Chapter Four
"This is worse than school enrolment," complained 'Dean Page' as he filled in the requisite forms. "Next of kin, emergency contact, health insurance, food allergies – what next? Favourite colour? Preferred breakfast cereal? Shoe size? Sexual orientation?"
"It's just for legal ass-covering, Dean," sighed Sam as he filled in his own form with the same purloined surname, "In case you trip over your own feet and inhale a dropped peanut and decide to sue them for millions for mental anguish, or something."
"I may just sue them for brain overload for this damned form," Dean grumped, pausing to look around. "They do seem to be taking this all very seriously," he added, watching a group of Obedience dogs go through their paces.
"That's Class Five," Sam told him, waving at the timetable that had been included in the folder of paperwork, "They're people who do it competitively. Like Ronnie did with Joni."
"Beats me why anybody would want to turn their dog into a fawning yes-man," Dean muttered.
"It's not like that at all," Sam corrected him, "It's a real team effort. It takes a lot of practice and persistence from dog and handler to develop a working partnership to that level…"
"You sound like you've swallowed one the pamphlets for this place," Dean scoffed.
"Well, we're only here for the Perfect Pups Program," Sam reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah, 'Making the most of your pup's potential by learning through play!',' trilled Dean. "I read the brief." He frowned at the clipboard. "What the hell?"
"What?" Sam looked up.
"It's not just my details," Dean explained, "They want the details of my puppy's next of kin. What am I supposed to put? 'By the Alpha of the Infernal Pack, out of a Hound of The Pit'?"
"You don't have to fill in that bit," Sam pointed out. "See? 'Only known details of pedigree', it says. It doesn't matter if your dog is a mutt."
"But he's not a mutt!" protested Dean, leaning down to scratch Lemmy's ears. "This is Lemmy, the best and brightest from Jimi Junior, who was the best and brightest from Jimi Senior – Winchester Ladies' Man - who was, I will remind you, Champion Open Dog at the Minnesota State Championship Show …"
"Well, put that down, then," Sam instructed. "Here – we'll put their sire down as 'Winchester Ace of Spades' – that's the name you gave Jimi Junior for that job in North Dakota."
"What about their mom?" queried Dean.
Sam thought for a moment. "Downsouth Devil Woman," he decided. "Then, we can put down Jimi Junior's sire and dam – Winchester Ladies' Man, and… Sängerhund Frau Rumsfelda," he wrote. "Hmmm, now we gotta put down their pedigree names." He looked up at Dean. "They all gotta start with the same letter," he told his brother.
"Why?" asked Dean.
"I dunno, they just do," shrugged Sam, "Pedigree dogs from the same litter all get given a name where the first name is the name of the kennel or the bloodline, and the next one, they all start with the same letter."
"Winchester Absolutely Awesome," declared Dean, petting Lemmy again.
"No, because Jimi would've had to come from an 'A' litter," Sam pointed out. "It'll have to be a letter other than that. So, if we say a litter every twelve months or so, which would be all a small time breeder would have, the litters would be up to, say, 'I'…"
After some discussion, they decided to list the litterbrothers and one littersister of Jimi Junior's dalliance with a lady Hellhound as Winchester Iron Fist, Winchester Invisible Man, Winchester Internal Security and Winchester Ice Queen.
"So everybody will know you're not just some mutt," humphed Dean to Lemmy in satisfaction.
Sam looked at his watch. "We should go get ready for induction," he indicated the milling group of other people with puppies.
"Yeah," agreed Dean, "Come on, Lemmy, time to go dazzle your peer group with your awesomeness!"
They joined the crowd of gathered puppies and owners. The incoming class consisted of all sorts of breeds, from a Bernese Mountain Dog (who sat placidly watching the other pups) to a Teacup Chihuahua (who barked dementedly and snarled savagely at everybody and everything).
Lemmy and the Bernese were just exchanging friendly butt sniffs while Dean flashed the Killer Smile at the Bernese's owner when a woman with a clipboard made her way to the group, trailed by half a dozen people in instructors' uniforms. She appeared to be in her fifties, wore a tweed skirt and a scarf over her hair, and gave the general impression that if you sliced her in half, she would have something like 'Den Mother' or 'Matron' or 'Akela' or 'Brown Owl' written inside. There was no doubt that at all times she would have, somewhere about her person, a packet of dog treats, a clean handkerchief or a small pack of tissues, some cough drops, barley sugar and a pocket knife with an attachment for clipping dogs' claws and getting stones out of horses' hooves. She was accompanied by the most mixed breed dog either of the Winchesters had ever seen.
"Good morning everybody!" she trilled in a voice that clearly indicated that this was a person who got up with the sun, and was too damned cheerful at an unreasonably early hour every day even before she'd had coffee. "I am Polly Carter, and I'd like to welcome you all to the Perfect Pups Program here at our Perfect Pooches Canine Academy!" A murmuring of greetings went around the group. "I'd also like to introduce Max," she smilingly indicated her canine companion; the dog sat a little straighter at the mention of his name. "You'll see him from time to time as one of the demo dogs."
"Er, what sort of a dog is Max?" asked the woman with the Bernese pup.
"He's what I like to call a Heinz special," Polly answered, smiling dotingly at Max, "He came from a shelter, and made such an impression that I just had to adopt him! He has turned out to be one of the brightest dogs I've ever trained!" She bent to scratch Max's ears. "We find that canine aptitude finds its way out in all sorts of fashions – any dog, with training, can find his or her special talent, and reach potential that owners often never suspected they had! So," she referred to her clipboard. "We'll begin by breaking you up into classes. This is usually a fluid arrangement to start with," she explained, "We can only make educated guesses as to who will be best suited to what class, based on a pup's breeding, so you may find yourself moving a couple of times! It's important that we find the class that is best suited to you and your pup getting the maximum benefit out of the program! It's not about better, or worse – it's about finding the right pace of learning to set your pup on the road to reaching his or her full potential, and have the most fun possible along the way!"
"She's gotta run out of exclamation marks sooner or later," muttered Sam, as Lemmy and Lars were put into a class with two German Shepherds, a Malinois, a Border Collie, the Bernese pup and a mixed breed with quite a lot of Mastiff in her.
"Just so long as she doesn't send us out to sell cookies," Dean answered, smiling at the Bernese's owner again. "And if she wants us to put up tents and sing 'The Happy Wanderer', I reserve the right to run screaming."
The classes were quickly matched up with an instructor, and it became evident that Polly herself would be taking the Winchesters' class. "You've probably already noticed that you're in a class of dogs with strong working instincts," she told them, "I've started you off together because these breeds tend to be the ones who thrive on training! They usually have a strong work drive, and are eager to please their handlers! It mighy seem like 'work' to us humans, but the trick is to make sure it stays a wonderful game for the pups! So! First of all, let's all introduce ourselves, then we'll do some mingling, because socialising is one of the most important things you can do with your pup at this age!"
"Yay for socialising," grinned Dean, proffering a Killer Smile at the Bernese's owner again.
"So, let's form a circle," Polly instructed them, "And I'd like you to introduce yourself, and your faithful friend!"
The class did as they were bade, and the introductions began. A German Shepherd named Karl, Daisy the almost-Mastiff, and Mirra the Bernese Mountain Dog.
"This is Winchester Invisible Man," Sam said, sounding suddenly shy as his pup stared inquisitively around the group, stretching his nose out to exchange sniffs with Mirra, "My brother named him Lars when he was born, because he's small but noisy and bossy. And he, uh, he eats training clickers." That got a laugh.
"You'll find that they'll eat anything they can get their teeth into at this age," Polly consoled him. "And Dean, who is that with you?"
"This is Winchester Iron Fist," Dean declared proudly, "Or Lemmy to his friends. He's the biggest and best and brightest out of the litter…" he glanced down to see Lemmy frantically scooting around trying to catch his own tail; when he did, he growled at the offending appendage, and sank his teeth into it, letting out a surprised yelp as he did so.
"And he eats his own tail," added Sam helpfully. Dean glared at him as the class tittered.
Then there was Mack the Border Collie, Dom the Malinois…
"This is Morgan," said the woman holding the lead of the second German Shepherd, "Although if you're feeling formal, you may address her as Wildhunt Celtic Queen..."
Zoiks! Where did that come from? What is Randolph planning? Feed the plot bunny, and let's find out!
Reviews are the Adorable Puppies Being Introduced To You In The Puppy Program Of Life!*
*Those of you hoping for a Winchester Of Your Choice in a collar on a lead should go and trawl tumblr for the MA content *frowns at depraved Denizens*