Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Goes to the Dogs
by Tux Toledo
Page 8
The
air was brisk when we arrived at Nick's Woodside estate early Saturday
morning. A light fog created a damp shroud that would
eventually dissolve into the coming sunrise. A Jenning
Challenger transporter, a monstrous vehicle with room for six horses, a
groom's area, and seats that could be turned into bunks, could be seen
in the pale mist.
"Good morning!" Nick called. He walked toward us at a brisk
pace. "We're about ready to go." He clasped his
hands together. "This is what I really live for, Mr.
Churchill. Oh, I like the excitement of making a deal,
acquiring a company, but nothing compares to this. There's
nothing like the companionship of a good dog. To tell you the
truth, I prefer dogs to people."
"I suspected that," I said.
"They're loyal, caring, and a lot less trouble." He waited
for my reaction. There was none. Sometimes you've
just got to play it cool.
"You know," I said. "I'm rather looking forward to seeing one
of these field trials."
"Good! Maybe you'll catch the bug, get a dog of your own."
I smiled.
"Then again," Nick scrutinized me. "You may not be the type."
I was rather put off by that last comment. Nick was still
unconvinced of my sporting nature. I mean, really!
I was wearing a pair of thick, tan corduroy pants with a dark green
Welsh wool sweater under a tweed sport coat made from material actually
woven in the Hebrides. A Barbour thornproof cap and a pair of
real Wellies completed my outfit. What could be sportier than
that? I was beginning to ask myself why I should help someone
who did not recognize my sporting nature.
"Perhaps not," I mumbled. "By the way, do you know anyone
with a black Mercedes sedan?"
© 2008 David Biagini