Ben Reach went to the National Championship only when someone close to him—a handler or dog owner—had an entry in contention. Still, with all Ben’s connections to the sport, he found himself riding at the Ames Plantation for a half-day every few years. This was one of those years, and Ben was enjoying it. The friend and client with a dog qualified and ranked high in the Gossip Rankings (the only rankings save Purina Points) was a client from Thomasville with a private jet who invited him along. Ben loved to fly thus, and hated to fly commercial.
The owner, Bob Eanes, had rented a small farm and it’s Manor House near Grand Junction. Bob’s and another handler with an entry were staying in a cottage on the farm and had their entries for the National and the West Tennessee Open All-Age, running nearby, housed in the farm’s kennels.
Bob and Ben flew into Memphis two days before Bob’s entry was to run in the morning brace. They had a rental vehicle waiting and drove it east to the farm. Bob’s handler, Ray Cubbage, was waiting to carry in their luggage and to fix them drinks at the bar, a martini for Bob and a dram of The Macallan for Ben. He would also grill them steaks for supper, with the two handlers as dinner guests.
The other handler was Farley Snead of Tennessee, an up-and-coming youngster with an entry to run tomorrow afternoon that many insiders had ranked high to win. It would be Farley’s first try. Farley was nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Ray would be scouting for him. Bob and Ben would be in the gallery.
Farley was the victim of much teasing during supper. He took it well, but Ben could tell by the time it ended with the handlers’ leaving to check on their stock and to go to bed that he had had about enough.
The four men did not plan to ride the morning brace so they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of bacon, eggs, biscuits and salt herring, prepared by the handlers. Then they loaded up to drive the ten miles to the Ames Plantation.
The weather was ideal, 55’F at noon with a forecast of light overcast but no rain for the afternoon. Farley’s entry, a five-year-old pointer female named Georgia Peach, lived up to her billing with a six-find race that was for the three hours to the Amesian Standard. She kept the front, hunted every step, handled smoothly, was stylish and accurate in locating her birds, scored a dandy relocation on her last find that seemed to Ben icing on the cake and finished strongly far at the front.
Farley received many compliments after the performance and during his ride in. Ben looked forward to rerunning the brace over dinner and hearing from Farley the stories of Peach’s breeding, development, earlier performances and preparation for this big event. He wished Peach’s owner were present to enjoy the evening with them.
Ray had elected to take his entry with them to Ames rather than leave it at the farm. He had placed it in a run in the Trapp Memorial Kennels vacated by Peach’s brace mate. Shortly after they got back to the farm they would all realize that decision by Ray was as fateful as any in his long career.
Ben and Bob were in the house enjoying drinks when Ray walked in carrying a game trail camera. The look on his face was alarming, a combination of fury and terror. “Come look at this,” he said to Bob and Ben. Then he played back for their viewing a segment of digital video from the motion activated camera, hidden to cover the kennel run where his National entry had been housed until they left for Ames that morning (Ray had then placed in the run a derby son of the entry that was the spitting image of his sire. Ben had noticed the night before that the run’s door was marked with a name plate for Ray’s and Bob’s National entry.)
The video showed a stranger entering the kennel run with a hypodermic syringe in hand, calling the derby to him, and petting it (it was a very friendly and affection-seeking animal and showed no fear of the stranger).
Then in an instant the stranger had administered to the shoulder of the derby an injection and departed. The practiced ease with which the injection was administered, plus the fact it was preceded by wiping the injection spot with a swab, presumably soaked in alcohol, told all three men the culprit was likely a veterinarian. The camera had a clocking feature that showed all this had happened in less than ten minutes starting at 1:45 PM.
“Who is that son-of-a-bitch?” Ray snarled. Bob shook his head. Ben started to do the same, then remembered something. Last evening he had perused a copy of Field Trial News, the free newspaper published once a year to publicize the National Bird Dog Championship and for advertising. Ben thought he recalled seeing in it a photo of someone who looked like the human figure in the video. He found the newspaper lying on the coffee table in the farmhouse living room.
“Look at this,” Ben said, holding up the newspaper opened to a page where a man who looked like the injector was pictured squatting to pose a pointer identified in the caption as an entry. The caption said the man would scout the dog and was its owner. His name was preceded by “Dr.” He was a newcomer to field trials and from a West Coast state. The dog was drawn as Ray’s and Bob’s entry’s brace mate, scheduled to run tomorrow morning.
“Where is Farley?” Bob asked. “Took my derby to the vet to see if he can use a blood sample to see what the injection was.” Ray said. Just then Ray’s cell phone rang. It was Farley. The blood sample had been taken and was on the way to a lab in Memphis for analysis. The vet said the derby showed signs of having been administered a long-acting sedative, hopefully not harmful. The blood sample should be processed before morning and should reveal the injected substance.
“What do we do now?” Ray asked. “How about Ben calls the prosecuting attorney for this county and we show him this video? “ Bob said. Ben had been thinking about that question and had another idea. The veterinarian’s handler was from Leesburg and Ben had known him for years. He was confident the handler knew nothing of the crime. He explained this to Bob and Ray.
“Suppose I call the handler and invite him to bring his owner over for an after dinner drink. I think we might achieve more than get that slimy son-of-a-bitch convicted of trespass.” Bob and Ray bought the plan.
At 9 PM the Leesburg handler knocked on the farmhouse door. He introduced his new owner to the group and Ray fixed them drinks. When everyone was seated in the living room Ben took over with help from Ray.
“Gentlemen, I begin by apologizing to Frank (the Leesburg handler) for misrepresenting the reason for the invitation that brought you here. It was not to wish you luck tomorrow as I said on the phone. It was to show you this video.”
With that Ray cranked up a large tablet computer onto which he had transferred the digital video from the game trail camera. The picture included a running print of the date and time. When in ten minutes the screen went blank, the veterinarian’s face showed his terror. He remained seated and silent.
“You will be relieved to know the dog you injected was not your brace mate for tomorrow but a son of his. We have an offer to make you. You go from here back to wherever you are staying, load up your rig with your clothes, horses and dogs except any you have got with Frank, fill your tanks at the nearest truck stop and set your cellphone app on Waze for Home. Do not stop until you get there except for bathroom, fuel, coffee and to-go food and to look after your stock. Do not ever enter another dog in a field trial or attend one. If we learn you have this video and the one Farley is filming right now (Farley had his Go Pro running) will go viral on YouTube and it and all of tonight’s video will go to the prosecuting attorney of this county, to the FBI and to the veterinary regulator in your home state. You will sell your National entry to Frank here for $1—Frank get a buck out of your wallet and give it to him now. You will authorize him right now to sell your other dogs with him with a 50 % commission and pay their board until they sell. If you do not take this offer you will be arrested before sun up.”
The veterinarian stood unsteadily and said to Frank. “Take me to the motel. I am leaving for home.”
With that Frank and the veterinarian left.
Next morning at eight two dogs lit out across the opening bean fields of the Ames Plantation. Ten minutes later Bob got a call from the vet who had extracted blood from his derby. The injection had been a benign sedative.
In two hours both dogs were picked up by their handlers. They had hunted valiantly and handled well, but birds were not moving. Both had scored two finds.
When all entries had run three dogs were being talked of as possible Champions, including Georgia Peach. But alas it was not to be. The title went instead to last year’s winner, Sunny Hill Jo.