It was a situation Ben had encountered often in his long career as a field trial judge, but its ending would be truly memorable.
Time had expired with both dogs out of sight at the front. Handlers and scouts rode in search, hoping to find their dog pointed. Success could mean victory, for the brace, the last of the Championship, had also been the best. Each dog had scored two finds under judgment and run an ideal ground race.
The handlers were arch rivals, and so were these dogs, one and two in Purina Points, both for Handler and All-Age Dog of the Year. Ben realized the drama of it soon after the four riders disappeared. He and his fellow judge and two marshals sat their mounts quietly, straining and hoping to hear “Point.”
They conferred on how much time each dog had to be shown, fifteen minutes for each (they had last been seen by the assigned judge five minutes before the hour expired). They agreed to add five minutes in light of the quality of the races and the imprecision of memory. Now they waited, and the tension mounted as the clicks of seconds came and went on the stop watches hung round their necks on strings.
When five minutes remained, they felt what a disappointment it would be if the grace period expired. The stake would go from outstanding to mediocre (the dogs they carried for Champion and Runner-Up before these were released had flaws in their races and only one find each). They conferred again out of the marshals’ hearing and agreed to add five minutes to the grace period.
With only two minutes left a faint but unmistakable call of “Point” reached Ben’s partner’s ears (Ben did not hear it for the years had dimmed his hearing). The marshals set their course and they broke into canters. Five minutes later the four came on the scene, followed by thirty gallery riders.
Minnesota Millie stood majestically, the wire grass touching her belly, her tail at 11:00, testament to her having been standing many minutes, for otherwise it would have been at 12:00.
Only one thing was out of kilter. The rider posted twenty yards behind her was not her handler, but the handler of Millie’s brace-mate. He had called point for Millie and in so doing assured his own dog’s defeat. This was the Masters, so as a practical matter the last place to win Purina Points.
Millie’s handler arrived on his blowing mount, dismounted, flushed and shot. Millie stayed put, saluting the birds with a slight twitch of her tail. Her handler hugged her, leashed her and walked to the rider who had called point and in doing so assured his own dog’s defeat. “Thank you,” said Millie’s handler, tears in his eyes.
There were tears in the eyes of the other handler as well. Only Ben saw them, but they would become immortal in the pages of the Field.
Just then the scout arrived with The Finalist on his rope.
Ben and his fellow judge dismounted and walked to the dog truck. On the ride in they quickly signed a page of Ben’s judge’s book. On it Ben had written, Minnesota Millie, Champion, The Finalist, Runner-Up.