Page 5 of Small Town Sash

As they walked through the academy doors, a buzzing swarm of his fellow trainees descended upon them. Braden winked at Dash, always the center of attention with his shining golden fur and infectious enthusiasm.

"Braden, you ready for today's session?" a voice called out from the crowd. It was Sawyer Bennet, a Texas police officer, and his new friend.

"Always ready," Braden replied, grinning. "But listen, as soon as we're dismissed, I'm going to have to go. I can't study with you tonight."

"Oh? Got a date?" Sawyer teased.

"Not exactly..." Braden trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Spill it, Harding. You've piqued my curiosity," Sawyer insisted, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

"Promise you won't laugh?" Braden asked, giving Sawyer a skeptical look.

"No promises," his friend replied, chuckling mischievously.

"I somehow got roped into being a judge for the local beauty pageant," Braden admitted, bracing himself for the inevitable laughter.

Sawyer didn't fail to deliver. His laughter filled the room, and soon enough, others joined in. Dash merely wagged his tail, smiling up at Braden as if he just shared the best news in the world.

"A beauty pageant?" Sawyer repeated between fits of laughter. "Well, well, Braden Harding—I never thought I'd see the day you got roped into something like that."

"Neither did I," Braden confessed with a wry smile and a shake of his head.

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of lessons and drills. Dash excelled, his nose leading them through every scenario with ease. By the time the sun began its descent, Braden had almost forgotten about his new responsibility. Almost.

"Good boy," Braden told his K9 partner, a grin spreading across his face as Dash wagged his tail, panting happily up at him. "You're going to make one top-notch bomb detector."

Dash barked in agreement, or at least Braden liked to think so.

"Sergeant Harding," shouted Instructor Bowman from the doorway. "Remember, it's not all about the nose. It's teamwork that matters."

"Got it, sir," Braden called back, giving a nod before returning his attention to Dash. "You hear that, buddy? We're a team. The best team they're ever going to see here at the academy."

They strode toward Braden's pickup, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and farm animals. He opened the door for Dash, who jumped in with eagerness.

Braden chuckled. "Easy there, champ. Save some of that energy for tomorrow."

Dash settled in, his golden fur catching the last light of day, making him look like a canine torchbearer. Braden slid into the driver's seat, feeling the familiar leather grip the contours of his average frame. He glanced at Dash, who was already gazing out the window, nose twitching.

"We got to focus if we're going to be top of the class," Braden muttered more to himself than to Dash. "We'll get through this judging thing as quickly as we can so we can get back to our real job."

He started the engine, the rumble, a comforting promise of the journey ahead, filled with obstacles they were determined to overcome. With a final look at the academy's gates in the rearview mirror, Braden eased the truck onto the road.

"Best K9 handler in the Air Force," he whispered, a vow hanging between him and Dash. "That's the target, pal."

Dash let out a soft woof as if sealing the pact.

Braden's grin was a fixed feature as he and Dash made their way through the small town that was nestled close to the academy. The day's success still warmed him, recollections of approving nods from the instructors playing like a highlight reel in his mind.

"Dash," Braden announced as they pulled into the parking lot of the high school, "time to put our judging hats on."

In his formal Air Force uniform, punctuated by Dash's shiny coat, Braden and his partner made an impressive sight as they entered the gymnasium. Not one to shirk responsibilities foisted upon him—even bizarre ones—he listened with a pinched expression as Clipboard man explained judging criteria.

"And remember," Clipboard man continued, "This isn't about just beauty—it's also about personality and talent."

"No kidding," Braden muttered under his breath. With a brief nod to Clipboard man, he took his seat by the other judges. "I'm not sure how much they thought I would know about this."

"About as much as the rest of us," an older man beside him grumbled as he handed him a cup of black coffee. "I see you got suckered into this against your will just like me. I'm Randy Turner, by the way, owner of the local newspaper."

---