The Bark Before Christmas Read Online Free

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    Legs pumping, small hands fisted around Tar’s chew toy, the toddler went racing across the kitchen with Tar in hot pursuit. I winced as the Standard Poodle skidded on the floor and sideswiped a chair. Hearing his name, Augie opened his eyes, lifted his head fractionally to have a look, then settled back in place. What a good dog. At least somebody remembered his training.
    Kevin glanced our way but didn’t stop running. A moment later, he and Tar disappeared in the direction of the hall.
    I gazed after him thoughtfully. “He can’t get the front door open yet, can he?”
    The toddler’s list of accomplishments seemed to grow daily. And unfortunately, sometimes when he’d mastered a new skill, I found out the hard way. Now I pictured him letting the dogs outside and all of them dashing madly around the front yard, accompanied by Kevin dressed only in his diaper.
    Sad to say, one of my chief goals in life is to keep most of the chaos surrounding my family confined to a place where the neighbors won’t see it.
    â€œNo way,” said Sam. “The knob’s too big for his hands, and it’s too stiff for him to turn.”
    I waited a beat. Sam thought for a moment, then frowned. “I’ll go check,” he said.
    â€œSo,” I said, turning back to Davey as Sam left the room. “You’ve heard from Aunt Peg?”
    â€œThree times,” Davey confirmed. He repositioned the dryer’s nozzle and moved on to a new section of hair. “She wanted to make sure I knew that Saturday’s judge likes a pretty head.”
    Connie Wilburn was our first judge of the weekend. Now in her late seventies, Mrs. Wilburn had been judging Poodles since before I was born. Her opinion on a dog was knowledgeable, impartial, and well worth seeking. The downside was that Mrs. Wilburn wasn’t nearly as limber as she’d once been. Arthritis prevented her from bending down over a dog and really getting her hands on the body beneath the hair. She had always appreciated a Poodle with a pretty face; now that was just about all she could see.
    â€œAugie’s got a great head,” I said. “Nothing to worry about there.”
    â€œI know. That’s what I told Aunt Peg. But then she called back to say that she’d stop by the setup on Saturday to put in Augie’s topknot for me.”
    â€œI hope you said no, thank you.”
    Handling Augie to his championship was Davey’s second try at dog show competition. Several years earlier he’d been eager to try out his fledgling skills in Junior Showmanship. Initially he’d had a great time. He’d done pretty well, too—until Aunt Peg’s overbearing coaching had managed to ruin his enjoyment of the sport.
    This time around, Sam and I were both determined that things would be very different. Davey would be allowed to learn at his own pace, make mistakes without censure, and find his own path to success—no matter how long it took.
    â€œI did.” Davey sighed. “But she’ll probably show up anyway.”
    â€œWho?” Sam reappeared, trailed by Raven and Faith. “Are we talking about Peg?”
    â€œOf course, who else?” I glanced around behind him. “Where’s the munchkin?”
    â€œI got him settled in front of the TV with a cartoon and a couple of Poodles for company. I think all that running around wore him out.”
    Faith sidled up beside me and pressed her muzzle into my hand. I curled my fingers around her lips and squeezed gently. She blew out a warm breath into my palm.
    Every Standard Poodle in the house save Augie was a retired show dog. So they were all familiar with both the lengthy duration and the repetitive tedium of the grooming process. I knew that Faith was feeling conflicted. She was happy not to be the dog who had to lie perfectly still on the grooming table; but at the same time she was a little bit jealous that she wasn’t