Ziggy

THE
PUPPY PLACE

ZIGGY

ELLEN
MILES

For Joe, Anne, and Sofie

“Take your dogs on around, please.”

Charles Peterson cheered and clapped along with the rest of the crowd as he watched nine of the prettiest golden retrievers he had ever seen prance around in a circle. They held their heads and tails high, and their silky coats rippled and shone in the sun. After the dog show judge told the handlers to trot their dogs around the ring, she took some time to look over the retrievers more closely, checking their teeth and stroking their coats.

Charles tried to decide which one he liked best. Some really were golden — but others were paler or reddish or copper-colored like a bright,
shiny new penny. They all had feathery tails, silky-looking ears, proud heads, and bright eyes set in happy, eager faces.

“Wow.” Charles decided that he couldn’t decide. “They’re all so beautiful.”

“Aren’t they?” His aunt Amanda smiled down at him. “This dog show is my favorite event of the fall, every year.”

“It’s my new favorite, too,” said Charles’s older sister, Lizzie, who stood on the other side of their aunt. “Thanks for bringing us, Aunt Amanda. This is better than Halloween.”

Charles thought for a moment.
Better than Halloween? Hmmm. Chocolate or dogs. Chocolate or dogs.
Which did he like better? He sure did love chocolate, but still, it was really no contest. “You’re right,” he told his sister. “This might even beat Halloween — for a dog lover.”

There was no question that Charles, his aunt, and his sister were all dog lovers. Aunt Amanda
even made her living working with dogs: She ran a doggy day-care center called Bowser’s Backyard, where people could leave their dogs for the day while they were at work. And Charles and Lizzie, along with their parents and their younger brother the Bean, whose real name was Adam — not that anybody ever called him that — were a foster family for puppies. That meant that when they met a puppy who needed a home, they kept it and took care of it until they could find it the perfect forever family.

The Petersons had fostered lots of puppies, and Charles had loved every single one of them. It wasn’t always easy to give them up when the time came. Luckily, the best one of all had come to stay. Buddy, the cutest puppy ever, had started out as a foster puppy, but the Petersons had decided to keep him. Now Buddy was a member of the family.

But as cute as Buddy was, with his soft brown fur and the white spot in the shape of a heart on his chest, he had not been allowed to come along to the dog show. Neither had Aunt Amanda’s four dogs — three pugs and Bowser, the golden retriever her business was named after. Aunt Amanda had said that there would be way too many dogs, and way too much distraction, for it to be easy or fun to have their own dogs with them. She had been right, too. Charles could see that now. Anyway, it turned out that he did not miss Buddy at all. He didn’t have
time
to miss him. Charles was too busy taking in all the sights and sounds of the dog show.

It was so cool how the judge told the handlers what to do. Following her orders, they walked their dogs around the ring or trotted them up and back so that the judge could watch the way the dogs ran. Sometimes the judge had the handlers make the dogs pose like statues while she took
another close look at their teeth and tails and everything in between.

“To win in a dog show,” Aunt Amanda had explained, “a dog has to be the best example of its breed. There is a certain way each breed is supposed to look, called a standard. That’s what the judges will look for — how well each dog meets the standard.”

“I know Buddy can’t be in the show, because it’s only for purebreds and he’s a mixed-breed dog. But what about Bowser?” Charles asked. “He’s just as good-looking as the rest of these golden retrievers. How come you don’t enter him in a show? ”

“Bowser is a handsome guy,” Aunt Amanda agreed. “But he does not meet the breed standard. He’s a little too big, and his chest isn’t exactly the way it should be. But he’s my best boy and I could never love anybody more.”

A man next to Aunt Amanda smiled. “That’s how we all feel about our dogs, isn’t it? They don’t
have to be champions in the ring to be champions in our hearts.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Nathan,” said Aunt Amanda. “I know you feel that way about Sally.”

Aunt Amanda seemed to know every person at this dog show — and most of the dogs, as well.

Lizzie didn’t know any of the people or their dogs’ names, but she knew every breed. “There’s a Plott hound!” she’d say. “Check out that schipperke!”

Charles barely knew a Plott hound from a Pomeranian, but he didn’t care. He loved every dog he saw, and that day he was seeing hundreds of them. He loved their silky coats; their happy, smiling faces with their tongues lolling out; their perky ears and wagging tails. He loved the doggy smells everywhere and the sounds of panting and barking. He wished he could hug every single dog at that show.

In the ring, the judge finally made her decisions. She handed a big blue ribbon to the handler of the shiniest, goldest retriever in the group. The handler burst into happy tears and threw her arms around the judge, then knelt to hug the dog.

Charles didn’t know why, but it almost made him feel like crying, too.

“Later today, that golden retriever will represent his breed in the best of group competition,” explained Aunt Amanda. “Golden retrievers belong to the sporting group, along with labs and other athletic dogs. Pugs are in the toy group, and dogs like border collies are in the herding group. Each group will have its own competition, and then the winners of those will be in the very last competition, for best in show. You won’t believe how exciting that is.”

They started to walk around the grounds again.

“Look! A wiener dog.” Charles pointed to an adorable short-legged puppy with a long, sausage-shaped body.

“You mean a
dachshund,”
Lizzie said. “That is a short-haired dachshund, to be exact.”

“Whatever. Look at him. He’s so cute.” He really was just about the cutest dog Charles had ever seen — next to Buddy, of course. He was black and tan, with a silky-smooth shiny coat, huge hot-chocolate eyes, a long pointy nose, and big floppy ears. The puppy looked right back at Charles and pulled on his leash, his little tail wagging so hard and fast that it was nothing but a blur.

The announcer said something, but Charles wasn’t paying attention. All he could do was stare at that dog. He was dying to pet him — or better yet, pick him up and hug him — but he knew he couldn’t do that without asking the owner first.

“Aunt Amanda,” Lizzie said, “the announcer just said that pugs are in Ring Two right now.”

“Can’t miss that,” said Aunt Amanda. She pulled at Charles’s sleeve as she started off in the opposite direction. “Let’s go, Charles.”

“You go,” said Charles. “I’ll catch up.” And he took off at a trot to get a closer look at the wiener dog.

“Your dog is really cute. Can I pet him?” Charles asked the woman holding the dachshund’s leash. She was as big and round as the puppy was tiny and long. “My name’s Charles Peterson. My family fosters puppies, so I’m used to dogs.”

She smiled at him. “Hi, Charles. I’m Rosie,” she said. “And thanks for asking first. You’re welcome to pet him. Ziggy loves kids.”

“Ziggy?” Charles asked. “What a great name.” He knelt down to pat the dog. “Hi, Ziggy.”

Ziggy put his paws up on Charles’s knee. His tail wagged even faster. Charles patted the puppy’s head. His short hair was soft and smooth and warm under Charles’s hand. The puppy
looked up at Charles with those huge trusting eyes and snuffled at Charles’s fingers.

Hi! Do I smell bacon? Yum!

Charles giggled. “I think he smells my breakfast on my hands,” he told Rosie. He laughed again as Ziggy tried to climb into his lap. “Is Ziggy in the dog show?”

Rosie shook her head. “Not this boy,” she said. “My husband and I breed dachshunds, and we have four other dogs in the show today. But Ziggy — well, Ziggy’s not what we call show quality.”

“What do you mean?” Charles asked. “He seems perfect to me.”

“It’s his overbite.” Rosie shook her head. “See the way he looks a little bucktoothed, with his top teeth forward? That’s what is known as a major fault, and it means he will never win
a blue ribbon in the ring. We won’t breed him, either, since we don’t want more puppies with that problem.”

“Wow.” Charles thought Ziggy’s face was adorable, overbite or not. What was the big deal? “That’s too bad.”

Rosie shrugged. “We have plenty of other show dogs. The sad part is that I have to find a home for him. I’m pretty crazy about the little guy, but I just can’t keep him. When my husband, Peter, and I got married, he promised that I could have four dogs. I bumped him up to five, then seven, then nine. But Peter drew the line at ten. I keep telling him Ziggy is a real special boy, but even I can’t deny that we’ve already got dachshunds coming out of our ears at home, what with the moms and the dads and sometimes two litters of puppies at one time.”

Charles smiled, picturing Rosie with wiener dogs coming out of her ears. He could just imagine what her house must look like, with all
those dogs. “I bet lots of people would want Ziggy,” he said.

“Maybe,” said Rosie. “But Ziggy is seven months old, and I haven’t found the right owner yet. I am very fussy about the homes my dogs go to. Dachshunds are terrific dogs, but they are not for everyone. I interview the people who want my dogs, and if they don’t seem like the right owners, I won’t sell them a dog.”

“That’s just like us,” Charles said. “When my family fosters puppies, we make sure that we find each one the perfect forever family. Every dog deserves a great home.”

Rosie nodded and smiled. “I agree with you one hundred percent,” she said.

Charles petted Ziggy once more, wishing he could pick him up and hug him forever. Ziggy really was a special guy. But Aunt Amanda might be wondering where he was. Maybe he should head over to Ring Two and find her and Lizzie.

The loudspeaker crackled and popped, and the announcer said, “Dachshunds to Ring Five. Dachshunds to Ring Five. Judging begins in five minutes.”

Rosie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear! I lost track of time. And of my husband. Where did Peter go? I have to go show one of our other dogs, and he promised to stay with Ziggy while I’m in the ring.” She glanced around wildly.

Charles looked at Ziggy. Ziggy looked back at him, wrinkling his brow in a funny way. Charles almost thought he saw Ziggy wink at him.

How about it? You and me, pal.

“I could watch him,” Charles said. Rosie hesitated.

“I really do know about dogs,” said Charles. “I have lots of experience. And so does my aunt. She’s right around here somewhere.” He waved an arm.

Rosie checked her watch. “I don’t have a second to spare.” She bit her lip. “Okay, Charles Peterson. Maybe I’m crazy, but I have a good feeling about you. I’m going to trust you with my Zigaroo.” She handed the leash to Charles. “Hang on tight,” she warned. “Ziggy loves to run. And he’s a bit of a Houdini.”

“A bit of a what?” Charles asked, but Rosie was already ten steps away. Charles looked down at Ziggy and tightened his grip on the leash. “Well, whatever you are, you’re stuck with me. Come on, let’s go find Aunt Amanda.”

At Ring Two, the judge was just awarding the blue ribbon to a cute fawn-colored pug with a squashed black nose. Lizzie and Aunt Amanda clapped like crazy, along with the rest of the audience. The pug twirled around at the end of his leash, clearly loving all the attention.

“Hi,” said Charles.

Aunt Amanda turned. “Charles, where have
you —” She stopped and stared down at the dachshund puppy. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ziggy.” She and Lizzie both squatted down to pat Ziggy.

“You know this puppy?” Charles asked. Of course. Aunt Amanda knew every dog for miles around. Why should he be surprised?

“Sure,” said Aunt Amanda. “He’s a love. Rosie’s been trying forever to find a new home for him, but nobody’s good enough for her Ziggy. Rosie is an excellent, responsible breeder and she really cares about where her dogs end up. But in this case, I think maybe she’s just a little too attached to the pup.”

“She let me hold him because she had to go show her other dachshunds,” Charles explained. “I promised to take good care of him.”

Aunt Amanda nodded. “I’m impressed. She must have really liked you. Rosie wouldn’t let just anyone take care of the Zigster.”

Charles was starting to get an idea. “I wonder …,” he said.

Aunt Amanda looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“I wonder if she’d let us foster him,” he finished.