“I need your help with a patient,” Sam Nixon MD told his pal Ben Reach while the curmudgeons were waiting for their breakfasts in their customary booth in Millie’s Diner.
“What’s his problem?” Ben asked.
“On the verge of a nervous breakdown. Bird dog handler, got one that won everything last season, can’t keep him at all this season. He was expecting to continue winning this season, but every time he turns him loose there is a screw up,” Sam said.
“How old?” Ben asked.
“Just three. Derby last season, he says. Calls him a ‘first year,’ whatever that is.”
Ben smiled. “Familiar story, familiar problem,” Ben said. “What’s the handler’s name, the dog’s name?”
“Paul Curtis. Dog’s name is Bob, a pointer.”
Ben knew well the handler-patient, had known him since he was a boy. Known his father too, also a handler, also high-strung and nervous, a perfectionist, short of patience with dogs, horses and customers. His own worst enemy, like many another.
“How about meeting with Paul and me, I’ve already suggested it to Paul, he thinks it’s a good idea,” Sam said. “Sure,” Ben said.
The curmudgeons met Paul Curtis in Ben’s library-conference room at 4:30 two days later. Joanne had a bucket of ice and plastic cups ready, and Ben lifted a bottle of Crown Royal for Paul and a quarter-filled one of The Macallan 12 for Sam and himself from their hiding place. With each man served, Sam opened.
“Paul, tell Ben about your problem and the troubles it’s caused you.”
Paul took a sip of Crown Royal and Coca-Cola and poured out his tale of woe. Ben knew the story before Paul’s first sentence was complete. Bob had been a phenomenal Derby, seven placements, all but two firsts, crowned by the Continental Derby Championship. But this season, his first as an all-age, Paul could not finish him, much less get a placement.
“I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.”
Ben was silent a few minutes as Paul stared down at his dusty Russell Moccasin boots. Tears appeared at the outside corners of his eyes.
Ben reached for the phone on the credenza behind him and dialed a number he did not have to look up. When a loud “Hello” erupted, Ben said,
“Mr. George, this is Ben. You and Bubba and Walker Lee got room on the mule wagon for a first year that needs to see some birds fall?”