Coming Home
That Saturday was one of those perfect days. I loaded my Afghan hound, Yours Truly Raspberry Ice, into the truck, and we were off. I’m not sure which of us spent more time hanging our heads out the windows to enjoy the wind and smells. I love the fall. The air was so cool and crisp I could eat it like candy. The colors exploded around me, and everywhere I looked the picture kept changing.
I’m not sure how Raspberry got her name. I did find she had a penchant for raspberry ice cream, but her history was shrouded in a kaleidoscope of changing homes. She’d be purchased for her excellent bloodlines, fail miserably in the show ring, and be shuffled off to someone else.
All my dogs knew errands ended at the ice cream stand with a chocolate shake for me and a dish of ice cream for them. Well, all of them but Raspberry. I had purchased her a year earlier and was still trying to get her to bond to me. For two years she had bounced from show home to show home, changing every two to three months until she was afraid to trust. She’d look at me with those big brown eyes as if she were asking whether I would reject her too. Dogs don’t necessarily understand words, so I struggled to find the actions to prove myself worthy. My other dogs had trusted immediately. I was theirs, and they could depend on me for all things from kibble to ice cream to cuddles. Raspberry ignored them with the aloofness bred into Afghan hounds.
Physically, she was a showstopper with an unusual reverse coloring called “domino.” Her long silky hair gradually moved from black at her back through gray to white—picture perfect. But she would cringe in the show ring, greeting everyone with the physical actions of submission that made her a failure as a show dog.
My male Afghan, Khan, was day to Raspberry’s night. Typical cream color, sporting a pink nose, crooked teeth, and a chest so narrow his front feet should have crossed, he’d walk into the ring with the regal elegance of a king allowing the peasants to gaze upon his beauty. His attitude put us in the ribbons even if we didn’t deserve to be there. I’d started showing him as a lark, a good excuse for my husband and me to get out of town for a weekend.
As time went on, I dreamed of establishing a small kennel. While I loved Khan, the purpose of breeding is to create improvement. Of course good breed stock is expensive, and as newlyweds with huge student loans hanging over our heads, we didn’t have the finances.
I shared my secret dreams with a breeder friend. She thought for a while and then introduced me to Raspberry. She’d been at a show and Raspberry’s owner had returned from the ring in a huff. The dog had known he was furious and had slunk into her crate. Softhearted Jill took one look and bought Raspberry on the spot. She vowed to find just the right home for this pretty little girl.
Raspberry had been raised in a home for autistic children. They would stroke her and hit her and she would love them. We were told some children would develop an attachment to her and come out of their internal world. But her life in the school had also left her never knowing if a person was going to pet her or swat her.
No one had been willing to take time with her until she came to me. Show dogs had to produce results and justify the expense of their existence or they were left behind like so much trash on the roadside of big dreams. But I did my best to shelter and nurture her. After a year, she still greeted me with the same level of friendliness she showed to a stranger walking down the street. It made me wonder whether it would matter to her if she never saw me again.
On this particular fall day, I found a nice grassy spot, set down her dish, looped the leash on my arm, and relaxed on a bench. A sharp jerk to my arm interrupted my reverie. Raspberry was at the very end of her twelve-foot leash, head up, tail wagging, and focused on something in the distance. Her ice cream dish was turned upside down, her treat melting into the grass. Her eyes were riveted across the parking lot of the nearby shopping center.
She bounced two feet straight in the air, landing only to fly up again, so I gave in to her tugging and my curiosity. Raspberry did her best sled dog imitation across the pavement with me as the sled.
About thirty feet from our destination, I realized what had grabbed her attention. A blonde girl of about twelve or thirteen stood quietly next to her mother watching Raspberry’s approach. The longing in her eyes made my heart ache. The dog plopped down in front of the girl and beat the sidewalk like a drum with her bony tail. The pretty blonde collapsed to her knees on the ground. She started to pet and hug and squeeze my dog. Raspberry soaked it up like a sponge, even the overzealous petting and too-hard squeezes.
The mother had tears in her eyes. “That’s the nicest dog I’ve ever met. She didn’t growl or slink back the way other dogs have.”
“Why would they do that?” I asked.
“Hannah has some special needs, and I guess the way she walks kind of scares them.”
“That must be why Raspberry was drawn to her then.”
I saw questions in the woman’s blue eyes. The same eyes I’d noticed in Hannah when we first walked up.
“This dog was raised in a home for special needs children,” I said. “Other dogs might be frightened by an unusual gait or sudden movements, but to her it’s normal, like being home.”
“Oh, do you work at that school?”
“No. Raspberry doesn’t get to live there anymore. Their board was terrified of the liability, so Raspberry was sent back to the breeder who resold her. She’s a nice dog but she gets nervous in the show ring, and that’s not what the judges like to see.”
“Will you let us know if she’s ever in a show around here?”
“We’re in one next Saturday at the fairgrounds.”
The next Saturday morning, I stood ringside trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from flapping down the leash to Raspberry. If I really wanted to open a kennel, I needed to get a championship on her. We had to get fifteen points by beating other dogs in the ring. Most of the competition was well established and showing beautiful animals. Only the spectacular won. When a judge reached for Raspberry, she usually flinched—that little bobble, legacy of her puppy home—which took us out of the ribbons and sent hopes of my own kennel out into the future.
Our year together had helped. She no longer groveled in front of judges, but it wasn’t enough. An Afghan hound is supposed to have a superior and aloof attitude; it should look down its very long nose at you. Raspberry looked up through her long white lashes with an expression of hope in her eyes and flinched when anyone reached for her.
All too soon the puppy class was out. It was our turn. “Come on, Razzle Dazzle.” I did my best to make my voice light and happy. I reminded myself winning wasn’t everything as we jogged into the ring. Raspberry’s head hung near the floor. We weren’t going to win this time either. I reached down and stroked her silky ear, wishing she understood my whispered “I love you.”
Then it happened. Her head came up, her tail curled in a perfect ring over her back, and she was prancing around the circle in a motion that made her look like she was floating. The black-and-white hair flashed like changing storm clouds running before a strong wind. As the judge approached, she danced forward, wagged her tail, and gave a ladylike kiss to the reaching hand. No judge can resist a gentle little kiss. Smiling in spite of his attempts to hide it, the judge moved on to the other dogs in the ring. We did it. I waltzed out of the ring with a red second place ribbon, Raspberry’s first ribbon ever.
Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.
—Groucho Marx
The ring steward called my number. The dog that beat us had won best of breed. Winning at a dog show is something of a pyramid competition, like the elimination rounds in a basketball tournament. All dogs compete in classes. The winners of the classes compete for best of breed. Each best of breed competes for best of group—hound, herding, working, terrier, toy, sporting, and non-sporting. The seven best in group dogs compete for best in show. A reserve winner is also selected in each competition, in case the best of breed dog can’t compete or is disqualified from the group competition.
To make everything fair for the dogs that started in the same class with the best of breed winner, the second place winner is brought in to compete for reserve winner. Every second place handler stands ringside chewing their nails as they wait to see if they get to compete for second place in the breed showing. I wasn’t any different. We had to go in and see which was second best.
Raspberry paraded back around the ring, and then I was handed the pink reserve winner’s ribbon. I’m still not sure how we got out of there. As friends converged to congratulate us, Raspberry nearly jerked my arm off bolting for someone in the crowd. There stood Hannah. In a flash, Raspberry was up on her hind legs giving Hannah’s face lots of dog kisses.
“Hi Raspberry, I knew you’d win. I just knew it. Mommy said since you’re so nice, I can have a dog. I’m going to get one just like you.”
Hannah’s mother smiled at me. “I was wondering if you could tell me where to get a dog like Raspberry? Hannah hasn’t stopped talking about her.”
I hesitated. Was this a sign that Raspberry would be happier with Hannah than with me? I rubbed the silk ribbons, trying to decide what was best for this sweet dog. In that instant I think Raspberry read my mind. Dropping back to all fours, she romped over to me and leaned against my leg, looking up with love in her eyes.
It was my turn to be the mind reader. Raspberry was home. She would always love her special people, but I was her rock. She was happy in a world she trusted to stay the same with ice cream and show ribbons and me.
“Raspberry’s breeder is here at the show. Let me introduce you.”
I never saw Hannah or her mother again. I don’t know if they bought a puppy or not. I’m just glad Raspberry made the opportunity possible.
I look through her show book sometimes. Most people who see it ooh and aah at all the blue and multicolor winners ribbons, but the red second place and pink reserve winner ribbons will always mean the most to me. That was the day Raspberry found the rock on which to build her home—love.