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. Mr. Kyle and I were told to go to one end of the table.
Our dogs were placed at the other end. Mr. Kyle snapped his fingers and called to his dog.
The big hound started walking toward his master. What a beautiful sight it was. He walked like a king.
His body was stiff and straight, his head high in the air, his large muscles quivered and jerked under his glossy coat, but something went wrong.
Just before he reached the end, he broke his stride, turned, and jumped down from the table.
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