Chapter 7

The judging had seemed to go well. Under Amaya’s watchful eye and clicking tongue, Champ had done all the things it looked like he was supposed to do, from the ramps to the jumps to the winding of his little Jack Russell body around flexible poles at breakneck speed. According to the man sitting beside Bryson’s father, there would now be a break while scores were tallied, then a new set of dogs would come out and do their meet.

Bryson used the opportunity to get up and walk around, assuring his mother that he was fine, and no, he shouldn’thave brought his cane or the scooter. Neither would have fared well on the dirt floor or along the path to the barn that was nothing more than a line of trodden-down grass and sand and not really a path at all.

“Bry! Bry-bry!”

He heard Amaya’s voice, but when he scanned the group of people standing at or near the open entranceway, he came up empty. It wasn’t until he heard the clop-clop-clop of shoes on wooden steps that he realised why.