I knew it, our turn was over and the group moved on without a single negative remark.
“William did well!” someone said. I turned to find myself face to face with Samantha. Her blonde hair was curled and she looked even prettier than usual.
“Do you want a hot dog?” I asked. Where had I got the guts to ask her that?
“That would be nice, thank you,” she said. “I am having such a rotten time.” Her blue eyes were suddenly filled with tears.
“But why?” I asked.
“That horrible man and his team of baboons made poor Hester feel so bad!”
“Hester?”
“My collie,” she said, pointing to a creature almost as beautiful as she, standing at her heel with a drooping tail.
I lifted William from his cage and the four of us set off towards the entrance of the hall, where drinks and snacks were being sold by some ladies from the SPCA. I bought three hot dogs: one for each of us and a third to be shared by the two dogs.
“Hester isn’t allowed to eat junk food,” Samantha protested, and William got the whole hot dog for himself. He looked even more smug than usual.
Fortunately Samantha was not so strict with her own diet, and we dug into our hot dogs, licking the mustard and tomato sauce from our fingers. While we waited for the judging to finish, we chatted about school and the maths teacher which terrified us both.
Then an announcement was made over the public address system: “Ladies and gentlemen, please gather for the results of today’s contest!”
Up to his Old Tricks?
“How did it go?” my mom asked when she picked us up a while later.
I was still in shock. Couldn’t she see the giant silver cup I was holding?
“We won, we really did!” I said. My mom was flabbergasted. William made a funny noise from the back seat. “Well, William won. He is now officially the best-looking dog in town, with a chance of being selected to represent our country at the International Dog Show.”
“What are you saying?” My mom stalled the car at the robot and the driver behind us hooted impatiently. I waited until she’d gathered her wits and was able to drive off again.
But there were more surprises in store for us. Late that Monday afternoon my mom got a telephone call. William gestured to me, and the two of us sneaked off to my parents’ bedroom. I picked up the extension and eavesdropped on the conversation.
“… the winning dog and his owner are to be housed in one of the very best hotels. We’ll take care of all the arrangements.”
“But my son is only twelve years old!”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Simpson. We will look after him as carefully as if he were a one of our precious show dogs. Let me congratulate you once more on his dog’s splendid achievement. He scored far
higher than any other dog in the country, making him a very convincing winner. That is a very special dog indeed!”
I recognised the boisterous voice of Sibelius Sprok. Slowly the meaning of what he was saying dawned on me. My rather plain and podgy spotted spaniel had been selected as the most beautiful dog in the country! What would that do to his already over-inflated self-esteem? He would become completely unbearable!
“But Mr Sprok,” my mom said, “I never even realised that Alex’s dog was a thoroughbred. We didn’t think he was … anything special!”
“Yes, yes, dear lady. He may not be much to look at,” – I started to giggle and had to press my hand over the receiver not to be heard – “but the competition evaluates many different aspects. We look at their general condition, character and uniqueness …”
Yes, that was more like it. Condition: William was unquestionably in good condition, even fat. Character: he had lots of that, self-centred and stubborn as he was. Uniqueness: the mere mention of his name struck terror into the hearts of many international criminals. I would call that unique!
But how could the judges know about all of that?
Nevertheless, he had won. I could barely believe that my dog was now officially the best dog in the country.
I silently replaced the receiver and looked down at William, sitting at my feet with a huge grin on his face and his tail beating the wooden floor rhythmically.
“William, old pal,” I said. “It seems like the two of us are going to New York!”
* * *
“Out of the question!” my dad said that evening over dinner. “You can’t go to New York all on your own. It is totally unacceptable.”
“But Dad …”
“No use arguing, Alex. New York is a very big city, full of crime and danger. You are simply too young to go to a place like that all on your own.”
I chased my peas around my plate with my fork. If he only knew about all the places I had been! Even on the International Space Station! And that had been barely a month before.
William was snoring under the table, as if this conversation did not interest him at all.
Help came from a surprising source. “Sweetheart,” my mom said, “this is a wonderful opportunity for him. Don’t you think we are a bit overprotective? He is growing up fast, you know.”
My thoughts exactly.
My dad cut his steak with a determined gesture which said: I have spoken!
Just then, the telephone started to ring. My dad wouldn’t normally have bothered to answer it, but as if he decided that he should reaffirm his grip on his household, he got up to answer it himself. My mom and I sat there quietly, pretending to carry on with our meal while both of us tried to overhear the conversation happening in his study down the hall.
After a while, Dad returned. His eyes were shiny and he was even blushing a little. He sat down and cleared his throat before addressing us.
“Well, can you imagine? That was our managing director phoning from Johannesburg. I have never even met the man. But he said that he’d read in the paper that our dog won the national title, and he wanted to congratulate me personally! Apparently he is a great dog-lover.”
“That’s wonderful, darling!” my mom said. “But did you tell him that unfortunately William won’t be going to the international show?”
My dad glanced at the last three peas left on his plate, then at me. “The director asked that you send him a photo of you and your champion dog in front of the stock exchange in Wall Street.” He looked at my mother and continued: “Perhaps you are right. We are being overprotective. Perhaps Alex should go.”
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