“Come on,” I said. “Let’s see if we can get some ring time before tomorrow.”
Semifinals the next morning went smoother than I’d expected. Pampi ran beautifully.
She flew over the jumps with tight, efficient turns, responding to my cues before I finished giving them. Even the teeter, where she’d hesitated earlier in the week, hit the ground with a controlled tap instead of a slam.
She was faster and more confident than ever.
Halfway through the weave entry, her back paw clipped one of the poles. My stomach dropped, but she recovered immediately,driving forward without breaking stride. We qualified for the finals comfortably.
After we cleared the ring, I crouched automatically, running my hands down each leg. She didn’t flinch. Still, I didn’t like the fact that she had gotten hurt.
We took her over to the on-site event veterinarian’s station. The vet told us she had a minor scrape, cleaned it, applied a light protective wrap, and recommended a mild anti-inflammatory just in case there was any soreness later.
“She’s fine to compete,” the vet, Dr. Mitchell, assured. “But give her a quiet evening.”
Back in the room, Pampi curled into her bed and passed out almost immediately. Between the adrenaline crash and the medication taking the edge off, she was deeply asleep within minutes.
I stood there for a second, irrationally envious.
Chris came up beside me. “She earned it.”
“She did,” I said.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “We did.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that.
By evening, a handful of handlers had organized dinner at a restaurant a couple of blocks from the hotel.
As soon as we stepped inside, the warm smell of grilled meat and garlic hit us. Donnie spotted us first and waved enthusiastically.We squeezed past a couple of tables and took the open seats beside him.
“Perfect timing,” Donnie said. “Settle something for us. Best practice spot so far?”
“Depends what you’re working on,” Chris said.
“We’ve mostly been using the indoor practice hall near the main event arena,” I added. “The full-size obstacles were useful.”
A handler across from us nodded. “Must be working. I’ve never seen a dog improve that quickly between rounds.” She paused. “Not that Pampi wasn’t already good,” she added quickly. “But she was on fire today.”
I thought for a moment before responding, weighing how much to give away.
I inclined my head. “She just needed more reps in a new environment. Once she settled, she locked in.”
Another handler leaned forward. “You’re really good with her. Any tips?”
Before I could answer, Sheila jabbed a fry at them, grinning. “Hey! You’re asking for tips from the finalists? Not happening.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
“Yeah,” Donnie added. “We’re not handing you insider tricks.”
I took a sip of my drink. “There aren’t tricks, not really,” I said. “Just consistency. Dogs read hesitation. If you’re not sure, they won’t be either.”
Chris was still smiling at me, like he was cataloging every word.
“What?” I muttered under my breath.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just like hearing you talk shop.”
