It was a very nice trip, the car rolling along and the dogs yipping. The towns we passed got out of our way. and it was no time at all before we were at the Club.
It had once been a fox hunting club, but someone had quoted Oscar Wilde about fox hunting being “the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable,” and anyway the few remaining foxes got too wise for the dogs. So, Dennis told us, it became a dog and horse club. All the members raised dogs or horses or knew people who did.
Gramp was taken over to a lot of fine gentlemen who shook his hand and pinned a blue ribbon on him almost as large as the ribbons they awarded the dogs. He wasn't a winner, however, I saw—just a “Judge,” as the ribbon read.
Gramp and Dennis left me in charge of the dogs, who got on my lap, and I sat holding the dogs while they went inside, They were big dogs, and I only had room for one at a time, so the cutest one won, and she kissed me on the nose, but I was too shy to kiss her back. I just wished I had her in the city and could walk her in the flower gardens. Mama and Dora got to the show at last and they took the hounds and entered them in their groups. At least Mama, who disliked all animal life except raccoon coats from Harvard, went along.
It was a gay time, and.they served a few things to charm all dog lovers. A big table had been set up on the front lawn of the club, and while it was just then against the law to drink certain forms of stuff men swallow, they did have a nice odor of bourbon and rye whiskey all over the place, and plats du jour of smoked ox tongue in almond and raisin sauce, mignonnettes of lamb with chicken livers, and what Mama called mollusqe bors-d'oeuvre. Also fried chicken and the expected ham.
Gramp and Dennis did their duty here, and then Gramp went off with some red-faced characters with notebooks to judge some dogs. All the dogs and all the people loved each other, and when they saw anyone they knew they either barked or said, “Hi, Roger.” “good doggie. Eddie, ” or “down, Mike.”
Gramp was in great form; at least he was doing a fine job of acting as if he knew dog life and its fine points. A large hound was standing in a dazed way in the sun. and Gramp went up to him and grabbed his tail and some skin under his neck and pulled; then he felt along the chest lines. Then he got down for an eye level view (the eye level of a worm ) and scouted the hound dog's angle shots. Then he rolled over almost like a garage mechanic rolling under an ailing car and studied the dog.
Every one seemed very impressed. “There never was any judging like this before!” The dog seemed bored, then he looked at Gramp as if he were wondering if Gramp were another dog. Gramp got that look and I think for a moment felt a little foolish because he got up, dusted his knees, and said, “This is a dog.”
People clapped their hands and some of the other judges came over and talked with Gramp and they agreed on some. thing—that it was a dog most likely. Mama and Dora lowered their eyes when two GaylOtd dogs got ribbons, but the Best of Show, and the Best in Class went t0 a big red dog with red eyes and a sensual leer.
On the way home Gramp said, “They outvoted me, Dennis. But your dogs should have won first. Frankly, the other judges were carpet baggets, not real judges of dog flesh.”
Dennis agreed but said a gentleman didn't care so much about winning; it was the breeding that mattered. Back at the house Dora said “like hell it was”— which wasn't how ladies talked at all, according to Mama—but even Mama said, “Damn it, you should have done better, Gramp.” Which shows how dog love creeps into people.
We left right alter dinner, of which I can't remember a thing any more. I guess the day had worn me down to a mental nub.
We promised to come back real soon. but of course we never did go back. That's the sad part about traveling; You make fast friends so quickly and then it's all over. Dora kissed Mania and kissed me. and Gramp handed out a cigar and shook hands with Dennis, who looked very handsome in white, his nose just a little red.
Emma, our car, was fixed and we piled in and drove off. Mama held a gift ham. the bottles of gilt bourbon were at her feet, and Dudley and Mac, the good hound dogs, sat in the road as we pulled away.
“Sorry I couldn't win first for them,” said Gramp.
“It was only dogs.” said Mama, reverting to type.
“The best dogs in Kentucky,” I said.
“Don't be too sure, Stevie,” said Mama. “It might be Ohio after all.”
Gramp scowled. “I suppose I'll never hear the end of how I mistook Kentucky for Ohio.”
“No,” said Mama cheerfully.
That night we had a dreadful meal in a crossroads hotel; the next day we skipped breakfast and lunch, trying to reach a place where the food was fit for human stomachs, But it was two weeks before we really found anything worth eating. Places like the Gaylords' were rare, even if Gramp did have a Dan't Boone skill in finding good living on the American highways. Food is still dreadful on our roadways, but in 1919 it was even worse. So you can understand why we remember with pleasure, and in great detail, when we had a fine meal.
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