A Desperate Handler

The look of despair on the face of Vick Fell told Ben Reach the young handler had real troubles.

Joanne had put Vick in the library-conference room with a cup of coffee to wait for Ben who was tied up in a judge-ordered settlement conference at the courthouse when Vick arrived for his appointment. She too had recognized the anxiety in Vick and wanted to spare him having to be seen by others who might stop by the office unannounced, as all sorts of friends of the curmudgeon were likely to do now that bream fishing time was arriving.

Ben shook Vick’s big leathery hand, “Sorry to make you wait, son. How can I help you?”

With that Vick told his strange tale. Told it with honest emotion.

It was Vick’s third year on his own as a for-the-public handler of all-age bird dogs. Before that he had for ten years helped his father Fred, with scouting and all the other tasks of a team on the circuit. Then Fred had fallen ill and died, leaving Vick with the string and four horses and a rig (F-350 diesel dually and goose-neck trailer, both paid for but long on mileage). Vick’s mother Sally was really the inheritor, but she loved her son as Fred had and backed the lad in his try. She worked as a nurse at the hospital in Albany as she had for more than thirty years. She was one of Doc Nixon’s favorites.

Vick was thirty now. He’d enjoyed enough success in the first two years to cement his relations with his father’s two best owners. This third year with just the two trials at Albany remaining on the calendar, his pointer Dumbarton Dan had a chance to win Purina Dog of the Year, if he could win the Southeastern or the Masters. He was entered in both. The Southeastern had concluded yesterday and Dan had not placed, the Masters would commence tomorrow.

Three days ago it had been announced that one of the Masters’ judges had withdrawn due to a horse wreck injury, and Mike Antrim of Atlanta would take his place. This was the problem that had Vick in despair, as he explained now to Ben.

“Mike Antrim was a judge Pop would not run under. Told me I should never run under him either. Would not tell me why. When I heard he was going to judge the Masters I knew I couldn’t scratch Dan. That would cost me Dan and his owner for sure. I asked Mom why Pop wouldn’t run under Mr. Antrim. She told me that when she met Pop she’d been engaged to Mr. Antrim.”

Ben knew Mike Antrim of course, for he knew everyone involved with field trials. Mike was a wealthy car dealer, owner of multiple stores in three states. Ben did not know him well. Ben recalled that Sam Nixon knew Mike too, though he could not recall how he knew him.

“Do you mind if I talk with Dr. Sam Nixon about this, Vick? I think he knows Antrim, maybe better than I do.”

Vick hesitated. “ I think I better ask Mom about that,” Vick said, and reached for his cell phone.

Vick’s mom Sally Fell had no objection to Sam Nixon’s involvement. Welcomed it in fact. And she knew how Dr. Sam knew Mike Antrim.

Sam had been taking photos (one of his hobbies) at a horse show in Thomasville years ago when Mike Antrim’s daughter Kay had been badly injured in a horse fall in a jumper class. She’d punctured and collapsed a lung with a rib fracture. Doc had known what to do and got Kay aboard an ambulance promptly which saved her life.

That afternoon at 5 when Doc arrived at Ben’s office for the curmudgeons ritual dram of The Macallan, Ben explained the situation.

“Could you talk to Mike Antrim about Vick Fell’s concern about handling under his judgment in the Masters?” Ben asked. “Sure,” Sam answered. “You field trialers are a weird bunch for sure.”

Sam had called Mike Antrim next day and explained the situation. A long silenced by Mike had followed Sam’s explanation. Then Mike had responded.

“Fred Fell had been right not to run under my judgment. I never forgave him for stealing Sally from me. If I’d married her–she was the love of my life–it would have saved me two very expensive divorces. But I do not believe in the Old Testament admonition about visiting the sins of the father’s on future generations. You can tell Vick Fell I’ll give his dog fair judgment.”

“I knew you would say that Mike. How is Miss Kay?”

“She’s fine, but just went through a nasty divorce. I had told her not to marry the bum, but you know how youngsters are about that.”

Indeed Sam knew, especially when the youngster was sired by someone like Mike, a terrible example.

So Vick ran in the Masters, and Dumbarton Dan did a fine job with five finds and a strong forward race. Vick felt sure he’d won the Championship, but instead he’d been named Runner Up.

Vick was bitterly disappointed. It had cost Dan the Purina Award. He’d complained bitterly to Ben, who’d ridden for both Dan’s race and that of the Champion.

“Get over it Vick, I rode both braces. The Champion’s race was stronger and all at the front, unscouted. He had three good limb finds. He won it. Dan got what he was due.”

Vick didn’t like what Ben said, and did not agree with it, but he’d been in the game long enough to realize that’s how it would always be.

Then in May Vick got a call from Mike Antrim.

“I’ve got a couple derby prospects I’d like you to take North this summer to work if you have room.” Mike had two motives. He’d liked the way Vick handled at the Masters. And now that his second divorce was final and Sally Fell was single again, he wanted to see if he might renew what had been with her more than thirty years before. He thought the way to her heart might be through her only son.

And so it worked out. Sally accepted Mike’s invitation to fly in his jet plane to North Dakota to visit Vick’s camp, and Kay came too. In a year Mike married Sally, his third and last wife, and Vick married Kay. Such is the magic of field trials, in fiction and sometimes in life. And Dan won the National and the Purina Award that year.