Lee Duncan stood with his dog amid the rest of them. When attention turned his way, there was some pointing and harsh looks, in that this dog in no way lived up to the reputations of the rest. Whereas Killer and Tiger Boy had to be physically separated after lunging at each other, Lee’s dog simply looked bashfully at the crowd and the other contestants, ears folded down not in aggression, but as if she were lost at the circus. Further, the name Nanette was in no way interesting, though the men should have at least suspected something, given that the dog in front of them was clearly male.

But the great sea of khaki was a one-thought-at-a-time lot, and so the odds against Lee grew higher and higher, and by the time he let his dog off his lead, and the dog bolted after a butterfly, stumbling over his outsized paws, the whole crowd roared with laughter. The dog turned and looked at them as if tears were welling up in his eyes. There was a fresh round of betting.

Janis stood on a platform draped with American flags and shouted through a megaphone that it was time to simmer down, that Blazes would now show what he was made of. Blazes, whom the program called a purebred, was at least somewhat shepherd, to be fair, and his performance was more comedic than vicious, in that he jumped through a hoop wearing a Pickelhaube helmet. His trainer bent at the waist, and Blazes sprang up and over his back, which led to applause, and then, when given a strip of dried beef, Blazes barked on command.

It was a strong act with a weak finish, and Janis, who was a kindhearted sort of judge, said, “Congratulate Blazes—he’s in first place,” and then it was Sampson’s turn. He sprang out of the contestants’ tent, also wearing a Pickelhaube, and his trainer followed, wearing an embarrassed smile that was still firmly cemented in place by the time a chorus of booing cut his performance—jumping through hoops, barking on command—short.

It had taken Lee a while to get his dog onto his leash, because a distant part of the field was awash in orange-and-yellow butterflies. Lee had finally to pick him up and carry him, cradled, back into place. He was a large dog for his age, seven months, but he still went slack in Leland’s arms, licking his face once and smiling.

Lee sat cross-legged outside the tent, his dog lazily half across his lap, accepting stomach rubs. Lee watched the action in the stands, and thought, craftily, “Keep betting. Just because I’m showing you this dog doesn’t mean it’s the dog who’s competing.” He had invested every penny of his savings and had borrowed a hundred dollars from Ripley to invest in winning today.