*
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CHAPTER 10

A short time after leaving the large tent at the beauty pageant, Wynne and Mandy strolled along the widest of the three footpaths on a lazy, non-essential mission to find the vendor from Collin's Nice Cream Co.

They were fully lost to the world in spite of being stuck in the middle of hundreds, if not thousands, of visitors and fellow pet-owners. Walking hand in hand, they swung them back and forth like a pair of giddy schoolgirls - Just Because.

Wynne held onto both leashes so Mandy could carry the bronze medal and a document folder the size of a small portfolio. The folder contained Goldie's paperwork, an ornate third-place diploma made to look like something from the eighteenth century, and a few more pieces of paper that she didn't even know what were.

They had been able to leave the unwanted bag of Cazamore Quality Dog Food behind. In a tragi-comic twist of fate, given the fact that Cazamore sponsored the entire beauty pageant, they had been unable to find anyone whose dog enjoyed the products save for Peppermint who already had a huge bag of her own, so ultimately, they had handed it back to the perplexed representative of the dog food company with a few ideas on how to improve the taste so even the choosiest dogs would enjoy it.

The peace and quiet they had sought was hard to come by in the sea of visitors. Wherever they went, they were met by yapping dogs, laughing - or wailing - kids and chatting adults as well as distant cheering and rounds of applause from other events elsewhere in the infield. Before long, Mandy's telephone added to the constant barrage of noises by letting out its familiar ringtone down in her pocket.

"That might be Matthew Jensen about Torsten," she mumbled as she dug a hand into the pocket to find the disturbing element - a sigh escaped her when she read the name listed on the caller-ID: SenDep Gonzalez.  "Hon, you go on. It's the Senior Deputy. I need to talk to him," she said with an apologetic smile.

"Okeh. No trubbel. C'mon, girls!  Les'see if it ain't possible ta find that there ice cream fella… or mebbe even a food stand or som'tin that done sells honest chow an' beer fer us honest folks… uh, an' honest dawggies!" Wynne said as she and the dogs continued along the footpath.

Woof! - Yap!

"Whazzat?  Sticks o' jerky fer all involved, haw?"

Wooof-wooooof-woof-woof-wooooof… -- Yapper-yapper!

Chuckling at how big a part food and drink tended to play in their family, Wynne began craning her neck to look for a concession stand that sold doggy treats of the jerky kind.

While that went on, Mandy's somber game face fell over her features that had previously been home to a far brighter smile. "Senior Deputy, this is the Sheriff. What's going on?" she said as she watched Wynne move along the footpath in close company of the dogs.

'We've had a call for assistance from the race track's security detail, Sheriff,' Rodolfo Gonzalez said at the other end of the connection. 'It seems they've apprehended a pickpocket and are detaining him in their holding cell.'

Mandy let out a grunt and turned to look in the direction of the breeze-block building that she knew was located on the far side of the western gate to the infield. Despite getting up on tip-toes, she was unable to look through the wall of visitors that existed between her and the holding cells. "I see. But what does that have to do with me, Senior Deputy?  I'm off-duty and thus out of uniform."

'Yes, but… well… I knew you and Wynne were going up there, so I thought you'd… well… might want to deal with it personally.'

"On any other day, yes. But not today. Is Deputy Reilly out on foot patrol?"

'No, Sheriff. She's right here. And by that, I mean we're in the office.'

"Very well. Then I suggest you send Deputy Reilly up here to escort the pickpocket back to our own holding cells, Senior Deputy," Mandy said in a voice that could be interpreted as carrying a sterner undertone than usual when speaking to Rodolfo.

'Ah… yes, Sheriff.'

"Will that be all?"

'Yes, Sheriff.'

"Good. Tell Deputy Reilly to call me once she's ready to head back with the detainee. Goodbye, Senior Deputy," Mandy said in a surly voice. She closed the connection before Rodolfo even had time to say goodbye.

Once the telephone was back in her pocket, Mandy strode over to the side of the footpath where she wouldn't be in anyone's way. She slammed her hands onto her hips and counted to twenty to lose some of the annoyance that had built up inside her - it all stemmed from being disturbed on what could be her last day off for weeks if not months depending on Barry's situation.

Her eyes grew darker with annoyance and her lips were merely gray lines in her face as she continued the count past twenty and onto thirty. The intensity of her flaring temper was finally challenged when she caught a glimpse of Wynne playing a game of Now You See It, Now You Don't with a yapping Goldie.

From a distance, it was hard to judge who got the most out of the classic game. Goldie bounced around like an overinflated beach ball, and Wynne let out a constant stream of short chuckles and longer laughs at their dog's antics.

The marvelous sight eventually extinguished the fire burning in Mandy's gut. The growl in her throat was defeated by a sigh as she relaxed her stance and set off to intercept her partner and their dogs.

---

Wynne continued playing the ancient game with Goldie: holding up half a stick of chicken jerky, she pretended to let Goldie have it only to pull it out of the dog's range when the jaws got close. Even Blackie seemed to think it was funny as she didn't try to come to Goldie's assistance for once.

"Howdy ag'in, darlin'. News from hoah-me?" Wynne said, finally allowing Goldie to get the rest of the stick so they could move on.

"No. News from here, believe it or not," Mandy said and hooked an arm inside Wynne's so they could fall into step in a pleasant, soothing stroll. "Looks like Mr. Cummins and his security guards have caught a pickpocket. The fellow's in the track's lockup right now."

Goldie had barely finished chewing on the prize treat when the leash grew taut. Though she let out an indignant Yap-yap at being disturbed while eating, she and Blackie followed her owners along the footpath without too much hassle.

"Haw… ain't that where ol' nasty-ass Artie Rains ended up las'summer when he done made a dang-blasted drunken foo' of hisself down on da track?" Wynne asked, pushing her hat back from her brow.

Mandy nodded. "Well, it's the same building. I can't recall which of the cells Rains was thrown into. They only have three, so it's bound to be one of them."

"Aw, that ain't im-pahr-tant, anyhows. So… dontcha need-a check it out or som'tin?"

"No."

"Naw?"

"No. This is my day off. I'm here. You're here. Which means that we're here. Together," Mandy said with a rare gleam in her eye.

Chuckling, Wynne leaned over to rub shoulders with Mandy. "Haw, that sure ain't no lie, darlin'… no, Ma'am. Lissen, I be gettin' a li'l hungry all offa sudden. Yuh?  An' mebbe a li'l thirsty as well. Okeh, mebbe a-lotta thirsty, catch mah drift. There gotta be some booth or stall or vendah or som'tin 'round he' that don't jus' sell that there healthy food an' all. Or watahmelon-flavah'd watah… Lawrdie."

"Well, we haven't seen too many, have we?"

Wynne craned her neck to take a closer look at their surroundings in the hope something would pop up like magic - nothing did. "Naw, we sure ain't… now we be tawkin' 'bout it, I ain't sure we even saw one o' them durn things."

"I could eat," Mandy said, giving Wynne's arm a little squeeze. "Take the lead… I feel like following for a change."

"I reckon ol' Goldie he' be doin' all the leadin' we can handle!  Lookie there," Wynne said, breaking out in a grin at the sight of the Golden Retriever straining the leash to find somewhere that could cover all her requirements when it came to quality nourishment.

---

The scrunched-up look on Wynne's face and the perfect mirror image on Goldie's doggy features told an R-rated tale of not finding any food - or rather, not finding any worthwhile food. Of the four concession stands they had visited, three only sold healthy food and the fourth had sold out of anything but healthy food.

Mandy had bought a chicken-salad-to-go featuring lettuce leaves, sweet peas, sweet corn, slices of tomato, black olives and small chunks of carrot in addition to the white meat. It had all been drenched in a low-fat, low-carb dressing called Cream Of Sundried Tomatoes, but that might as well have been called Blahh-Blahh-Sauce for all the taste it had.

"Dad-gummit… there ain't no honest food nowhe'ah 'round he', only that there healthy stuff. An' there ain't no honest beer, neithah!  Nuttin' but that there springwatah an' flavah'd watah an' diet iced tea an' juice an' all kinds-a stuff… Lawrdie!  Whaddinda-wohhhhhhhhhh-rld be wrong with these he' folks?!" Once Wynne had finished venting, she let the angry tones be for now and settled for throwing her arms out wide in a huge shrug.

Mandy peeked over the edge of the plastic bowl that held her chicken salad. She didn't want to talk through a mouthful of greenery, but her eyes held a look that said she supported the essence of Wynne's words, even if she did think she was being a little silly about it.

The universe didn't provide an answer for Wynne - and Mandy was too busy eating her salad - so the Cowpoke kicked at a loose pebble and shuffled around on the spot in a world-class sulk. As she did so, she let out a constant mumble: "Awwww-shoot, I sure do got a hankerin' fer drivin' back hoah-me ta Moira's, yuh?  Slap a beef patty or a steak on da stoah-ve… or mebbe sizzle a brat on tha fryin' pan an' make some mashed pah-tah-tahs an' a gallon o' ketchup an' mustard an' hawt sawce an' a whole buncha that there good stuff. An' mebbe a Dubbel-Zerah or two… or three."

Another pebble was given a whack with the tip of a cowboy boot. The small stone bounced along the footpath until it ricoheted off one of the fence posts that marked the boundary of a smaller, red booth neither Wynne nor Mandy had noticed before.

The pebble wasn't important, but the sign that said Craft Beer Sold Here certainly was. Wynne let out an impressive noise that was a cross between a snort, a surprised grunt, a lustful groan and a "Hawwwww?!"

A split second later, she dropped the leashes, clamped down on her hat and took off. Remarkably, she was able to get the maximum traction out of her old boots as she reached world-record pace to get to the hitherto hidden booth.

Blackie and Goldie were caught by surprise by the sudden departure and briefly bumped into each other before they could sort themselves out and run after their owner with their leashes dragging along the footpath behind them. Several puzzled yaps and woofs were exchanged in the quest to find an explanation, but neither of them had any answers to the unexpected action.

Mandy had been looking the other way when all that had happened. She continued to eat her chicken salad as she took in the odd sight of a huge, fluffy St. Bernard dog being wheeled around in a four-wheel pushcart - the kid dragging the cart was smaller than the St. Bernard which created a bizarre image. "Heh, look at that, hon. Isn't that weird?  Hon?"

Turning around to discover the reason for the unusual silence, she found herself all alone. "Okay… now what?" she said as she did a slow 360-degree spin to re-acquire the familiar shapes of the Last Original Cowpoke and their dogs.

When she couldn't see them anywhere, her next impulse was to look up at the sky to search for any UFOs or other otherworldly or supernatural phenomena that could explain the sudden disappearances. "This is getting a little too weird for my tastes… again," she said in a mumble as she reached for her telephone. Wynne's number was soon found and selected.

The sound of a very familiar ringtone suddenly reached her ears from somewhere close. Taking another 360-degree turn while staring in all directions, she suddenly spotted a tall woman wearing jeans, a denim jacket and an old, battered cowboy hat. The lady leaned against the counter of a small, red booth.

The partially obscured sign that read '-eer Sold Here' made Mandy break out in a long series of chuckles that lasted all the way over to the small booth, the denim-clad woman and the two dogs at said woman's booted feet. "Hiya, hon. Nice seeing you again," she said as she put her telephone back into her pocket.

"Haw?  Y'all wus away?"

"No, but you were. Here one moment, gone the next," Mandy said with a grin.

"Yuh… okeh… so that be whah y'all done hung up befo' I hadda chance ta even say Howdy. I shoulda tole y'all… sorry. There wussen really no time fer nuttin' but racin' ovah he' 'cos lookie he' whut I done found!  Haw!"

The booth selling craft beer had been designed to resemble an old-fashioned Western beer hall. Made of aluminum with an outer shell of real wood, it had been bolted onto a single-axle trailer built in an X-frame setup for maximum support. The booth had a square section in the middle of the wall that could be pulled up and locked into place like the classic Hole In The Wall eateries of the Old West.

The back wall of the booth featured a four-storey shelf system that held nothing but bottled craft beer - the various bottles were sorted after their volume of alcohol which meant the easy beers were to the left and the anything-but-easy beers were to the right.

As expected, a beaming smile was plastered all over Wynne's face as she pointed at the many bottles and their colorful labels. "Haw!  Wouldya lookie there… an' there… an' there!  Ain't dat som'tin?  Yessirree!"

Before Mandy had time to answer, a woman in her mid-twenties stepped up into the trailer wiping her hands on a towel. She wore a black T-shirt underneath an apron that was held in the same shade of red as the exterior of the booth - Ch. Alexander's Craft Beer Brewery was printed on the apron's front in a traditional font meant to invoke a sense of yesteryear. "Hello. How may I help you?" she said with a smile.

The young woman had short hair in a deep shade of chestnut-brown. The color of her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and the orbs sat symmetrically framing an aristocratic nose. She appeared slender, but it was difficult to tell given that only the upper half of her was visible. Her right earlobe was graced by a small stud that sparkled when she moved her head.

"Howdy!" Wynne said and tipped her cowboy hat like any proper Cowpoke would. "Mah name is Wynne Donnah-hew an' I be he' ta buy a-cuppel-a beers, if y'all don't mind!  Aw, an' this he' be Sheriff Mandy Jalinski o' that there li'l, ol' town o' Goldsborah, yuh?"

The young woman put away the towel and leaned forward so she could reach out. "Hello. I'm Cherise Alexander," she said and shook hands with her customers.

"Hello," Mandy said. "I guess it's your own brewery?"

"It's family run, actually. My Dad Charles does the beer, I do everything else. I own this trailer, though," Cherise said with a grin. "So what kind of beer are you looking for, Miss Donohue?"

"Aw, we ain't so formal out he'. It be Wynne, yuh?  An' I be lookin' fer some o' them there non-alcoholic ones this time 'round 'cos I be drivin' hoah-me. Whutcha got in that there cat'gory?"

"Well, we have this one," Cherise said and picked a bottle off the shelf system. "This is a Highway Cruiser. It's not a true zero-alcohol beer because that's almost impossible for the private craft breweries to achieve, but it's nought-point-five. You'll need to drink an entire crate of it to be inebriated so it's safe for driving. The taste is quite spectacular, if I do say so myself. Very smooth and not bitter at all, unlike many other low-alcohol beers."

"Yuh, okeh… darlin', whadda-y'all reckon?  A nought-point-five oughttah be okeh, right?"

Mandy studied the bottle that Cherise Alexander held up. She eventually broke out in a nod. "Yes, it's okay. I don't have any breathalyzers with me so we can't verify it. Just the one, though."

"I hear ya, darlin'. Okeh, Cherise… I'mma-gonn' take this Cruisah an' all. What I owe?" Wynne said as she reached for her wallet.

"That'll be seven dollars."

Wynne's hand froze in the general vicinity of a two-dollar bill. "Mercy Sakes, how much?  Wait a minnit, I sure ain't buyin' a crate o' them Cruisahs… jus' this one."

"They're seven dollars a bottle, Miss… it's literally handmade. The prices are listed on the sign to your left," Cherise said, pointing at a large, white sign that had been attached to the wall on the left of the counter.

"Haw-shittt, I didden see that there sign there 'til now… gosh-darn'it, I done missed tha small print ag'in!" Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. "Seven bucks fer one beer?  Okeh… okeh, ain't nobodda evah gonn' say this he' Cowpoah-k done backs down from no deal or nuttin', so he' be seven bucks in ones an' twos, Cherise. Y'all bettah count 'em."

"It's all here. Thank you," Cherise said as she first put the money away and then handed Wynne the bottle of Highway Cruiser.

"Haw… much obliged," Wynne said and tried to twist the cap off at once - when it wouldn't budge, she gave it a closer inspection and soon discovered it was clamped onto the bottle's neck like the European and South American bottles she had seen at Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports. "Yuh… okeh… haw, y'all woudden happen ta have one o' them there bottle openahs or som'tin?  Mah teef ain't whut they used ta be so I sure ain't gonn' use them ta open-"

"I'm afraid you can't drink it here at the track, Miss," Cherise said with a smile. "We were given a copy of the local legislature when we got here, and it's stated quite clearly that public consumption of beverages containing alcohol is against the law."

Wynne just stared at Cherise. Then she stared at the bottle labeled Highway Cruiser. Then she stared at Mandy. Then she stared at the bottle. Then she stared at Cherise all over again. "Haw," she said in a croak, "y'all mean ta tell me I jus' done paid seven bucks fer one beer I ain't even allowed ta drink he' 'cos mah darlin' Mandy done doodled her John Hancock onna dang-blasted piece o' papah once upon a tihhhh-me?!"

Down on the ground, a whimpering Goldie promptly dove for cover behind Blackie's strong presence. The German Shepherd let out a Woof that seemed to say 'Oh brother, here we go again…'

"I'm afraid so, Miss," Cherise said with a smile that had begun to grow somewhat strained. "I have a copy of the paperwork right here. Let me check," she said before she reached under the counter to find the documents. A lot of flicking back and forth ensued before she put an index finger on the spot in question. "Yes, here it is. It's signed by Sheriff A. Rains-"

"Artie dang-blasted Rains!" Wynne cried, "I don't bah-lieeeeve it!  That mean, ol' skunk!  Haw, that there low-down, no-good piece o' rattlesnake flop jus' done messed up mah lihhh-fe fer the dog-gone one-hundred an' seven'eenth tihhh-me!"

Mandy reached up to pat Wynne on the back. "I'm afraid it's still valid, hon. I'm sorry. I didn't think of the old bylaws. Remember when you and Mr. Bradberry had to take it all the way to the Town Council to get the Double-Zeros taken off the list of banned beverages?"

"Yuh… yuh, I sure do 'membah. An' this he' Cruisah be a point-five an' ain't no point-zerah. Awwwwww-shoot. Okeh. Okeh. No trubbel. Okeh. I be coo'. Okeh. I'mma-gonn' go back ta da truck an' find me some pliers so I can rip that there cap off an' chug it down. No trubbel. Okeh…"

Wynne had already started walking away from the craft-beer booth when she turned around and tipped her cowboy hat once more. "Cherise, this mess sure ain't yer fault or nuttin'. I be happy ta pass yer name onta some o' mah good buddies. Y'all got a website or som'tin?"

"We certainly do," Cherise said and took a small business card out of a box.

Taking the card, Wynne gave it a quick once-over before she slid it into her jacket pocket. "Much obliged. Tell y'all whut, I reckon we gonn' be seein' each othah ag'in soonah or latah. Bah-bah fer now, Cherise," she said, tipping her cowboy hat.

-*-*-*-

To get back to her Silverado, Wynne only needed to follow the snaking footpath back to the main entrance to the infield, cross over the central area and then enter the parking lots. A simple plan in theory. What she hadn't counted on was the fact that she needed to swim upstream in a constant battle against what had to be hundreds upon hundreds of pet owners, dogs and general spectators who all seemed to swarm the other way like schools of fish. Although she managed to get out of the infield and onto the central area, she still had 150 yards to go when her ears picked up her name being mentioned by a metallic voice.

She uttered a "Haw?  Whazzat?  Who that there callin' mah name?" as she came to a dead stop. The attempt at making contact proved it was undoubtedly important, so she made a slow turn to look in all directions.

The first exploration yielded nothing so she made a second, even slower turn. Countless people were all around her but none of their faces were familiar. Nobody waved at her or hollered her name, and nobody seemed to approach her - save for all the spectators and pet-owners who continued to walk past her in steady streams with their large and small dogs.

"Lawwwwwr-die, it finally done happened… awwww-shoot, I finally be hearin' voices!  Whaddahell them foo's wanna go intah mah head fer, I ain't nevah gonn' figgah out… but they there be, dang-blasted!" she cried, slapping her cowboy hat against her thigh.

She looked in all directions for a cause or origin of the mysterious voice, but came to the conclusion that she had in fact gone insane. "Yuh, whah'da'hell not?  It wus bound ta happen… jus' like mah Uncle Clyde who done thunk he wus a hood ornament fer a 'forty-eight Studebakah…"

The many speakers used by the public address system suddenly came to life with a crackling: 'Attention, please!  Sheriff Jalinski and Wynne Donohue, please report to the Agility course as soon as possible. Sheriff Jalinski and Wynne Donohue, please report to the Agility course as soon as possible. Thank you!'

"Lawwwwwwr-die, I didden be hearin' no voices, anyhows!  Yeeee-haw!  But good flip almighty, dat means som'tin else done happened, dang'it!" Wynne said and smacked a hand against her forehead - fortunately, she used her free hand rather than the one holding the expensive glass bottle. A split second later, her telephone rang all over again.

"Shoot, this day is goin' from bad ta worse ta plum ol' crappy," she mumbled as she dug out the telephone. She shook her head in utter confusion when the caller-ID said Mandy for the second time in a very short while. "Howdy, darlin'… didya hear that-"

'Yes, that's why I called!  Where are you?  We need to hurry over to the Agility course!  Not one minute ago, I heard a rumor about a K-nine withdrawing and then the P.A. message-'

"Haw?!  Holy shittt… dat might mean there be an openin' fer Blac- okeh, I be on mah way right this durn minnit… lemme light mah aftahburnahs!  Tawk ta y'all ovah at that- that- that there thing there, okeh?  Bah-bah, darlin'!  Gotta hussel!"

Several things soon happened in rapid sequence as a result of the public service announcement and Mandy's telephone call: 1) the telephone was stuffed back into the jacket pocket where it had come from, 2) the unopened beer bottle was shoved into the pocket on the opposite side of the jacket, 3) the cowboy hat was clamped down upon by a hand, and 4) the afterburners were indeed lit as Wynne set off at a ferocious pace to get over to the Agility course in the shortest amount of time possible.

---

Arriving in a cloud of dust from flying so low, Wynne soon released the proverbial brake parachutes and came to a pebble-rattling halt at the exact same registration booth where the bull-headed event official Chester Duffield had soured everyone's day by rejecting Blackie earlier.

Mandy and the dogs were already there. Goldie bounced around in a state of all-out excitement, but Blackie appeared even more apprehensive than she had been prior to the unexpected development.

"Lawwwr-die, I wus nevah off da gas racin' ovah he'!  I woulda had tha pole posi-shun at Tallahdegah fer sure," Wynne said as she whipped off her hat to wipe her damp brow on her sleeve. Once the battered hat was back on her locks, she looked everywhere for someone to meet them. "Haw… this bettah not be one o' them there dang-blasted hoaxes or pranks or nuttin' or else I'mma-gonn' be so dag-nabbit angry they gonn' hear me way ovah yondah in San Cristobal…"

"I don't think it is, hon. Look," Mandy said, pointing past Wynne to highlight a mid-fifty-something woman hurrying over to the registration booth at such speed that her stylish coat and flowery dress were flapping in the headwind.

"Hello!  Hello, are you… yes, of course you are," the woman said even before she had arrived. Her brow glistened and her cheeks were tainted by large, deep-red blotches from hurrying along. She wore round glasses that she took off at once to polish the lenses that had misted up from the exertion. Once they were back on her nose, she thrust out her hand for the traditional shaking. "Hello, I'm Trudie Orenbach. Miss Donohue, Sheriff Jalinski… and Blackie. I'm glad we were able to get hold of you."

Wynne's arm was soon pumped up and down like the handlebar of an old railroad handcar. Her rotator cuff held up surprisingly well, but it was tough going. She was about to open her mouth to add her two cents' worth to the conversation when they were joined by Chester Duffield, the original event official - the curmudgeon looking to be in an even worse mood than the first time they had met.

The look of raw annoyance on his face made Wynne hook her thumbs inside her belt loops, lean back and break out in a wide, unapologetic smirk. "Whah, howdy!  If it ain't Mista… Mista… shoot, I plum fergot yer name an' all. Prolly wussen im-pahr-tant. Y'all said ya wanted us ta get ovah he'. Well, he' we be an' all. Whazzup?"

Trudie whipped off her glasses to polish the lenses all over again. "Oh, it's such a mess!  One of the professional K-nines was forced to withdraw," she said as she gave the lenses such a rubbing it was a miracle there was any glass left. "Thank God it wasn't for an illness or an injury… it seems the handler was called back to his center of duty… or field office… or whatever he called it. In any case, there's now room for one more in the starting field. If you're still interested, we can enter Blackie as a wildcard."

Down on the ground, Goldie became even more excited though she hadn't understood all of it. Blackie seemed to come alive after her long period of being in the dumps, but it was obvious to those who knew her well that she continued to hold back in case it was a false dawn. A single Woof? did escape her, but it remained at that first one.

Mandy nodded at Trudie's words - as she did so, she glared at Chester Duffield. "Blackie deserves a shot at this. That she doesn't have the proper paperwork is irrelevant. She's worked as a K-nine officer here in MacLean County for a number of years with no issues, incidents or complaints. Not one. She has the mental strength and the skills required to compete."

"Yuh, what she done said!" Wynne added, pointing at Mandy.

Trudie Orenbach finally pushed the round glasses back up onto her nose. She let out a big sigh of relief that soon turned into a wide smile. "All right, then!  I need the registration card so I can add the proper stamps."

"Yes Ma'am!  That there card there be right he'," Wynne said and dug into her left jacket pocket. She needed to pull out the unopened bottle of Highway Cruiser craft beer to get to the card, but it was quickly done.

When she handed over the registration card to Trudie for further processing, the beer bottle caused her to be subjected to a disdainful glare by Chester Duffield. However, she had been glared at far worse by far more important people so she couldn't even be bothered to crack a joke about it.

Mandy noticed the glare as well, and she was of another opinion - not regarding cracking a joke, but coming to Wynne's assistance. "Mister, I can't remember your name either, and frankly, I don't give a damn. But I do give a damn about the way you're looking at us. I think it's high time for you to explain what's really on your mind."

"I don't have to explain anything!  You stay out of my business!" Chester barked in a voice that almost dripped with venom. "My K-nine Agility Event is meant to be for young, professional dogs only!  Not some middle-aged house pet and definitely not some middle-aged owner who seems to think she has any say in the matter!"

"Awwwwwww-that sure wussen tha right thing ta say, pal. Ack-chew-ly, it wus tha wrongest thing y'all coulda said. I reckon some folks 'round he' enjoy puttin' their feet in their mouth, haw?" Wynne said before she started sucking on her teeth.

Before either Mandy or Chester had time to reply, Trudie Orenbach handed the registration card back to Wynne. "Please, can't we all just get along?" she said, adjusting her glasses. "We're all here for our dogs, aren't we?  There's no need for all this hostility. Please, Miss Donohue… Sheriff, you need to go over to that tent you see over there… you'll get all the help you and Blackie need. The qualifying session starts in less than ten minutes."

"Okie-dokie, Trudie. We be off," Wynne said and broke out in a grin. She was about to put out her hand when she remembered the severe pumping it had been exposed to earlier - ultimately, she settled for tipping her hat.

Chester Duffield just glared some more before he spun around on his heel and stomped off in the opposite direction.

---

In the exactly same fashion as the backstage area at the beauty pageant, the Agility event's staging tent was a beehive of activity involving dozens of dogs, event officials, handlers and hangers-on.

The noise level was rarely less than massive as all the handlers worked hard on preparing their dogs by way of verbal as well as physical commands. Most of the dogs replied the only way they knew, namely by yapping, woofing, barking and growling. The hangers-on were just noisy in that Look At Me, I'm One Of The Cool People-sort of way, and the event officials walked among the various contestants advising them on the timetable, short-notice schedule changes and a dozen other aspects of a technical or procedural nature.

"Snakes Alive… whoa, wouldya lookie at dat!" Wynne said the moment she, Mandy and the dogs entered the tent - what had to be one-hundred pairs of eyes locked onto the people and the dogs showing up at the door. "I reckon we be kinda like… haw, I dunno… the only wimmenfolk he'. Yuh?  Darlin', do y'all see any othah wimmenfolk he'?  I mean, any at all?  Lawrdie."

"No, it looks like we're pretty much on our own here. Not that it matters… it's Blackie who's going to do all the hard work," Mandy said as she put a hand on the small of Wynne's back to steer her over to a vacant table.

"Yuh, I deffa-nete-ly be pleased we don't hafta run alongside her fer this he' gig, dontchaknow. Lawrdie, that woudda popped mah balloon but good. Jus' runnin' ovah he' from tha gate there wus murdah on mah dang-blasted knee. Shoot, I reckon I bettah get the durn thing looked at bah some doctah or somebodda- haw!"

Wynne had barely sat down on a foldable lawn chair before they were intercepted by a harried-looking assistant who offloaded a small plastic bag of utilities that were needed for Blackie's run - among them a harness she was meant to wear so she could be lifted out of dangerous situations without aggravating a possible injury. Next up was a white entry number on a black Velcro background that was designed to stick onto the harness.

Digging down toward the far end of the plastic bag, Wynne pulled out a somewhat ridiculous-looking, fluorescent-yellow pennant that would mark the dog's exact position throughout the run. The final item in the bag was an electronic gadget that measured the time it would take the dogs to complete the course down to the thousands of a second.

A cry of "Aw-hell no!" suddenly burst out of Wynne as she held up the entry number. She whipped her head around to find the assistant who had dumped the plastic bag on the table - even though it had only been a short minute since he had been at their table, he had made it all the way over to the far side of the staging tent. When she spotted him, she jumped up and stomped over there at once.

"Son, y'all need-a be lissenin' 'cos I'mma-gonn' be tawkin'!  Lookie he', there ain't no way y'all be givin' mah dawg numbah eighteen!  Eighteen, son!  That there eighteen be a Tah-yodah-numbah, yuh?  Aintcha nevah done heard o' da Candyman's Tah-yoda?  Joe Gibbs Racin'?  Lemme tell y'all som'tin, y'all bettah have one o' them there General Motahs numbahs or I'mma-gonn' get real peeved, ya hear?  Trus' me when I be tellin' y'all ya don't wanna see me peeved!"

The eyes of the young assistant grew wider and wider at the torrent of words that spewed from Wynne's mouth at an impressive rate. Instead of speaking, he rummaged around in a bag he carried over his shoulder. The first he found was a number 2. "Be- bettah?"

"Naw. Penske Fohhhhh-rd."

The assistant's eyes seemed to grow even wider as his motions began to grow frantic. "May- may- maybe you could say wh- what kind of number you'd- you'd like…?"

"Haw, okeh. Well, lessee… me an mah dawggie be purr-fectly happy with one, five, eight, nih-ne, thirteen, seven'een, twentah-two, twentah-fo'ah, twentah-fih-ve… an' eighty-eight, o' course. Shoot, I woudden even mind gettin' twentah-one 'cos-a them there Wood Brothas, yuh?  They be heroes. Aw… I reckon numbah three is long goh-ne, yuh?  That there numbah always goes first-"

"I have number three," the assistant said and held up a piece of fabric meant to be attached to the velcro patch on the harness.

Wynne just stared in wide-eyed, gap-mouthed disbelief. "Yuh… y'all got numbah three?  Haw, that be a sign from tha bearded gaah in da skaah, that!  Yessirree, mah dawg deffa-nete-ly be carryin' numbah three!  A dang-blasted white numbah three fer mah Blackie… Lawwwwwwwr-die, if that ain't good fortune straight outtah Welcome, North Carolinah, I ain't sure whaddahell would be!"

The assistant hurried away from the tall, somewhat nutty woman as fast as he could. When he reached the edge of the tent he spun around to see if she had followed him there - his eyes still wide as he spun around again and left the tent, having decided he had a letter of resignation needing to be written and submitted post-haste.

Wynne hadn't noticed a thing. The grin couldn't be pried off her face with a bent track bar as she strolled back to the table and attached the 3 to the harness. "Awwwww-yuh. Lookin' like a winnah alreddy. Yessirree!" she said, cocking her head to give the entry number the proper forward slant.

While that had been taking place, Mandy had studied yet another pamphlet that described the rules of the K9 Agility Contest in great detail. She furrowed her brow several times as she read - she even checked her wristwatch to get the exact time. "Hon, listen to this… the contestants have already been through a pre-qualifying run that eliminated the five slowest or most unprecise dogs. Are you with me?"

"Yuh. G'wan, darlin'."

"Any wildcards… like Blackie… must start last in the actual qualifying session so they won't mess up the runs for the more professional contestants," Mandy said, reading aloud from the pamphlet.

"Haw!  Now I get it!" Wynne said, pushing her hat back from her eyes. "Lawrdie, I got con-few-sed by that there wildcard nah-me an' all… what Blackie done got awarded wus a promotah's provi-shunnal!  But o' course it wus… jus' like in them ol' Winston Cup days when one o' da big names mebbe done wrecked in free practice or happy hour or som'tin so he perhaps woudden be able ta qualifah."

Mandy nodded a couple of times though it was obvious by the quizzical expression upon her face that she had a spot of bother keeping up with her partner's logic. She eventually let out an "Okay?"

"Yuh!  Well, da race promotah knew that a-bunch-a fans had laid down their dollahs an' cents jus' ta watch that there drivah… yuh?"

"Yeah… I guess…"

"So tha drivah with tha trubbel got a promotah's provi-shunnal. A guaranteed startin' spot to keep ev'ryone happy. Yuh. A sawbuck done says that be whut happened ta Blackie he'. Uh, sorta-kinda, anyhows. But y'all know whut I done be tawkin' 'bout, yuh?"

Mandy nodded, smiled, nodded and smiled a little more. When Wynne finished speaking, the nods and smiles turned into a shaking of the head. "Not exactly, but I'll take your word for it. In any case, Blackie will have to go last in the real qualifying… and that session will start in… let me see… two minutes. How long it'll take before she needs to go out is anyone's guess."

"Shoot, I ain't good with unpredictability… an' I know ou'ah Blackie sure ain't, neithah. Iz ya, girl?" Wynne said, giving Blackie's black coat a good rubbing.

Blackie replied to the rubbing by letting out a merry Woof-woof-woof-woooooof! that made many of the contestants closest to them break out in similar woofing. She was soon looking around as if she was assessing the competition. One or two of them looked like tough cookies, but she knew that any cookie could crumble - and besides, she was tougher than any dog present.

Goldie just sat there wagging and panting, but she joined the woofing chorus for her friend by letting out a few yaps of her own.

Wynne continued dishing out plenty of doggy-loving until Blackie let it be known that she had been loved enough for the moment. Grinning, Wynne leaned back on the chair. "Haw, som'tin jus' struck me, darlin'… I ain't really got no clue whaddahell them dawggies really gonn' be doin' he' or nuttin'. That there pamphlet y'all wus readin', does that say som'tin about this he' gig, or…?"

"Well," Mandy said and once more picked up the small document. "Basically, it's an obstacle course meant to resemble what the K-nines would face in a real situation. They're sent out one at a time and will face various physical challenges like jumping through hoops or over water pits-"

"Haw!  Blackie gonn' love that!"

"Let's hope so," Mandy said with a smile before she turned back to the small document. "They'll also have to run along narrow ledges and crawl through pipes of varying width. Sometimes, the challenges are of an intellectual nature where they have to figure out the correct sequence that'll unlock a fence."

Wynne nodded a couple of times before she scratched her neck. "Shoot, I sure am glad I ain't no dawg… I screw up that kinda stuff each an' ev'ry dang time I done trah. Like them sudokus in them newspapahs… a bust ev'ry dang time," she said in a mumble.

Mandy abstained from making any comment other than a supportive smile and a few nods. "By the way, they're required to go through the course in the correct order. If they accidentally… or deliberately… skip a challenge, they'll be disqualified."

"Haw. Makes sense. Yuh. There jus' ain't no cuttin' cornahs no mattah what sport we be tawkin' 'bout… Nosirree."

"The final challenge will be to intercept and wrestle a suspect to the ground. It says that's one of the senior instructors from the K-nine Academy, actually. Efficiency and the lowest number of penalty points will win the day, but an artistic approach will also garner bonus points for the dogs," Mandy said and put the pamphlet away.

"Shoot!  Now that be a job I sure woudden want!  Imagine facin' all them big-ass, furry brawlahs seven days a week an' twice on da weekends… haw!"

Mandy chuckled as she leaned over to point at someone over by the back wall of the tent. "Well, the gentleman in question is right over there."

"Haw!  Him I gotta see," Wynne said and shuffled around on the lawn chair. Another, stronger "Hawwwwww-shittt!  Wouldya lookie at dat po'ah sap… Humpty-Dumpty or what?" escaped her when she clapped eyes on a man who was being helped into a multi-layered protective suit that soon engulfed him fully and made him look like an NFL team mascot.

Down on the floor of the tent, Blackie and Goldie exchanged a few yaps and woofs meant to get one of them pumped up and the other calmed down, respectively. Goldie continued to fret and fidget like only she could, but at least she hadn't made a run for cover yet. Blackie was her usual stoic self, but even she fidgeted far more than usual.

A short minute later, the tent's public address system announced that it was time for the first K-nine to head onto the course for its qualifying run.

As the din grew among the people present, Goldie let out a small whimper, Blackie got up and shook her back - and Wynne jumped to her feet, whipped off her hat and let out a resounding "Dawggies!  Wag!  Yer!  Tails!  Get it?  Get it?  Haw?"

When the only replies proved to be a sea of blank stares from all the human handlers and a few puzzled woofs and barks from the doggy contestants, she slapped her hat back on and sat down once more. "Ya didden get it… shoot, I gotta be tha only Nascahhhh-r fan he' or som'tin. Lawrdie…"

*
*
CHAPTER 11

Much to everyone's delight, Blackie's qualifying run went well. Though she needed to wait for the rest of the field to complete their trips around the Agility course, she didn't lose her patience - or her nerve - and went out to do her utmost. Jumping through the hoops and over the water pit went without snags, the balancing act on the ledge offered no problems for her, and she breezed through a pair of wide and medium-width pipes.

The first little issue cropped up at the narrowest pipe that appeared too small for her frame. She lost a few seconds hesitating before she pressed on. Once she was inside it, she discovered that the narrow-appearing entrance was only an optical illusion as the pipe itself was open-topped.

After she had finished crawling through to the other end, she took off at Warp K9 to make up for lost time. Her speed nearly made her run past the first of the mental challenges where she needed to use her teeth to pull three cords in the correct sequence to open a fence door, but she aced the challenge and was soon underway again.

The second mental challenge followed in the shape of a maze that she needed to navigate - she let her doggy-radar lead her past all the wrong turns until she reached the correct one that led to the exit.

From there, she had a clear view of the suspect she was there to pacify. Racing ahead at maximum speed, she jumped up and wrapped her Jaws Of Doom around the left sleeve of the protective suit for so long that the 'suspect' fell to the ground indicating the qualifying run was over.

She let out a Woooooof! that was responded to in kind by her competitors - and a loud, echoing 'Yeeeeeee-hawwwwwwwwww!  Way ta go, Blackie!  She be ou'ah dawg, yessirree!' that exploded out of the spectator area back at the starting spot.

One of the event officials soon brought a panting Blackie back to Wynne, Mandy and Goldie who promptly showered the German Shepherd in hugs and fur-rubs. A bowl of water and several sticks of beef jerky were presented to her to keep her energy levels up, and she dug in like she hadn't had anything to eat or drink for a week.

"Haw, shoot… that wus hard ta watch, that," Wynne said and wiped her brow on her sleeve. "An' it wus only da qualifyin'!  Dang, I bettah find a chair or som'tin fer when them finals get undahway… haw, an' there be a lawn chair now!  Well, whaddaya know… such neat timin' an' all. Mebbe mah luck be changin'!"

Bumping onto the lawn chair's soft seat, Wynne took off her hat and used it to fan her flushed face. She glanced at Mandy who continued to care for Blackie and Goldie. "Haw, I almost done thunk she wus gonn' balk at that there narrow pipe an' all… but she didden!  Lawrdie, that sure be a tuff, tuff challenge, that."

Mandy got up and strolled over to Wynne - a warm smile and a quick peck on the flushed temple soon followed. "Yes, but she made it. Now she'll remember that for the next run. You know how clever she is."

"That sure ain't no lie… she done figgah'd out that there cord-pullin' thing befo' I did!"

A small break developed in the proceedings after Blackie's run. The gap to the next round of the competition was bridged by the event officials walking the course and fixing various small things that needed attention: the hoop at the first of the physical challenges had been given a few bumps and knocks by the contestants, so the chains that held it up had become twisted. More water was needed at the pit as one of the dogs had misjudged the leap and had landed in the middle of it with a Splashhhhh! that had created quite a fountain, and the three cords at the mental challenge needed to be straightened out.

One of the junior officials hurried around the staging tent handing over data and score sheets to the competitors. Wynne only got a one-second warning before the documents were pressed into her hand. "Whaddinda-wohhhh-rld is this now?" she croaked, staring after the young official who never slowed down.

Since he was long gone and not coming back anytime soon, she went for the second-best option and looked at the documents. "Aw… okeh… lookie he', darlin'. Data an' score sheet it done says right he'. Yuh, so les'see whut kinda tih-me ol' Blackie wus able ta achieve… okeh… humm… haww… weird that it ain't listed… ya'd reckon it wus, yuh?" she said, scratching her neck several times in rapid succession. "Naw, this he' snake pit o' letters an' numbahs ain't fer da likes o' me. Darlin', y'all bettah take a gandah at this he' info. I reckon it be more yer thing an' all."

Mandy took the document and began studying it. Ten seconds later, she said: "All right, Blackie was seventh fastest in a field of sixteen-"

"Haw!  Ou'ah darlin' Blackie done finished ahead o' nine so-called profes-shunnal dawgs!" Wynne said and slapped her hands onto her thighs - down on the floor, Blackie and Goldie sat up straight awaiting their owner's command. When nothing came, they shared a brief look before they went back to snuggling up close. "Yuh, that sure be da sign offa household pet or whadda-dad-gummit-evah that there ol' bellyachin' fella done tole us."

"He had an agenda, hon. Forget him," Mandy said as she mussed Wynne's neck. "Anyway, according to the score sheet, Blackie received a hit-rating of ninety-two percent. She lost valuable time and gained several penalty points at the narrowest pipe… no surprise. We saw her hesitate."

"Yuh."

"But she was among the quickest and most efficient in all the other challenges. She was second-fastest to solve the puzzle with the cords," Mandy said, looking up to glance at the challenge in question - it was still being inspected by the race officials.

"Sure ain't no wondah… like I done said befo', she pulled them cords an' opened that there fence befo' I could even wrap mah noggin 'round that there trubbel. Jus' curious… which dawg done scored da best time?"

Mandy's eyes returned to the score sheet once more - they moved back and forth for a short while before she had processed the lines of data. "Entry number one. Emperor. A brown-and-black German Shepherd. He was the fastest and the most efficient, too. Let me see… a four-year veteran of Cavanaugh Creek PD, and the defending champion of this event when it was held down at the Spartan Wings Athletics Stadium last year."

"Yuh?  I wondah where he be at?" Wynne said and shuffled around on the lawn chair to check out the competition.

There were countless dogs in the tent, but only one whose body language was a good match to a name like Emperor. The dog's physical appearance was less burly than Wynne had expected to see, but there was no denying the dog's musculature and stance. Completely unfazed by the hubbub, Emperor stared straight ahead while his handler brushed the brown-and-black coat into order.

"Good flip almighty, that dawg sure is som'tin else'… good thing Blackie be racin' with da numbah three on her side an' all. Ain't nuttin' gonn' intimidate tha Intimidatah, yuh?"

The public address system suddenly came alive with: 'Attention, please, Ladies and Gentlemen!  Attention, please!  Following the qualifying session, the following five contestants have been eliminated. Numbers six, twelve, fifteen, thirty-three and fifty-two. In case the owners or handlers of said dogs wish to receive a commemorative diploma for participating in the event, they can contact an assistant who will guide them through the process. For the round of eleven, five seconds will be subtracted from the target time. The five slowest contestants will once again be eliminated. Thank you.'

"Whah, yer sure is welcome an' all," Wynne said with a chuckle. "An' jus' like dat, five dawgs be goin' hoah-me… this is one helluva tuff gig, lemme tell all y'all."

Nodding, Mandy crouched down next to Blackie again to give her another little rub. "But you're up to the challenge, aren't you, girl?  We all believe in you. Just go out there and give it your all."

Blackie let out a series of woofs and easy barks as she was treated to the loving rub. When Goldie joined the fun by bumping shoulders with her, a calm seemed to fall over her - just in time, too, as the P.A. system came alive once more.

'Attention, please!  Contestants, please line up at the starting point. In the round of eleven, the dogs will be released in numerical order.'

Getting up from the chair, Wynne whipped off her hat to wipe her brow. "Okeh, that means Emperah, tha two cahh-r… haw, 'scuse me, tha numbah two dawg an' then Blackie-"

Woof!  Woof-woof-woof!

"Yuh, whut I done said. It ain't gonn' be long befo' y'all gonn' be out there with yer paw ta tha flo'ah racin' hard ta complete that there course there!" Leaning down, Wynne pulled Blackie in for a hug of her own just to show her love and support. "Lawrdie, wouldya look at 'er… a pillah o' strength!  I be mo' ner-vuss than ou'ah dawg is!"

Mandy chuckled as she took a firm grip on the leashes and began walking over to the spot that acted as the starting point of the course. "Well, if you want me to hold your hand during Blackie's run, just let me know. All right?"

"Much obliged, darlin'!  I'mma-gonn' need it fer sure 'cos mah knees be knockin' alreddy!  I ain't been this he' hawt-wired since that there last lap at da summah race at Daytoh-n las'year an' all… 'membah that one?  That there three cahhhh-r went an' won da whole dang-blasted thing!  I sure hope that be a good omen an' all, yessirree…"

"Well, I do remember that you had very little voice left for most of the following week…" Mandy said with a wink.

"Haw, that ain't no lie… I reckon I did shout a li'l when it done happened. It don't happen too offen these days that tha three cahhh-r gets a checkered flag, so… there wus that, yuh?  An' he done finished ahead o' tha numbah eight an' all. It didden happen at all fer da rest o' da season, neithah, so mah cheerin' an' shoutin' an' hootin' an' hollerin' an' roarin' an' clappin' an' cryin' an' carryin' on sure wus justified!"

Mandy tried to keep a straight face for as long as possible, but some things were more difficult than others. She eventually let out a laugh and planted a solid kiss on Wynne's lips. "Hon… don't you ever change. Promise me you'll never change… please!  I love you just the way you are."

"Haw!  Sure ain't no risk o' that, no Ma'am," Wynne said, sporting a grin that reached from ear to ear. "An' I luv y'all, too… luv ya like ca-razy."

While Blackie kept her nose to the ground and her focus dead set on the task ahead, Goldie bounced around in joy at the love bolts that flew between her owners. The Golden Retriever let out a long line of happy yaps that underscored her state of mind perfectly.

---

Emperor completed his run in record time as expected by the spectators and demanded by his owner and handlers. The masterful dog garnered the fewest number of penalty points of all the dogs that had run the Agility course until that point of the event, making him the odds-on favorite to retain the title. Strong applause broke out as the brown-and-black German Shepherd ran back to the bay where the owner waited for him.

Two bays further down the line, Blackie sat on the grassy surface that had been laid down specifically for the Agility event. She had her game face on and simply sat there doggy-meditating.

The infield of Thunder Park Raceway consisted of nothing more than dirt access roads and gravelly parking lots 340 days a year, but the major non-racing events held there over the course of the season all required special surfaces to be rolled out: the wooden floor for the Square & Line Dancing Festival was the largest open-air stage in the entire state, the Flowers In Bloom Show demanded enormous basins and flowerbeds filled with fresh humus, and the show-jumping and parading horses at the Elite Equestrian Extravaganza required 80 metric tons of woodchips to be spread over the grounds to protect their hooves.

By the time Emperor had returned to his bay for some pampering, the dog carrying entry number two was sent ahead. Arrow was a slender, black Doberman-Pincher that relied on his superior speed rather than brute force to obtain the results.

When one of the event officials blew the whistle to signal that Arrow should commence the run, the Doberman tore out of its bay and flew toward the first of the physical challenges: jumping through the hoop.

Arrow dealt with the first several challenges in record time and with excellent efficiency, but everything changed when he jumped up onto the concrete ledge. For some reason, his right-hind paw slipped off the narrow path which upset his balance. His momentum continued to carry him ahead, but the concept of gravity was not to be denied - a split second on from the mishap, he tilted to his right and fell off the ledge with a howling yelp. The landing could be heard as a hard Thumpppp!

A loud gasp from the entire audience was immediately followed by an even louder cry of "Awwwww-shittt!  Hit da yella!  We got a bad wreck on da back straight!" from Wynne who jumped to her feet and waved her cowboy hat at the event officials.

Though the concrete ledge was two feet off the ground, several layers of inch-thick gym mats had been spread out all around it so the impact wasn't as hard as it would have been in real life - even so, it was obvious to everyone that Arrow nursed his right-hind leg when he got up.

Blackie bared her canines in a concerned grimace at her fellow competitor, Goldie let out a strong whimper and promptly dove for cover - and Wynne continued to wave her hat at the event officials.

Arrow's owner and handlers soon ran onto the course with the senior official Trudie Orenbach and the grumpy Chester Duffield in tow. While the latter performed a visual inspection of the concrete ledge to see if the accident had been caused by a defect of some kind, Trudie and Arrow's team tended to the stunned and disappointed dog.

Wynne finally plonked her hat back on her locks. She folded her arms across her chest and assumed a surly expression. "I reckon this he' ain't all fuhh-n an' games aftah all. Haw. Tho' they ain't similar or nuttin', I can't help but be reminded o' that there nightmare wreck ol' Mikey Waltrip done had in his Busch Grand Nas-shunal stock car back in nineteen-ninety. Yuh, that wus at Bristol… or wus it Dovah?  Naw, it wus Bristol. Or mebbe it wus Martinsville?  Naw, naw, it wussen Martinsville 'cos it was on a haaaah-banked track. Shoot… I plum ferget."

"Are you expecting me to answer that, hon?" Mandy said with a smile. After a short pause, she moved over to Wynne's spot and hooked an arm inside the denim-clad example she found there.

"Naw. Jus' yakkin' ta mahself, darlin'. Anyhows, that dawg there sure done had a bad wreck. Whutcha say his name wus?"

Mandy had a quick peek at the paperwork they had been given before she turned back to Wynne. "His name is Arrow, according to the entry list."

"Okeh. He still be limpin'. Musta been a hard landin' an' all," Wynne said as she observed the goings-on out on the course.

The organizers of the Agility event did have a medical team on stand-by, but it seemed there wouldn't be a need for on-site treatment as Arrow eventually limped back to his bay. The Doberman-Pincher's head was lowered in defeat and pain, but at least he and his owner received plenty of supporting woofing from his competitors as well as cheering and a large round of applause by everyone among the spectators.

Once the course had been inspected and approved for further competition, the officials withdrew to set the scene for Blackie's run.

"Lawwwwwr-die… an' he' we go," Wynne said as she and Mandy both crouched down next to their beloved Blackie. "Haw, take care out dere, girl. Yuh?  'Membah whut ol' Bobby Isaac done did at Tallahdegah all them years ago?  If y'all start hearin' voices tellin' y'all ta get out while ya still can, jus' ease off da gas an' let 'er coast back ta tha pits. Okeh?  We ain't gonn' luv y'all any less."

Woof!

"Yuh-haw?"

Woof-woof-woof-woof!

"Awesome!  Luv ya like ca-razy, dawggie!" Wynne said as she gave Blackie a final rub.

Mandy carried a look upon her face that was more puzzled than concerned. Furrowing her brow, she looked at Blackie, Wynne and the course in rapid succession before she broke out in a shrug. "One of these days, I'm going to write a Wynne-English dictionary…" she said in a mumble before she became too busy dishing out plenty of loving to Blackie prior to her run.

-*-*-*-

When the event official blew into his whistle, its shrill trill made Blackie fly out of the bay like shot from a cannon. She raced across the grass at a speed that saw her black fur lie down flat against her body. Neither the jump through the hoop nor the subsequent leap across the water pit posed any kind of problem for her. The concrete ledge that had just been the bane of Arrow's participation in the event was conquered with no psychological hang-ups or physical delays.

She blasted through the wide pipe at full speed, but needed to slow down to get through the second of the three round obstacles. The medium-width pipe was taken at a slightly reduced pace, but she made up for lost time on her way over to the point that had been her bugbear during the qualifying run: the narrowest pipe.

Remembering that it was only the entrance that was a tight squeeze, Blackie stretched out to make herself as slender as possible. The moment she was through the proverbial and literal bottleneck, she raced through the remaining yards of the pipe.

The first of the mental challenges - the three cords - had been re-rigged between the runs so the dogs would have to use their skills rather than rely on their memory. Blackie almost chose the same cord she had used the first time when she changed her mind and went for the shortest one instead. Pulling it opened the fence to the maze that formed the second mental challenge.

The maze hadn't been altered since the first runs unlike the devious trick with the cords, so Blackie was able to tear through it at near-maximum speed. The only time she needed to come to a halt to rethink her path came when a dog out in one of the spectator enclosures began barking at something or someone.

For a split second, Blackie thought it was Goldie trying to tell her something, and that made her miss the proper turn. When the barking dog proved to be of no importance, she backtracked to the real turn and continued on her speedy way.

The 'suspect' at the far end of the maze - whose protective suit had been reinforced after an unfortunate incident during the initial runs - offered no opposition but was soon brought to his knees. A moment later, another shrill whistling followed indicating the run had been completed.

Blackie bumped down on the grass with her tongue hanging out and her lungs operating like bellows. It wasn't long before she was joined by Mandy who escorted her back to the bay and some much-needed water and feed - and some friendly loving.

The moment Blackie returned, Wynne fell down on her knees and wrapped her long arms around the black dog. "Now that be racin'!  Awwww-yuh, even Atlanta Motah Speedway ain't got nuttin' on this!  Yessirree, this wus heart-pumpin', sweat-inducin', nerve-rackin' hahhhhhh-rd work jus' ta watch!  Good shittt almighty, Blackie, I ain't even sure I can imagine how it must be fer y'all ta run that there course there!  An' at that speed, too!  Unless I ain't readin' them figgahs right… which woudden be da first time… y'all jus' done qualified fer tha round o' six!"

Woof?

"Yuh, ya sure did!"

Woof… woof?  Woof-woof-woof…

"Hon, I think she needs some water," Mandy said, pouring most of a bottle of water into a bowl.

"Haw!  Haw, sure… yuh, ain't no ques-chun 'bout that, no Ma'am!  C'mon, girl, he' be som'tin fer y'all ta drink an' all… yuh… haw!  Lawrdie, she done em'tied that there bowl alreddy!  Mercy Sakes!"

Mandy chuckled as she poured the rest of the bottled water into the bowl and watched it disappear like the morning dew - a quest to find some more was soon undertaken. It was mercifully short as she came back holding four additional bottles only a scant minute later.

"Whah, lookin' at them bottles sure does remind me o' tha grim fact that I didden even get ta enjoy mah seven-dollah-beer," Wynne continued while she dug into her jacket pocket to find the Highway Cruiser. She studied the well-designed label for a moment or two before she broke out in a sigh and stuffed the unopened bottle back into her pocket.

Once the water bowl had been emptied for a second time, a sated Blackie shuffled off to find some peace and quiet while she still could. Goldie joined her a short while later, and the two dogs soon shared a small, quiet space in the farthest corner of the bay so they could emote among themselves away from the prying eyes of the Humans.

Wynne had already opened her mouth to complain about the severe lack of food and drink in her stomach when the public address system seemed to read her mind: 'Attention, please, Ladies and Gentlemen!  Due to the need for a closer inspection of the course, the round of six has been delayed for fifteen to twenty minutes. We'll keep you informed on the new starting time through public announcements. Thank you.'

"Haw!  That sure be awesome news 'cos mah guts jus' about done wrapped 'emselves 'round mah spine 'cos they be so em'ty an' all!  Yuh… okeh…"

"That's certainly a very, very charming image, hon," Mandy said with a grin that was responded to in kind. "While you go hunting for edibles, I think I'll have a chat with the law enforcement people here. I might as well put in a good word for Goldsboro now the world at large has shown up."

"Yuh, okeh!  Haw, I reckon y'all want som'tin ta eat, too?  Mebbe anothah o' them there salads or some such?"

Grinning, Mandy placed a quick kiss on Wynne's lips. "Well, maybe later. I'm good for now. Thanks. It's more important you get something to eat… we can't have you wasting away, you know. Eh?" - A wink and another kiss soon followed.

"Naw, we sure can't!  Okie-dokie, I'mma-gonn' do dat right this he' minnit so I ain't gonn' miss nuttin' he'. I be off!"  After waving her cowboy hat to salute Mandy and the dogs, Wynne spun around and hurried out of the area on a Quest For Chow.

---

The next twenty minutes went by with little success for either The Last Original Cowpoke or the Sheriff of Goldsboro. Wynne tore around the entire area covered by the dog show to find a concession stand that sold honest food, and Mandy received nothing but cold shoulders from her fellow law enforcement officers who only saw her as a competitor at the show rather than a colleague.

Miracles have been known to happen when Cowpokes need them the most, however, and it was indeed Wynne who received a dose of much-needed good fortune for a change. A food truck from Fredericksen's Poultry Farm had suffered a puncture en route to Thunder Park so they had arrived late. They had just opened their doors for business when Wynne tore past at a speed that necessitated clamping down on her hat - and in a foul mood that necessitated plenty of grumbling.

She had already hurried past the late-arriving truck by the time her brain had finished crunching the data collected by her eyes. Fifteen yards further along the footpath, she let out a mumbled "Haw… chicken burgahs?  Whaddinda-wohhh-rld… whe'dahell I done saw that?  Whut… how… where?" and came to a halt.

Turning around, she caught a full view of the food truck, the employees who were hustling to set up a handful of tables and chairs - and last but certainly not least, the large signs advertising BBQ Chicken Wings, Pulled Chicken, Pulled Turkey, Chicken & Turkey Burgers, Chicken & Turkey Jerky, Chicken & Turkey Frankfurters, Deep Fried Chicken, Chicken Tikka Masala, Chicken Ranchero, Chicken Italiano, Chicken Morocco, Turkey Bolognese, Turkey Kebab and about fifteen further variations of the theme.

"Hawwwwww-shit!  Fih-nally!  Fih-nally, fih-nally, fihhhhhh-nally som'tin fer da likes o' li'l ol' me," Wynne cried as she raced over to the truck to be as close to the front of the line as she could. Her good fortune stayed with her as she was only the fourth hungry soul in line - not too bad considering the unstoppable tide of people who flowed toward the new truck from all angles.

One of the groups of people approaching Fredericksen's food truck was led by Tiffany Worth who had her fellow Virgin Tower missionaries in tow. When the Mission Chief clapped eyes on Wynne's characteristic figure standing in the same line they were heading for, she spun around on her heel and stomped away. It literally left her fellow missionaries in a state of abject confusion for a long moment - then they hurried after her.

Wynne hadn't noticed a thing about the near-miss. Her entire energy was focused on trying to stop drooling from staring at the colorful advertisements that flanked the truck's central counter. To prevent an embarrassing escape of her hyperactive saliva, she needed to dab the corners of her mouth at regular intervals.

---

Back at the Agility course, Mandy ran a brush through Blackie's fur while Goldie offered them hints and tips - through a long line of happy yaps - on how to add glamour, luxury, style and those undefinable touches of mystique and sexiness to the fur.

Blackie hadn't made many comments along the way, but Goldie's last suggestions were accompanied by a Woof-woof-woof!  that meant 'Now that's just silly!  I'm not here to look sexy. I'm getting ready for my next run, not your fashion show!'

Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap… yap? -- 'Don't tell me you don't like getting brushed. I can see your grin from over here!'

Woof… -- 'That's not what I meant…'

Yap-yap! -- 'Oh, sure.'

The dogs' conversation was interrupted by Wynne returning holding a tote bag sporting the logo of Fredericksen's Poultry Farm. "Howdy, darlin'!  Howdy, mah bayu-ta-ful dawggies!  Yeee-hawww, wouldya lookie he' whut I done brought all y'all!  Yessirree, chicken an' turkey jerky!  Haw, dat rhymes… I be such a poet, ain't I?  Yuh?  Anyhows, he' ya go, girls… fresh jerky fer y'all."

The sticks of chicken and turkey jerky had barely touched the bowls before they were snatched up by the eager dogs. Soon, all conversations regarding beauty tips had to take a back seat to the chewing.

Grinning, Wynne continued over to Mandy whose lips were given a strong Hello, it's so good to see you again even if we were only apart for less than twenty minutes-kind of kiss. "An' fer y'all, I done bought eithah a Chicken Ranchero salad guaranteed ta taste like a slice o' heaven… or a burgah with pulled chicken," she continued, holding up a plastic container and a wrapped burger.

"Well, I don't really need anything… but I'll take the salad," Mandy said with a grin as she reached for the appropriate container. "That's funny… your lips taste like spicy tomato sauce…"

"Haw, there be a reason fer that, yes Ma'am… well, I done found one o' Mort Fredericksen's food trucks ovah yondah, an' I reckon I done bought som'tin called a Chicken Italianoh that I done ate comin' back he' 'cos mah gut wus so em'ty an' all. Yuh!  It wus slices o' chicken meat in spiced ta'mahtah sawce spread ovah a large chunk o' bread… it done hadda weird nah-me an' all… haw… whut she done called it?  Gepettoh or som'tin?"

"Ciabatta bread?"

"Haw… that sure could be it, yuh… but anyhows, it done tasted like a dang-blasted dream, lemme tell y'all. C'mon, les'siddown an' eat da chow befo' that there next round starts, yuh?"

Nodding, Mandy took her salad and relocated to the lawn chairs and the small table that had been set up in their bay. Before she dug in with the plastic fork that came with the dish, she let out a grunt. "So Mr. Fredericksen is challenging the Chicky Kingz?  It'll be interesting to see if Mr. Lowe and Mr. McConnell will apply for a permit to get a food truck of their own."

"Yuh… y'all reckon they will?  I ain't spoken to eithah fer a while so I ain't privy ta nuttin' no mo'. Haw, I ain't even sure if them folks still got that there Nissahhh-n I done drove when I worked for 'em."

Mandy stabbed a piece of chicken before she continued: "They'll need the approval of not only the Town Council but yours truly as well. Oh, and Moira MacKay, too. Part of the agreement back then was that the Kingz only offered takeout and didn't run a restaurant as such. A food truck could be categorized as a restaurant."

"That be true an' all," Wynne said as she unwrapped the pulled-chicken burger. Some of the seasoning sauce trickled down her long fingers, but she took care of that in time-honored fashion by licking it off. "I didden even think o' that. Mebbe a chicken war 'z gonn' break out in Goldsborah ovah da summah, haw?  Woudden dat be som'tin?"

Wynne and Mandy both stopped eating to share a long look - then Wynne knocked three times on the underside of the plastic table while Mandy mumbled a plea to any higher deity who cared to listen about avoiding any kind of radical chicken-faction conflict while her re-election campaign was underway.

Over in the far corner, Blackie and Goldie shared a similar look before they returned to their sticks of jerky.

-*-*-*-

The break in the proceedings turned out to last just over half an hour as the inspectors found a critical fault with the concrete ledge that required urgent repair. A section of the concrete had deteriorated to the point of crumbling - it could have led to further incidents similar to the one that had afflicted Arrow if left unattended - so a craftsperson had been brought in to bolt a sidewall onto the troublespot to strengthen it as a makeshift fix.

When the event resumed after thirty-two minutes and change, the six dogs remaining in the contest were all brought forward to be presented to the public. Their owners or handlers stood next to them, waving to the crowd while the public address system carried out the introduction:

'In the first bay and carrying entry number one, we present last year's winner of this event, Emperor. A four-year veteran of Cavanaugh Creek Police Department's highly decorated K-nine squad, Emperor has participated in more than fifty operations and has personally captured eleven suspects and fugitives. Let's hear it for Emperor and his owner.'

The request soon caused a strong round of applause to ripple through the spectators.

'In the second bay and carrying entry number three, we have the wildcard Blackie. She has a lengthy career working for the Goldsboro office of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department which is obviously just down the road from here so she's on home turf. Blackie has been an integral part of numerous operations for the Sheriff's Department, including… uh… uh… Desert Dweller, Goblin, Go-Go-Gorilla, Leaping Lizard and… and… Vampyre Ghoul?!  Uh, yeah… anyway, those operations were all concluded with great success. Her owners are Sheriff Mandy Jalinski and Winnie Donohue. Let's give them a big applause.'

Wynne had already broken out in a snicker at the mention of Operation Go-Go-Gorilla - which just happened to be a phrase she had coined - when her brain caught up with the rest of the announcement. "Whaddinda-wohhhh-rld?!  Mah nahhh-me is Wynne!  Dang-blasted… Wynne Donnah-hew!  Whah'dahell izzat so dag-nabbit diffahcult ta say fer all y'all?  Winnie, mah hairy buhhhh-tt!"

Whipping off her hat, she waved it in the air to catch the attention of the unseen public addresser. The spectators mistook it for part of the show, so they began laughing and cheering even louder at 'Winnie, the Last Original Cowpoke' - a harrumph was her only reply.

'In bay number three carrying entry number fourteen, we'll find Bishop. He's in his first year working as a sniffer-dog for the Drug Enforcement Agency but has worked for three years as an… uhhhh… uhhh… and I apologize to the more sensitive among the audience… cadaver dog for Cavanaugh Creek PD prior to that. Let's give Bishop and his handler a hand.'

"A cah-dah-vah dawg!  Whah, we sure do get all kinds he', haw?" Wynne said, craning her neck to look at the dog in question.

"They perform a very important job, hon," Mandy added.

"Aw, sure. Still… ya know?"

Down below, Goldie sensed that something icky had just been discussed even if she didn't get the full gist of it - she promptly shook her back to get all the ickies out. Blackie briefly glanced to her left to observe her fellow contestant, but soon returned to focus on the task at hand.

'In bay number four, Royce carries the entry number twenty-two. Royce is a two-time winner of this event and a runner-up in the National Finals when they were held in Los Angeles a few years ago. He and his owner have recently joined the Barton City Police Department's K-nine Squad so he can also be counted among the locals. A round of applause for Royce, please.'

"Numbah twentah-two, that be Ward Burton's Catahpillah Pontiac," Wynne said with a grin. "Okeh, he done an' won that there Southern five-hundred in oh-one an' Daytoh-n in oh-two inna Dodge if y'all wanna get all technical 'bout it, but it be that there Cat Pontiac I 'membah- haw, I bettah shaddup now… them folks ovah yondah be shootin' me odd glances an' all."

"Can't imagine why," Mandy said with a wink that was responded to in kind.

'Next up, carrying entry number twenty-four, we have Rainbow-'

"Haw!  Whah, dat be da purr-fect match!  I mean, tha Dupont Monte Car-"

Mandy promptly leaned over to nudge her partner in the side. "Wynne…"

"Haw?  Whazzat?  Yuh… okeh. Pardon me an' all. I jus' be nerdin' out he', but I'mma-gonn' shaddup now."

The public address speaker continued: 'An unusual name for an unusual K-nine officer. Originally trained to locate land mines and IEDs, Rainbow completed two tours of duty in Afghanistan before he and his owner were honorably discharged and transferred to a similar role in the bomb squad of the Seattle PD. Let's hear a solid round of applause for Rainbow, everybody.'

Wynne and Mandy cheered along with the rest of the spectators. "These dogs really are the best of the best. The cream of the crop. The elite," Mandy said as she looked at Rainbow who sat on the ground a bit further along the line. "You know, hon, I can't express how proud I am that our Blackie is able to keep up with these veterans. Let's face it… we love her, but she hasn't done all that much compared to the rest of them."

"Haw, that be true, but she sure ain't no quittah, neithah. She nevah wus. I knew she wus spe-shul when I done bought her all them years ago. She ain't nevah let us down… evah. An' I be willin' ta bet mah las' dollah she ain't nevah gonn', neithah."

"No bet. I agree," Mandy said with a smile.

'The last of the six contestants is Carlos. Carrying entry number thirty-nine, Carlos spent the first half of his career in a profession that requires plenty of stamina, speed and raw strength, namely as a night-watch guard dog at factories and shopping malls. Lately, accuracy and calmness have been the key words as he's working as a seeing-eye dog at a school for the visually impaired. Let's hear it for Carlos and his owner.'

After the applause had died down, the dogs and their handlers all returned to the bays where they got down to business preparing for their runs.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' the public address announcer continued, 'for this round, another five seconds will be subtracted from the target time. The three slowest contestants will be eliminated. However, if one of the top-three contestants is forced to withdraw from the finals, the one originally finishing in fourth place will be promoted in its stead. The contestants will be sent out in reverse order meaning that Carlos will go first and Emperor will be last on the course.'

After moving back to the bay, Blackie and Goldie sat so close they were nearly one being. Now that the chips were down for the entry into the finals, the dogs offered each other plenty of supportive yaps and appreciative woofs. Mandy sat on one of the lawn chairs with her legs crossed. She wore a concerned look upon her face as she took in the strange sight of Wynne pacing and gesturing like a football coach informing the quarterback of the plays in a fourth-quarter, fourth-and-inches play at the Superbowl.

"Okeh… okeh, this be like tha final-fou'ah, yuh?  'cept it still only be tha final six. Okeh. But them strategy things y'all need-a 'membah be da same, Blackie. Okeh?  Y'all not only gonn' hafta race hard, y'all gonn' hafta race smart. This ain't no winnah takes all… yet… so all ya gotta do is ta pull off a top-three finish. Yuh?  Okeh?"

Woof!

"Haw, that sure be awesome. I know y'all gonn' honah tha three-car an' all now y'all got that there magic numbah, but even da Intimidatah done had bad races… Lawrdie, I ain't nevah gonn' ferget da fall race at Darlin'ton back in 'ninety-seven. Mercy Sakes, dat wus da weirdest deal I evah done clapped eyes on… I nevah did figgah out whaddinda-wohhhhh-rld done happened there on tha first lap an' all…"

Woof?

"Anyhows, that don't mattah none right now. Race hard an' race smart. Yuh?  Dontcha trah too much 'cos it only gonn' backfi'ah. Let it flow is whut I be wantin' ta say. Ease off da wheel an' let it drift inta that there turn, yuh?  Mebbe y'all oughtta think o' good, ol' Rockin'ham ovah yondah in North Carolinah, yuh?  Ain't no set way ta navigate that track nor this he' course, yuh?  Y'all can go low, da middle or da ol' Harry Gant line up ag'inst da wall. I betcha a gnawin' bone y'all still gonn' end up with a fa-bew-luss time an' all. Okeh, y'all got any ques-chuns, Blackie?"

Wooooooofff…

"Good. Now git out there an' show 'em folks whut a girl-dawg can do, haw?"

Blackie nodded a couple of times before she turned to Goldie as if to say 'Did you get a word of that?' - The only answer was a shrug and a Yap! that meant 'Nothing. Sorry.'

---

The three dogs that had only just scraped into the top six in the previous round - Royce, Rainbow and Carlos - completed their runs with varying degrees of success. Rainbow did in fact make it through the course below the new cut-off time, but Royce suffered an embarrassing mishap at the water pit that cost it so much time that its owner signalled one of the event officials to call off the run. Carlos, the oldest among the group, completed the course but showed signs of fatigue throughout which meant it couldn't beat the clock.

All this left Bishop, Blackie and Emperor. With two dogs automatically eliminated after their runs, it really had turned into a final-four instead of a final-six. The last would go home while the three others would play on, so the task was simple for Blackie: don't be the slowest.

The shrill whistle soon sounded for Bishop to go on its run. As the spectators cheered it along, Wynne paced even harder. "Haw!  I nevah figgah'd I wus gonn' fret like this at a dawg show!  Holy shittt, this is jus' as bad as Daytohhh-n' wus in Feb'rary!  An' that sure didden end well fer them drivahs I done cheered fer. Or li'l, ol' Wynne Donnah-hew fer that matter… nosirree… 'cos tha very next day, ou'ah crappah went nukular!"

Mandy got up from the lawn chair and went over to stand behind her partner. Instead of adding to the river of words that flowed from Wynne, she wrapped her arms around the denim-clad waist and just held on tight. The difference in height meant she had to peek past Wynne's shoulder to keep track of what went on out on the Agility course, but it was a problem she could live with.

The calming touch around her waist made Wynne ease up on her stream of words and relax. She let out a long sigh of satisfaction as all the evil fretting melted out of her system. Once she was calm, a wide smile spread over her face. "Much obliged, darlin'… I sure needed a woman's touch."

Mandy let out a chuckle as she gave Wynne a loving, little squeeze. "I'll say… you could light up half of the Las Vegas Strip on all that nervous energy."

"Yuh… but this he' race be kinda excitin', dontcha reckon?"

"Oh, undoubtedly. No wonder it's so popular."

The spectators cheered as Bishop completed its run. It made it through the course with only a few penalty points on its record - the concrete ledge that had been the cause of Arrow's accident and subsequent withdrawing from the competition had given Bishop a similar problem, but it had been luckier in that it had stayed aloft. A bigger issue for Bishop was that, although it had beaten the clock, it had been slower than Rainbow.

"Shoot, we gonn' find out perdy dog-gone soon how ol' Blackie measures up ta them there boy-dawggies, ain't we?" Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. She reached down to put her hands on Mandy's that were still wrapped around her waist. "Haw… y'all know me, darlin'… I sure don't say no prayahs too offen or nuttin', but I reckon it woudden be wrong ta say one now. Yuh?  It don't mattah nuttin' ta me if Blackie wins or loses, but I sure do pray she ain't gonn' get hurt."

"Amen to that, hon," Mandy said and moved up on tip-toes to place a kiss on Wynne's neck. Although the mini-smooch was nice, it just wasn't enough - a moment later, they moved around so they could meet in a proper lip-on-lip affair that lasted for several, beautiful seconds. Separating, they let their eyes continue the sweet contact from afar with a long line of love bolts that flew back and forth between the hazel-green and the ice-blue orbs.

Down on the ground, Blackie and Goldie settled for rubbing shoulders and exchanging a few woofs and yaps. It still worked, and Blackie was ready for her run.

---

The second the shrill trill was heard, Blackie tore out of the bay and onto the course. Racing hard from the outset, the jump through the hoop was dealt with in no time even if she did give the hoop itself a knock with her hind legs as she flew through it. The leap over the water pit offered no problems, nor did the treacherous concrete ledge.

She lost nine-tenths of a second compared to the calculated target time when she accidentally ran toward the second of the pipes, the medium-sized one, before she had traversed the widest of the three, but she caught herself in time and was able to gain most of it back by throwing herself into the narrow opening of the third and final pipe with little regard for the risk of thumping her head on the low ceiling.

Another four tenths of a second were lost when - of all things - her safety harness briefly got tangled up in the cords for the first of the mental challenges, but the fence door that led to the maze did open so it wasn't all bad. Her legs reacted on muscle-memory alone as she tore through the maze en route to the hugely-padded individual at the far end of the course. Leaping several feet off the ground, she wrapped her jaws around the supposed suspect's sleeve and gave it a thorough yanking.

The capturing of the suspect marked the end of Blackie's run as the whistle was soon heard once more signalling a completed run. Panting hard, she needed to walk off some of the energy that blasted through her before she could even lie down.

A hush fell over the spectators in the brief lull before the official time was announced. The public address system soon delivered the news: 'Attention, please!  The run by entry number three, Blackie, was the fastest yet in the round of six-'

A cry of 'Yeeeeeeeeeeeeee-hawwwwwwwwwwwww, Blackie!' drowned out most of the rest of the announcement, but the final words were audible: '-Emperor, the defending champion of the event.'

Once the event officials had signalled Wynne that she could escort Blackie back to the staging area, she hurried out there at such speed that she needed to clamp down on her beloved cowboy hat.

Plenty of doggy-loving and a fresh stick of chicken jerky was dished out upon reaching the proud German Shepherd, and it didn't hurt at all that one of the officials who manned the timing and scoring stand close to the finish line was none other than Chester Duffield, the bull-headed curmudgeon who had initially rejected Blackie when they had first tried to enter her into the contest.

For once, Wynne abstained from making a surly - or snarky - comment at the official. Instead, she concentrated on the panting dog in her arms. "Snakes Alive, girl, I be so dang-blasted proud o' y'all!  Yuh!  Way ta go, Blackie… Lawrdie, y'all gonn' get a whoooole pack o' saus-itches ta chew on when we get hoah-me this he' aftahnoon… yes Ma'am!"

Woof!

"Yuh, an' y'all can take dat ta tha dawggie-bank!  Aw, I reckon we bettah let ol' Emperah do his run now. C'mon, girl… les'go back ta Goldie an' mah sweet, li'l darlin'. Yuh?"

Woof…

---

As everyone there expected - or perhaps even demanded - Emperor set a time that was even better than Blackie's. The first chink in the champion's armor showed up, however, when he nearly made a mess of leaping over the water pit. The early mistake forced him to focus even harder on completing the rest of the obstacles at a fast, but trouble-free pace. It meant the final batch of contestants had now been set: Emperor, Blackie and Rainbow.

*
*
CHAPTER 12

'Attention, please!  Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the finals of the K-nine Agility event!  The field of sixteen has been whittled down to three dogs that will soon test their skills, wits and inherent talent against each other. The dogs will not only compete for the honor of winning the K-nine Agility Event, but for the magnificent grand prize of a one-year supply contract with our sponsor Cazamore Quality Dog Food. Cazamore!  Even the choosiest dog loves us. You can't go wrong with Cazamore.'

"Yuh-haw?  I ain't too sure 'bout that, but nevah mind now…" Wynne said and let out a chuckle. Blackie and Goldie both made faces and shook their backs at the mention of the Cazamore brand. Blackie didn't care much for the taste but could eat it if it was the only thing available to her, but Goldie just flat-out hated its artificial and too salty taste, and simply refused to get anywhere near it.

While Mandy kept Goldie busy so the excitable Golden Retriever wouldn't flip her lid waiting for the next part of the big event, Wynne knelt next to Blackie and ran her hands over the black fur to check for wadded-up muscles or other niggles. As always, she concluded her examination by paying extra-close attention to the large joints at the hind legs.

Even with the veterinarian Doctor Byron Gibbs's expert knowledge and care, it had taken Blackie weeks to stop limping and letting out the occasional whimper after the bad knock she had taken fighting the vampyre ghoul that had abducted Brenda Travers down at the abandoned Silver Creek mining camp during the film shoot.

The hideous creature had thrown Blackie against an unprotected wall of a mine gallery during the fracas, but she appeared to have suffered no lasting effects save for a touch of morning stiffness at times - Wynne's own age-related morning stiffness was in fact worse than Blackie's, but that didn't appease either of them.

"Naw, girl, y'all be fih-ne," Wynne said as she pulled back from her examination of the musculature. "Yuh. Ya sure be reddy-teddy ta go out dere an' do yer best ta take hoah-me a win fer da three-team. Okeh?"

Woof…

"Awesome!  Huggin'-tihh-me!"

Before Wynne could wrap her arms around Blackie's furry frame, her telephone rang in her rear pocket. "Awwww-shoot… always when I be doin' som'tin im-pahr-tant… aw, this bettah be good… haw, it be ol' Diegoh. I wondah if som'tin done happened back hoah-me?  Mebbe his crappah done blowed up or som'tin…"

In the other corner of the small bay, Mandy looked up from playing with Goldie to let out a hoarse chuckle. "Careful, hon… stranger things have happened."

"Yuh… yuh, that sure be good advice. Ain't no tellin' who be lissenin'," Wynne said before she accepted the call and put the telephone to her ear. "Howdy, Diegoh. Y'all got tha one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew he' reddy ta lissen ta y'all speakin' in mah ear. Whazzup, friend?"

'How's it going, Wynne?  I've been watching a couple of news reports on Channel Seventy-Eight-'

"Channel Sev- awwww-shoot!" Wynne cried, smacking a palm over her eyes. "I plum fergot settin' tha recordin' o' that there weekend rasslin' round-up show befo' we done drove up he'!  Lawrdie, friend, wouldya mind recordin' it fer me?  There be a six-pack o' Fenwyck in it fer ya!"

'Deal. I was going to watch it, anyway, so recording it won't be any trouble.'

"Much obliged, pardnah!"

'You're welcome. Anyway, Channel Seventy-Eight has a camera team out where you are, and we got a glimpse of you and Mandy and the dogs!'

"Haw!  Really?  That be neat, yessirree!" Wynne said as she craned her neck to see in all directions. "I ain't sein' nuttin' that be lookin' like a camera crew or som'tin, but that don't say much these days 'cos them new-fangled cameras be so tiny they don't need-a carry 'round no big contrap-shuns on their shouldahs or nuttin' no mo'. Them operatahs can carry 'em in tha palm o' their hands an' all. Yuh."

'Where are you right now?'

"Aw, me an' Sheriff Mandy an' them dawggies be at tha Agility course. Yuh, 'cos Blackie is competin'… an' get this, we done managed ta get 'er numbah three!  Ain't dat som'tin?"

Diego let out a laugh at the other end of the connection. 'Well, I really wouldn't know… but since you put it that way, I guess it is!'

"Haw-yuh, buddy. Big time som'tin. An' get this!  Ou'ah darlin' Goldie done finished in third place in a big, ol' beauty pageant-thing where she sashayed around battlin' ag'inst all them real perdy dawgs. Sure ain't no lie!"

'That's cool, Wynne. Okay… I just checked their website. The news reports are available there as view-on-demand in case you want to see them later.'

"Okeh. We might. Much obliged."

'Is Blackie around?'

"Yuh, she be right he' an' all," Wynne said, reaching out to stroke Blackie's fur. "She be reddy ta go out fer her run in da finals of that there Agility race. Whah?"

'Well, I have someone here who'd like to show her some support.'

"Yuh?  Okeh, I be holdin' da phoah-ne ovah ta Blackie now. G'wan, Diegoh." - A sequence of loud, bassy WOOFs soon filtered through the connection.

Blackie responded to the unseen dog by letting out several woofs that were soon replied to in kind over the telephone - Goldie joined the woofed conversation with a few merry yaps of her own.

"Haw, I reckon dat wus ol' Freddie!" Wynne said as she put the telephone back to her own ear.

Another loud laugh followed hot on the heels of the barking and woofing. 'Yes! I think the big fella is missing his girlfriends…'

"Yuh, I sure know whut he be woofin' 'bout," Wynne said with a cheesy grin playing on her lips. "But anyhows… haw, I almost done fergot… does ol' Freddie happen ta like Cazamoah-re's dawg food?"

'Yeah, I think so. I've bought it a couple of times and he's always eaten it. How come?'

"Well, if ou'ah Blackie does well in them finals, one o' them prizes is a one-year supply contract with Cazamoah-re. Blackie an' Goldie both hate it with a pas-shun, so I done thunk mebbe ol' Freddie would 'preciate it or som'tin?  Aw, there ain't no guarantees in racin'. Mebbe she gonn' finish last so it only be pah in da skah fer now."

'I have a very hard time believing that, Wynne… okay, I just wanted to let you know about the TV thing. We'll chew the fat later, yeah?  I'll head to town in a little while 'cos I need to buy more gunpowder at Sam McCabe's. I'll eat at Moira's afterwards. Are you and the Sheriff stopping there on your way home?'

"Shoot, can't say yet, pardnah. Depends. I'mma-gonn' call ya once we done he'. Then we can mebbe work som'tin out. We may jus' go hoah-me, tho'. Like I done said, it depends."

'Sure. Okay, talk to you later, Wynne. And give Blackie a pat from me.'

Never one to waste much time, Wynne did exactly that - it earned her a woofing Thank you! - "I be doin' it right this minnit, Diegoh!  Bah-bah."

Wynne had barely slid the telephone back into her pocket before Mandy returned from visiting one of the portable public restrooms.

After making sure that Goldie wasn't feeling neglected in all the hubbub surrounding Blackie, Mandy sat down on the soft lawn chair in the same type of straight-angled, straight-up-and-down position she was so used to from work. It soon dawned on her that it was in fact her day off, so she relaxed to the point where she nearly sat in a slouch. "So… did he have toilet trouble?" she said with a grin.

Wynne matched the grin and added a chuckle as she turned around on her own lawn chair so she could avoid getting a crimp in her neck. "Naw, he hadden. He done called ta say we wus on teevee earliah. That there Channel Seven'y-Eight got a camera crew somewhe' 'round he'. Didya happen ta see 'em on yer way there an' back?"

"I wasn't looking for a camera crew, so no."

"Yuh. Say, how long we got until that there final round gonn' start, anyhows?  I reckon we done had a buncha wasted time he' recently… mebbe they still be inspectin' the course or som'tin…"

Mandy dug up the pamphlet from one of her pockets. She let out a "Hmmm…" while she leafed through it. "Well, according to the original timetable, it was supposed to start in three minutes-"

"Haw!  If that ain't no good omen, I ain't sure whut would be!"

"Perhaps, but I can't see it happ-"

Mandy was suddenly and rudely interrupted by the public address announcer who said: 'Attention please, Ladies and Gentlemen!  Will the handlers of the three finalists please return to the starting bays. The competition is set to resume in less than five minutes. Attention, please!  Handlers and owners of the three finalists, please return to the starting bays as the competition is set to resume in less than five minutes. Thank you.'

"Haw, yer sure is welcome an' all!" Wynne said with a cheesy grin. "Whah does that fella keep sayin' that?  That be like Drivers, Start Yer Engines… Thank Ya Muchly!"

Their two competitors soon returned to the bays flanking the one where Wynne, Mandy, Blackie and Goldie had spent the duration of the delay. While Mandy eyed Emperor, Wynne studied Rainbow - Blackie and Goldie cared little about the competitors but simply spent the minutes before the big event rubbing shoulders and exchanging a few supportive yaps and woofs.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the final run-off for the K-Nine Agility Event presented by Cazamore Quality Dog Food. Cazamore!  Even the choosiest dog loves us. You can't go wrong with Cazamore!  For this final round, penalty points will count double, however, there will be no further reduction in the target time. Each of the three contestants will do one lap of the course to determine the winner of the K-Nine Agility Event. After each run, the amount of time used as well as any penalty points issued to the contestant will be announced. Once all three contestants have finished their runs, an overall winner will be declared based on the lowest elapsed time and the lowest number of penalty points. Entry number twenty-four, please get ready for the run.'

"Well, this is it," Mandy said and got up from the chair. She offered the handler and owner of Emperor a courteous salute before she turned to Rainbow's bay to repeat the gesture.

"I reckon," Wynne said, taking off her beloved cowboy hat to rub her scalp. "Shoot, les'hope ain't nuttin' bad gonn' happen or nuttin'. Whah, with Goldsborah only bein' a-cuppel-a miles south an' all, all that there bad stuff mi'te… ya know… spill ovah or some such."

While Rainbow was led out of its bay as the final step of its pre-run procedure, Mandy went over to Wynne and hooked an arm inside the denim jacket. "Let's keep it positive, hon. Or at least try to."

"Yuh. Lawrdie, I jus' got tha weirdest feelin' that I jus' can't shake off or nuttin'. I reckon som'tin majah gonn' happen he'. Haw…"

Just to be on the safe side, Wynne scanned the heavens above to look for weird flying objects or other kinds of unwanted attention from the Great Beyond - she did in fact see what resembled an enormous, black insect hovering in the air just outside the Agility course, but even she knew it was a TV-drone. "Lookie there, darlin'… I reckon that there camera crew from Channel Seven'y-Eight gonn' be filmin' them finals an' all. Mebbe they be zoomin' in on us as I be yakkin' an' all."

"If they are, I'm sure Diego will call you in a moment so you can wave at him."

"Haw, I sure can do dat anyhows, yes Ma'am!" Wynne said and whipped off her hat. After it had been put through several spirited waves and grand maneuvers, she plonked it back onto her dark locks and lined it up so it was down low and sexy.

The time for kidding had been and gone when one of the event officials blew into his whistle. As the shrill tones echoed across the course, Rainbow took off at full blast to a large round of applause from the spectators.

The dog from the Seattle PD Bomb Squad wasted no time clearing the first obstacles and challenges: flying around the course, Rainbow made the hoop-jump and the water pit look easy. The concrete ledge caused a tiny hesitation, but it didn't amount to more than a few tenths of a second. The three pipes were dealt with in quick succession, and the mental challenge at the three cords offered no problem.

Rainbow suffered his first small hiccup in the maze when he took the wrong path at one point, but recovered before long and was soon through to the poor fellow in the protective suit who had done nothing all day but get chewed on by ferocious dogs.

A large round of applause rolled across the Agility course as Rainbow's owner ran out to retrieve the panting dog. While the time was visible to all on the large display, it took a few seconds for the penalty points to be calculated.

'Attention, please, Ladies and Gentlemen. The first contestant, Rainbow, completed the course in near-record time and with few penalty points. Rainbow's combined score of speed and efficiency amounts to ninety-five-point-nine percent. Entry number three, Blackie, please get ready for the run.'

"Haw, now this really be it, dag-nabbit!" Wynne said and hurriedly crouched down next to Blackie. She pulled the dog into a loving hug that ended with a good, old fur-rubbing. "Girl, we luv ya. Jus' keep 'em paws poundin' an' ev'rythin' gonn' be fihhh-ne. 'Membah, three iz one. Yuh?  Three iz one."

Blackie let out a strong Woof! and seemed to nod at Wynne's words - the Yap! of support she got from Goldie helped as well.

"Are we ready, hon?" Mandy said as she took Blackie by the collar to lead her out to the starting spot.

Getting up, Wynne balled up her fists and thrust them into her jacket pockets to have something to do with herself during the run. "Yuh. Blackie be reddy ta race… an' I be 'bout reddy ta drop…"

Mandy really couldn't find a suitable reply to that, so she settled for leading Blackie out to the spot where she would start. Back in the bay, Goldie had almost gone ballistic already, but the crazy yapping and the rest of the hubbub didn't seem to pull Blackie out of The Zone.

Once Mandy had returned to the bay, the event official in charge of releasing Blackie paused for a few seconds to pile even more pressure and tension on everyone - then the shrill trill was heard loud and clear.

Blackie took off the split second the whistle sounded, but it soon became crystal clear from the relentless progress of the timing clock that she ran the course at a lower speed than Rainbow.

"Haw…" Wynne said, narrowing her eyes as it dawned on her that Blackie wasn't going at full speed. "Whaddinda-wohhhh-rld she be doin'?  She be hurtin' or som'tin?  There wussen no knots or wadded-up mussels or nuttin' when I done massaged her jus' now… aw… mebbe she jus' got durn tiah'd aftah all them runs… I sure woudda been…"

"Yeah… I don't know what's wrong with her," Mandy said, shielding her eyes from the sun so she could follow Blackie around the course.

Down below, Goldie let out several yaps that meant, 'Ohhhhh, this is going great!  Just like we planned!  Go, go, go, go!'

The hoop-jump was completed without any problems. The leap across the water pit was inch-perfect and ended in a clean, safe landing. The concrete ledge was taken at a lower pace than usual that earned her zero penalty points. She blasted through the widest of the three pipes at full speed since she knew it would pose no problems for her to do so. The medium-width pipe was traversed with a little more care, and the narrowest pipe was given the respect it demanded - and as she exited the far end and closed in on the mental challenge with the three cords, she still had zero penalty points.

"Hawwwww-shittt, this is waddin' up mahhh gut, I be tellin' y'all!" Wynne cried with one hand clamped onto her hat and the other pressed to her stomach. "Go three!  Go three!  Go three!  Lawrdie, I can't watch… but I gotta… but I can't… but I gotta!  I dunno whaddahell she be doin', but it sure don't look like she be… she be… aw, I dunno whaddahell she be doin'!"

Goldie responded to her owner's frantic behavior by letting out a few merry yaps that, unfortunately, were lost in translation so they didn't make much of an impact.

Out on the course, Blackie pulled the correct cord which opened the door to the maze. Just like Rainbow, the maze itself caused the first issue when she almost took the wrong aisle. The first penalty point was added to her score sheet, but she realized her mistake and slid to a halt before the situation would get any worse. Moving calmly but swiftly, she turned around and chose the correct path through the maze.

Navigating the rest of it posed no problems for her, and she was soon through the exit and onto the final stretch to the man in the protective suit. All the energy she had saved along the way was unleashed into a single burst of speed - she even lowered her ears onto her head and kept her tail straight out behind her to maximize her aerodynamic profile.

The poor man in the padded suit was bowled onto his rear end when Blackie came at him in a flying leap that ended her run. Once she had become clear of the mess of arms, legs and protective padding on the ground, she ran around in circles to blow off the head of steam that had built up inside her.

Wynne tore out onto the course at surprising speed and was at Blackie's side in an instant - the hugely puzzled look upon her face proved she still hadn't figured out what in the world had been going on.

When there seemed to be a delay in announcing the result of Blackie's run, she pulled the panting dog in for a loving hug. "Haw, girl!  Y'all almost done gave me tummy-trubbel back dere!  I know fer a dang-blasted fact y'all gave it all ya had… but… haw, there must be som'tin I ain't seein' he'. An' whah are them judges so dang slow in releasin' that there info there?"

Woof!

"Yuh, like I done said…"

Woof?  Woof-woof-woof-woooooof…

The present high-stress situation meant that Wynne didn't have enough mental surplus to interpret Blackie's confident woofing, so she just reached down to give the black dog a few more pats and rubs.

'Attention, please, Ladies and Gentlemen. The second of the finalists, Blackie, completed the course at a slower time than the first contestant, but with a near-perfect penalty score. Blackie's combined score of speed and efficiency amounts to ninety-eight-point-nine percent-'

"Lawwwwwwwwwr-die!  I jus' done figgah'd out whut y'all wus doin'!  Holy can-o'-anchovies, Blackie, y'all be way, way, way, way-da'hell clevah'rar than me!  Good flip almighty, girl… ain't nobodda but nobodda coudda done that, but y'all sure did!"

Woof-woof-woof-woof-woof! -- 'I knew exactly what I was doing. It was all part of the plan my golden companion and I hammered out before.'

The Public Address speaker continued: '- which means Blackie is now in first place with one contestant to go. Entry number one, Emperor, please get ready for the run. Oh, and will Blackie's handler please clear the course?  Thank you.'

"Y'all sure be welcome an' all," Wynne said with a grin - unfortunately, she didn't get the deeper meaning of the message until several event officials began waving at her. She furrowed her brow until Blackie let out a Wooooooof! that explained it quite well. "Aw?  Awwww-shoot, we be on da track!  Dang, les'get ou'ah bee-hinds offa da course befo' that there las' dawggie done gets goin' an' all!"

Hurrying off to the side, Wynne and Blackie had to take the long way back to the bay and only just got there by the time Emperor was led to his starting spot. "Darlin', didya hear that there score ou'ah bayu-tah-ful Blackie done got?!  Wussen dat som'tin?  Lawrdie, I nevah, evah woudda figgah'd that out. Race hahh-rd an' race smahh-rt an' she done did both… yuh. I reckon them dawggies be plentah clevah, haw?"

Goldie was far too busy yapping and jumping up and down to do anything else - the moment Blackie was back in the bay, the two dogs congratulated each other on not only designing the perfect strategy for the important run, but executing it without hardly any problems at all.

"Yes," Mandy said, "that was extraordinary. Let's see how Emperor will respond. This isn't finished by a long shot, hon. Emperor is the defending champion."

"Yuh, I sure ain't fergettin' that. There be plenty o' drah-ma still ta come," Wynne said, taking off her hat to wipe her damp brow.

A moment later, the whistle sounded for the third and final time. Emperor didn't seem to have figured out what Blackie and Goldie had discovered - namely that going slower could in fact produce a better result - as the image he presented to the watching world as he blasted out of the bay was that of a low-flying, dog-shaped land missile.

The opening jump through the hoop was performed cleanly, but he got his first penalty point when he mistimed his leap at the water jump and set off too soon - upon landing, his tail just dipped into the water. Not only did it cause a literal splash, it made Wynne and the other spectators let out an Ooooooh!

The small mishap caused him to increase his speed which saw him flying toward and then onto the concrete ledge. In spite of the patch that had been bolted onto the side of the ledge, Emperor's right hind-leg slipped off the crumbling surface three-quarters of the way across it as a result of his forced pace - much like Arrow's had done earlier in the event.

Another Ooooooh! followed, but his high rate of knots saved the day and saw him race across the rest of the obstacle with no problems.

He breezed through the wide and medium-width pipes but scored his next penalty point when he thumped into the entrance at the third and narrowest pipe. Though he recovered at once, brushing the wall with his shoulder had hindered him enough to make his time slower than even Rainbow's upon emerging from the pipe - his coat had turned gray at the point of impact, but it didn't matter too much as he was still faster than Blackie's time.

A cry of 'Lawwwwr-die, dat be a Darlin'ton stripe if I evah done saw one!' rolled across the field, causing much puzzled laughter among the spectators.

Another penalty point was added to Emperor's tally when he accidentally pulled two cords at once at the mental challenge. A quick second attempt opened the gate to the maze, but the spectators had already let out another Oooooh! by then.

No further mistakes were made by the experienced competitor once he navigated the maze, and the penultimate obstacle had soon been dealt with. The man in the protective suit beckoned at the far end of the final stretch. Emperor increased his speed even more and sealed the deal by wrapping his jaws around one of the man's padded legs - thus marking the end of the run.

Another cry created by W. Donohue could be heard by everyone else at the course, and even those outside it: 'Hawwwwt-dang!  I sure be glad this' all ovah!  Mah tummy be about reddy ta exploahhhh-de!'

While Emperor's owner and handler ran out to the panting dog, the panel of judges convened to compare notes and tally up the score. Their heads were soon put together in a close huddle that didn't allow anyone to listen in on their conversation.

Tension increased by the minute among the spectators as the judges continued to confer, add and subtract times and penalty points instead of releasing the sought-after information. A murmur borne of annoyance and impatience soon began to ripple through the onlookers - some even shouted suggestions to the judges to get their fingers out of orifices that perhaps weren't too suited for such a family-friendly atmosphere.

Back at the bay, Mandy used Wynne's cowboy hat to fan the Last Original Cowpoke's beetroot-red face. "Maybe I ought to call Donald Cummins so he could send one of the on-site paramedics over… you look awful, hon."

Down below, Blackie and Goldie acknowledged the comment by letting out woofs and yaps that confirmed the message only in dog-language.

"Yuh…"

"Do you want me to call him, hon?"

Wynne furrowed her crimson brow and glanced up at Mandy with shiny eyes. "Haw… who ya wanna call?"

"Donald Cummins."

"Whaddahell fer?"

"So he can send over a paramedic!"

"Haw… anybody got sick?" Wynne said, craning her neck to look around.

Mandy let out a croaked laugh and shook her head. "Hon, did you have time to put the beer you bought in the truck?"

"Haw… I plum ferget… ain't sure… lemme see," - Patting her jacket pocket, Wynne soon came into contact with the glass bottle. "Naw, I got it right he' an' all."

"You have my permission to drink it. I declare this as a medical emergency," Mandy said, caressing Wynne's flushed face.

"Yeeee-haaaaw!  Ugggh… but I still ain't got no bottle-openah, dang'it!"

Leaning back, Mandy scratched her eyebrow. "Damn. I forgot about that."

Out among the increasingly impatient spectators, the murmurs grew into scattered chanting and even the occasional angry shout that seemed to suggest the judges were cooking up a scandal or a conspiracy just to keep everyone's interest going.

The chief referee finally signed the document and hurried over to the public address announcer who sat at a radio-style booth over in the far corner of the field. Once the document had been skimmed, the loudspeakers came alive: 'Attention, please, Ladies and Gentlemen. The last of the finalists, Emperor, also the defending champion of this event, has completed the course bringing the competition to a close. Emperor set the fastest time of the three finalists-'

Wynne let out an emphatic "Awwwwww-dang'it!" at the news, but soon realized - by Mandy squeezing her arm - that she had better put a sock in it until the announcer had finished speaking.

'-but amassed the greatest number of penalty points of the three. In a major upset, Emperor's combined score of speed and efficiency amounts to ninety-three-point-one percent which is only good enough for a third-place finish today. Ladies and Gentlemen, that means we have not only a first-time runner-up but a first-time winner of the K-nine Agility Event presented by Cazamore Quality Dog Food!'

"D'awww!  How many o' them there penalty points did that there Rainbow get?" Wynne said and clamped both hands down onto her hat. "Shoot, mah dang-blasted sh-toopid noggin ain't lettin' me calculate that there-"

'In second place, having earned a score of ninety-five-point-nine percent speed and efficiency, we have Rainbow. Please give Rainbow and his owner the applause they deserve.'

As the spectators cheered and applauded the second-placed dog, several things happened at once in the bay occupied by the gang from Goldsboro: Mandy clutched her head and let out a "Whoa!"  Goldie bounced around all over the place while yapping so hard she nearly keeled over. Blackie remained calm and let out a few Woofs to acknowledge and congratulate her competitors who were on either side of their bay.

And in the middle of all that celebration, Wynne fell silent like someone had flicked her off-switch. She bumped onto the soft lawn chair and simply sat there with a thousand-mile stare in her eyes. After a few seconds, she took off her cowboy hat with her right hand while her left was held aloft in the three-fingered salute that had first seen the light of day in the 2001 NASCAR Winston Cup season after the fateful last lap of the Daytona 500.

"Forevah three. Yuh," she croaked in a thick voice, dabbing her eyes that had begun to leak all of a sudden.

'Which means that entry number three, the wildcard Blackie, has done the impossible by winning the event. With the score of ninety-eight-point-nine percent speed and efficiency, there was little doubt as to the outcome. Ladies and Gentlemen, let's have a large round of applause for the local team!  Also, Miss Winnie Donohue and Sheriff Mandy Jalinski, please approach the judges' stand for the official ceremony. Thank you.'

Mandy leaned in and placed a kiss on Wynne's flushed forehead. Such a tiny one was never going to be enough, so she changed course for her encore and laid a much larger one on Wynne's lips. "Hey… I love you. And I think we both love Blackie."

"Yuh, we sure do… Lawrdie, this is tha best dang day I done had fer years an' years… haw… I wussen dreamin' or nuttin', wus I?  Ol' Blackie really did win this he' thing, didden she?"

"She won. And let's not forget Goldie's bronze medal, either."

"Haw, we sure won't. Mercy Sakes, them dawggies gonn' be spoilt rotten once we get hoah-me an' all…"

The shock result meant that Wynne couldn't even be bothered to throw a hissy fit at the way her name had been mangled for the umpteenth time. Instead, she grabbed hold of Mandy's hand while they shuffled onto the grass.

Blackie and Goldie ran ahead with plenty of woofing and yapping to let everyone know that it was only the starting point for a long afternoon of celebrations for all involved. Emperor and Rainbow eventually joined the woofing chorus, but they were soon shushed by their owners who didn't appear as if they thought it was particularly amusing to be beaten by a supposedly non-professional wildcard.

---

The panel of judges consisted of Chester Duffield, Trudie Orenbach and - as the chief referee - Gilbert Bartholomew who had been a lecturer at a Private Law School up north in Barton City for thirty-seven years before his retirement.

A short, bespectacled, dry stick of a man in his late sixties, Gilbert wore a tan safari suit and matching loafers that couldn't possibly offend anyone. When he and his fellow judges were joined by Wynne, Mandy and the dogs, they stepped off the small dais they had occupied throughout the event to congratulate the winners. His hand was soon extended for the traditional greeting. "Good afternoon, Sheriff Jalinski. I'm Gilbert Bartholomew," he said, looking at the tallest among them - Wynne.

"Howdy, Mista. Ack-chew-ly, I be Wynne Donnah-hew. This he' darlin' dame be tha Sheriff an' all," Wynne said, pointing at Mandy with her left hand while her right was being pumped up and down.

"Oh… I see. I beg your pardon. Good afternoon, Sheriff," the chief referee said as he turned to Mandy to repeat the heavy pumping.

"Good afternoon, sir," Mandy said as not just her hand but her entire arm was given a thorough shaking. "Miss Donohue and I certainly never expected to be here now."

Gilbert adjusted his round reading glasses before he nodded at Mandy's comment. "I can imagine. It's quite unique that a wildcard entry wins outright. As far as I can recall, this is only the second time it's happened in the twenty-eight years the K-nine Agility Event has toured the country."

Wynne had to stifle a chuckle when she realized that Gilbert Bartholomew wore the same type of round reading glasses that Trudie Orenbach and the surly Chester Duffield did - seemingly a set requirement before even being considered to join the panel of judges.

"Yes, it's quite remarkable," Gilbert continued. "Such a display of excellence should be rewarded handsomely… unfortunately, we can only offer you and your dog a large bag of Cazamore Quality Dog Food as a consolation prize-"

The chuckle got stuck in Wynne's craw at the chief referee's words - she pinned the much shorter man to the spot with a hard, icy-blue glare. "Come ag'in?" she said in a low, dangerous tone of voice. "Whaddahell izzat saposed ta mean?  Ou'ah Blackie won this he' race fair an' square!  Didden all y'all jus' make public she done had tha lowest numbah o' penalty points or some such?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"The only buhh-tts he' be them we sit on, Mista. Y'all wanna explain ta me in nice an' easy wohhhh-rds whah'dahell ou'ah Blackie wussen da winnah aftah all?"

In any other situation, Mandy would have reached over to pat Wynne's arm to get her to take a deep breath before things would get out of control, however, the grim mask she wore proved she was just as flamingly annoyed as Wynne.

"Well," Gilbert Bartholomew said, wetting his lips twice before adjusting his glasses all over again, "your dog was only a wildcard. And she's a bitch-"

"I reckon y'all mean 'she-dawg,' Mista!"

Gilbert's eyes darted from Wynne to Mandy, back to Wynne, over to his fellow judges and then back to Wynne all over again. "Ah… ah… yes, all right, but this competition is only for male dogs… and she was only given a wildcard entry because one of the males withdrew. So, you see-"

"Naw, I reckon I don't see nuttin', Mista!" Wynne growled, slamming her hands onto her hips. "Lawrdie, I done shoveled enuff bull dung in mah life ta recognize da stench…. an' peeee-U, this he' shit really be drawin' flies, lemme tell ya!"

Gilbert Bartholomew's eyes continued their frantic roaming until he settled for looking at Mandy instead of Wynne - not that it was much better. "Well, I'm sorry, but it's right there in black on white in our organization's list of regulations. Wildcard entries can win an event, but they can't receive any of the trophies or prizes put up by our sponsors. However, like I said before, I'm sure we can get Cazamore to donate a bag of dry feed as a consolation."

Wynne had to slam her jaw shut or else she would have told the chief referee a few truths that wouldn't have been healthy for anyone. A moment later, she realized the time for politeness had been and gone. "Yuh, okeh… tell ya whut, Mista. Y'all jus' keep on tawkin'. Mebbe somebodda gonn' lissen but it sure ain't gonn' be us. Ou'ah dawg Blackie won this he' event. She won it, she won it, she won it. Yuh?  Y'all can stick that there Cazamoah-r crap where da sun don't shine… an' then all y'all can use yer regula-shuns ta wipe yer asses aftahwurds. We be gohhh-ne!  Bah-bah!"

Spinning around on her heel, Wynne stomped away from the dais. A moment later, Mandy took Blackie and Goldie by their collars and led them back to the bay. Along the way, Wynne realized the strange noise in the background - that was almost drowned out by the sound of the lava coursing through her veins - was in fact the spectators cheering and clapping.

She let out a "Haw…" as she cast an interested glance at the viewers' enclosure where it seemed that nine out of ten people applauded them by cheering, waving, whistling or simply clapping. "Whah, that would be theee best way ta rub them judges' noses innit… haw, I luv it!  Hey, darlin', I reckon we oughttah do one o' them there legendary Polish Victory Laps…"

"Is that a pun on my ancestry, hon?" Mandy said as she came to a halt with the dogs.

"Nope!  A Polish Victory Lap is a lap o' celebra-shun where we be goin' clockwise 'round da track an' all… yuh?  Kinda like da wrong way 'round tha track. Yes Ma'am, it wus pioneered back in 'eighty-eight bah none othah than da late, great Alan Kulwicki when he went an' won his first Winston Cup race. Y'all 'membah da 'ninety-two Winston Cup champion?  The Undahbird?"

"Can't say that I do, to be honest…"

"Aw, he wus awesome. Jus' 'but the only Fohhhhh-rd drivah I ever done admi'ahd. Him an' Rusty, o' course. An' whoevah done drove the twentah-eight. An' ol' Mista Excitement, too. An' mebbe one or two othahs, but that don't mattah none now. Les'start at that there enclo-shure ovah yondah an' then meandah slowwwww-ly past them spectatahs wavin' like hell… aw-yuh!  Mebbe them judges be kinda embarrassed 'bout that there smelly trick they done pulled on us."

"Now that I can agree with, hon," Mandy said with a grin. "You know what to do, so… well, lead on. I'll present the winning team."

Grinning so broadly - and wickedly - that one might get the impression she had just seen her team win the Daytona 500, the Brickyard 400 or perhaps even the legendary Southern 500, Wynne walked the entire length of the spectator enclosures hooting, hollering and waving her hat high in the air. Behind her, Mandy didn't even need to hold onto the dogs' collars as Blackie acknowledged the crowd with many a Woof! and a few proper barks while Goldie sashayed along like a proper beauty queen.

"Lawwwwwwr-die!  This' how we do it in Goldsborah!  Yessirree!" Wynne shouted at the top of her lungs when she reached the end of the line of spectators. Her hat was soon back on her locks where it was pulled down low and sexy.

Mandy and the dogs caught up before long. A hug, a couple of loving squeezes and finally a very long kiss followed before they all took a deep bow toward the spectators to show their gratitude for their near-unanimous support.

"Yuh… sure ain't gonn' ferget this he' day in a hurry… nosirree…" Wynne said as she continued to wave at the crowd. Blackie and Goldie added a few woofs and yaps, respectively, but it was Mandy who had the final word:

"I've just about had it with all this nonsense. Let's go home," she said, hooking her arm inside Wynne's. She and Wynne shared a long, loving look before they left the hectic dog show behind to return to the truck and ultimately their calm and cozy nest back home in the trailer park.

Blackie and Goldie stayed at the spectator enclosure for a moment longer, soaking up the last of the cheering and clapping. Once they'd had their fill of the celebrations, they ran across the grassy field and soon fell into step next to their owners…

*
*
THE END.

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