I told him I didn't think I'd enter either one of my dogs. They were so little. I didn't think they had a chance.
Grandpa got all huffed up. He said, 'It doesn't make any difference how little they are. They're coon hounds, aren't they?'
I asked him if he had seen any of the other hounds.
He said, 'Yes, I've seen them all. Sure they're big and good dogs, too, but it makes no difference. I don't care if your dogs are no bigger than a snuff can. They still have a chance. Now, which one are you going to enter?'
I couldn't decide. I said, 'I'll think it over tonight and let you know tomorrow.'
The next morning when I stepped outside the tent I saw men everywhere. They were combing and brushing their dogs, and getting them pruned for the beauty contest. Beautiful combs and brushes were used to brush expensive oils into their glossy hair.
Going over to my dogs, I stood and looked at them. I started to untie Old Dan but, taking a closer look at him, I could see he could never win a beauty contest. His face and ears were a mass of old scars, caused from the many fights with tough old coons and bobcats. I held his head in my hands and felt sorry for him, but loved him that much more.
I looked Little Ann over and couldn't see any scars. I laughed because I knew why. She was too smart to walk right up in the face of a fight. She would wait until Old Dan took hold and then dart in.
I untied her rope and walked her over to our tent.
My father and grandfather were gone. No doubt they were over in some tent visiting old friends and making new ones.
Looking around to find something I could use to groom my dog, I saw Grandpa's open suitcase. There, right on top, was the very thing I needed, his beautiful bone-handled hairbrush and his ivory comb. Picking them up, I turned them over and over in my hand.
Little Ann stood looking at me. Impulsively I reached down and raked her from shoulder to hip with the brush. She seemed to like it. I knew I shouldn't do it, but I decided to use them.
Knowing I had no oils, I got some butter from our grocery box. With the homemade butter and Grandpa's hair set, I brushed her until she shone. All the time I was grooming her, she tried to lick the butter from my hands.
The job completed, I stepped back and inspected her. I was surprised at the change. Her short red hair glistened and every one was in perfect place.
Shaking my finger at her, I said, 'If you lay down and roll, I'll wear you out,' although I knew I wouldn't.
Hearing a lot of movement outside, I looked out. Men were setting their dogs on a long table which had been built in the center of the campground. Leading Little Ann to it, I picked her up and set her on the table, too.
I told her to act like a lady. She wagged her tail as though she understood. I untied the rope and stepped back.
After the dogs were all lined up, the judging started. Four judges walked around and around the table, looking at them from all angles. When one of them would point at a hound, he was taken down and eliminated from the contest. Dog after dog was disqualified. Little Ann was still on the table.
My eyes were wide, my throat dry, and my heart thumping. One judge stopped in front of Little Ann. My heart stopped, too. Reaching over, he patted her on the head.
Turning to me, he asked, 'Is this your dog?'
I couldn't speak. I just nodded my head.
He said, 'She's a beautiful hound.'
He walked on down the line. My heart started beating again.
There were eight dogs left. Little Ann was still holding her own. Then there were four. I was ready to cry. Two more were taken down. Little Ann and a big walker hound owned by a Mr. Kyle were the only ones left. The judges couldn't seem to make up their minds.
Everyone started shouting, 'Walk them! Walk them!'
I didn't know what they meant.
