park a-buncha years ago. Yuh… an' it wussen even that far from he' or nuttin'. It wus a-cuppel-a them racin' dads who done-"

"Is that like soccer-moms?" Mandy said with a wink.

"Yuh, that 'xactly whut they be, darlin'!  Yuh. Well, anyhows, them two fellas both had kids in a juniah go-kart race or som'tin, an' them kids done wrecked out on da track. Nuttin' majah, happens all the dang time. Tha kids wussen even upset or nuttin' 'cos they done knew it wus jus' one o' them racin' deals, yuh?  Well, tha racin' dads sure didden see it that way!  Mercy Sakes, them folks got inta one helluva dust-up, lemme tell ya!  Haw-shittt, them fists wus flyin' all ovah tha dang-blasted place. Both them guys looked like raw hamburgahs aftahwurds-"

The P.A. system suddenly came alive with a: 'Attention, please!  Will contestants number four, eleven and seventeen please come to the podium!  Contestants number four, eleven and seventeen, please come to the podium at once. Thank you.'

"Haw!  Ain't we numbah eleven?  Haw… yuh, we sure is!  Or Goldie is, anyhows!  Snakes Alive, darlin', y'all reckon we mebbe done got a top-three result or som'tin?  Or Goldie did, anyhows…"

Mandy got up at once - quickly followed by Wynne, Blackie and Goldie who let out an excited Yap!  "Let's find out," Mandy said and put a hand on Wynne's back to guide her and the dogs along.

---

The crowd waiting at the foot of the runway had nearly tripled when it was announced over the entire dog show's public address system that the finalists of the beauty pageant would soon appear. An excited murmur rippled through the many people that ranged from babies in strollers to the elderly in wheelchairs. Cheers and strong applause broke out when the three dogs and their owners came through the tent door to walk onto the pink runway.

"Whoa!  There be a gigantoh buncha folks he' now!" Wynne croaked out loud as she stared at the countless people who all waved and cheered at her, Goldie and the other two dogs. "Plentah… mo' than plentah… a whoooole lot mo' than plentah!  Lawrdie, I coudden count that haaah even using mah twinkletoes or nuttin'!" she continued in a voice that soon trailed off.

"Public relations one-oh-one. Just grin and wave. Follow my lead," Mandy replied in a stage whisper as she put up her hand to practice exactly what she preached.

Wynne let out a nervous chuckle as she studied Mandy's method - the Sheriff's hand never stood still. The approach was copied and carried out to another great round of cheers and applause from below.

Blackie didn't even feel like wagging her tail so she remained stock-still in the middle of the colorful goings-on. She let out a supportive Woof! now and then to show Goldie she was there for her in her moment of glory, but the flatness in her doggy-voice proved she would rather be anywhere else - like over on the Agility course matching her wits and physical skills with the best of the best of her K9 colleagues.

After the applause died down following a minute or so of cheering, Kimberley Howell stepped onto the far end of the runway and turned on a cordless microphone. The countless silvery sparklies on her white jumpsuit seemed to have been given a buff-up in the break as it resembled an entire pouch of diamonds under the many spotlights.

"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Kimberley said in the same cheery voice she had used when she greeted Goldie upon meeting her for the first time. "The moment we've all been waiting for has arrived!  Before we'll reveal the top-three contestants, please allow me to say how impressed we were by the…"

While Kimberley went through a lengthy soliloquy thanking all and sundry for everything under the sun, Wynne glanced around to take in the competition. The dog who carried number four was a gorgeous Labrador in a shade very close to Goldie's coat - it was obvious from its professional stance and behavior that it was well-trained and probably a veteran of many such shows. Number seventeen, a Greyhound, seemed younger than Goldie and the Labrador. The slender breed was inherently far more graceful than the heavier, somewhat stocky dogs that flanked it.

Mandy leaned in toward Wynne to add a little nugget of trivia: "My deputies and I saw that Greyhound yesterday up in Goldsboro. Its owner was driving one of those right-hand-drive, foreign sports convertibles so we all thought the dog sat at the steering wheel!"

Chucking at the mental image produced by the information, Wynne pulled Mandy in for a sideways hug.

Kimberley Howell continued undaunted at the opposite end of the dais: "The second runner-up is contestant number eleven!  The Golden Retriever Goldie, with her owners Mandy Jalinski and Winnie Donohue-"

"Whu'?!  Winnie?  Who'dahell iz- I be Wynne Donnah-hew, thank-ye-very-much!" Wynne said loudly before she clammed up so she wouldn't ruin the rest of the announcement.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Kimberley said away from the microphone. She sent Wynne an apologetic smile before she carried on: "In any case, Goldie is the second runner-up!  The beautiful Golden Retriever wins a bronze medal and a ten-pound bag of Cazamore Quality Dog Food. Cazamore has been among our strongest supporters and greatest sponsors in the eight years we've had the beauty pageant!  Let's hear it for Goldie, everyone!"

Kimberley's call for cheering worked as the spectators all broke out in a wild round of clapping and whistling that ran for a solid ten seconds - much to Goldie's beaming delight.

"Haw… okeh," Wynne said, scratching her neck. "Shoot. Any top-three sure be a fine result an' all, but I had been hopin' fer a li'l mo'… I mean, fer Goldie's sake, yuh?  An' Cazamo-ahr Quality Dawg Food… Lawrdie, that ain't gonn' flaaah with ou'ah choosy Goldie. She plum hates that stuff," she continued for Mandy's ears only - a nod confirmed it.

Goldie had yet to see the bag of Cazamore, but the bronze medal that was held up next to her was greeted with a long series of happy yaps that earned her a grand cheer and another lengthy applause from the crowd below.

"And in second place, contestant number seventeen, the greyhound Peppermint with her owner Beverly Woods!" Kimberley said, pointing at the dog in question. "Let's hear it for our silver medalist, Peppermint!  In addition to the medal, she'll get a complementary fifteen-pound bag of Cazamore Quality Dog Food!  Yes, yes!"

Wynne and Mandy applauded the Greyhound and her owners along with everyone else. It didn't take a mathematical genius to figure out which of the three dogs had won first place and the gold medal in the beauty pageant - Kimberley Howell making it public a moment later: "And in first place, winning the gold medal and a fifty-pound complementary bag of Cazamore Quality Dog Food… we have the Labrador Lady Amazing and her owner Vince-"

"Haw, tha dawg's name be Lay-dee A-may-zin'?!  Hooooly shittt!" Wynne said and promptly broke out in a long series of snickers that didn't end until Mandy elbowed her in the side.

Another series of post-snickers rippled through her over the course of the next few moments until she realized that the owner of Lady Amazing, Vince Soderbergh, had shot her such an annoyed glare that it was a miracle it didn't burn a hole straight through her denim jacket. "Uhhh… yuh. Okeh. That sure be a nice name, yessirree," she said in a mumble as she turned back to Mandy and their own dogs.

The peace lasted for all of one minute - then Goldie was presented with her prize bag of Cazamore dry feed from the company's Quality-range that happened to be their top-of-the-line products. A professional photographer had a camera ready to snap the golden moments for Cazamore's website and their TV and print advertisements, but his frustration grew to dangerous levels when the supposedly simple PR-exercise devolved into a PR-nightmare.

No matter how hard Kimberley Howell and the representative from Cazamore tried to get Goldie to eat a few treats that had been poured into a dog dish, she would have none of it. When the dish was held under her muzzle, she moved away. When it followed her to her new location, she moved back to the first spot.

After twenty-three failed shots that had produced nothing but images of a tail, a paw or half a pink bow tie, the photographer eventually let out an incoherent series of angry shouts and groans at Goldie for wasting his time in such a spectacular fashion.

The impromptu circus act turned a little more serious when Blackie jumped ahead and emanated a guttural, scary grrrrrrowl that posed the age-old question 'Hey, punk!  Do you feel lucky?'

The message came across loud and clear with the photographer and the representative from Cazamore, so while the former made a beeline for the exit, the latter hurried over to Peppermint to wrap up the entire fiasco in double-time. The Greyhound was at least far more receptive of the free treats, but it mattered less by then with the absence of the other half of the PR-team to save the dog's reactions for posterity.

"I reckon that there fella got Blackie's mess-itch, haw?" Wynne said as she hooked her arm inside Mandy's. "Yuh, they sure be ou'ah dawggies, awright. Always reddy ta defend the othah. Yuh. Kinda like us, dontcha reckon?"

"Very much so, hon," Mandy said with a wink. "Okay, I think we're done here. Let's take the girls and find somewhere that offers a little more peace and quiet."

"I heard that, yes Ma'am!  Haw, mebbe we be lucky an' find that there ice cream vendah ag'in. Shoot, I plum fergot their name an' all… Hollins?  Rollins?  Mollins?"

"Collin's."

"Aw… okeh. Anyhows, them folks sure had some awesome tubs. Them cones done looked perdy neat an' crunchy as well," Wynne said, making her way off the pink runway holding Goldie and Blackie's leashes.

"Yep. Let's get some more ice cream," Mandy said with a grin that was answered in kind - Goldie and Blackie happily yapping and woofing in agreement respectively.

Continued

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