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levels. From there, I walked Eve down the stairs and out into the turf-covered ground floor. Some sort of fracas was going on in the grooming area. Though the agility trial was still in progress, most of the spectators around the ring were looking instead at the end of the arena where a big garage door opened out onto the unloading ramp.
    Thankfully, the honking had stopped. As I took Eve back to her crate, the cluster of people who’d been standing in the doorway, arguing, began to disperse. I recognized most of them at a glance as they included several PCA board members and an equal number of committee heads. Not surprisingly, Aunt Peg was among them.
    One person I didn’t recognize was the man who went stamping out of the building. He climbed into a truck that was parked at the base of the ramp and gunned the engine several times, leaving a thick cloud of exhaust behind as he drove away. I tucked the puppy back in her crate and flagged down Aunt Peg as she came by.
    â€œWhat was that all about?”
    Peg rolled her eyes toward the heavens. “Damien Bradley,” she intoned as though the name alone should have been explanation enough.
    It wasn’t, at least not for me. Aunt Peg kept on walking. Since I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be in the immediate future, I tagged along after her. “Who’s he?”
    â€œA professional handler, and I use the term loosely, from Ohio. You’ve heard me talk about him.”
    Had I? I didn’t remember.
    â€œIn what context?”
    Aunt Peg stopped abruptly, “Melanie, don’t you pay the slightest bit of attention when I talk to you?”
    â€œUsually.” Whatever had caused Aunt Peg’s snit, I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. After all, with the number of tickets I’d sold that morning, I was the fair-haired girl of the raffle committee. Quickly I sorted through other options.
    â€œHow did Hope do in agility?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s not a subject we’re currently discussing.”
    Bingo.
    â€œMiss an obstacle?”
    â€œMissing it would have been preferable.” For a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to continue. Finally Aunt Peg said, “Hope went in one end of the tunnel and didn’t come out the other. Sat down somewhere in the middle, I expect. Heaven knows what she thought she was doing. Taking a nap, while the clock continued to tick away. I nearly had to crawl in and retrieve her.”
    Hope, like her litter sister, Faith, had a wicked sense of humor. I could well imagine the Poodle having a little fun at Peg’s expense. Most dogs liked to get through the tunnel as quickly as possible. On the other hand, few are as adept at playing jokes as Poodles are. My aunt is not a small woman; the thought of her six-foot body trying to fold itself down and fit into the tunnel entrance was enough to bring a smile.
    â€œDon’t,” Aunt Peg warned.
    The smile vanished. “Damien Bradley?” I said instead.
    â€œYet another annoyance in an already trying day.”
    â€œOh, pish.” It’s one of Aunt Peg’s favorite expressions. Somehow I seem to have started using it myself. “You love PCA. You always love PCA. You look forward to it for months. You’re sorry when it’s over.”
    â€œAnd while it’s going on I work like a slave for a week straight to make absolutely sure that nothing goes wrong,” she grumbled.
    â€œBut still . . .”
    Aunt Peg sighed. “You’re right, I love it. I love every blessed minute. Even the impossible ones, which would be any that include Damien Bradley.”
    â€œWhat was his problem?”
    â€œHis problem is, was, and always will be that he thinks he’s the most important person on the face of the earth. The club makes rules for a reason, usually to make everyone’s life a little easier. But Damien thinks they shouldn’t apply to him.”
    â€œHe wanted to unload his