Black Ribbon

individual about whom I prefer to say nothing except to report that this cancer on the fancy, recognizing Eva’s natural potential, recruited her as a so-called contributor to his vile publication, thus enabling her easily to feed the report of Phyllis’s death to Dog Beat’s office, a single room in Manhattan staffed by a struggling young would-be romance novelist named Clarissa B. Good, who happened to be a number of things—and whether good numbered among them, I won’t presume to judge. I continue: Clarissa B. Good happened to be the daughter of a member of Don Abbott’s lodge and a former Rainbow Girl, who, while waiting until her recently submitted manuscript raised itself above the ordinary Brunos and bodices of Harlequin’s slush pile, was forced to work a loathsome day job as Dog Beat's trash compactor, in which capacity she answered the phone and keyboarded the copy. Clarissa did, however, get to take her dog to work, a really quite decent-looking Norwich terrier, Cam says, a dog that certainly didn’t merit the insults that Eva Spitteler had spewed forth the time that she’d burst into Dog Beat's office to demand immediate cash reimbursement for a paycheck that had just bounced. Eva was, of course, so memorable that when she called Dog Beat to report the death of Judge Phyllis Abbott, Clarissa not only recognized Eva’s voice, but questioned her veracity and her motives even more than had become routine for her since she’d started the job. Checking up on Eva, Clarissa’s editor in chief called the Abbotts’ number, asked to speak to Phyllis, and, when told that he was already doing so, hung up and published the report anyway. As Clarissa’s story reached me, it was he who decided to teach Eva a lesson about using Dog Beat for her own ends. It’s possible, however, that Clarissa herself was responsible for the false black ribbon.
    Whether you read Dog Beat or any of the reputable dog publications, you know by now that Don Abbott did not become the president of the American Kennel Club. I believe that he overdid the politicking and that his efforts backfired. Or perhaps John R.B. White used his considerable influence. Speaking of John R.B. White, Front and Finish included him in the photo of Cam and Nicky that appeared with the article about the Wilhelmina E. Pruett Memorial Challenge Trophy. Also present in the picture were Phyllis Abbott, who’d judged the runoff, and Adelaide J. Barnaby, who offered the trophy, which was the kind of big silver fruit bowl you never see anymore, and sterling, too, not plate. When I read the details, I was sorry I’d missed Passaic. Cam and Nicky, with a 199 out of Open B, had been tied for HIT with Sandra Battista and her young golden, Shoretowyn’s Candy’s Dandy, out of Novice B. Like most important trophies, this one was for permanent possession by the owner who won it three times, not necessarily with the same dog, and what made the runoff really exciting was that Cam and Sandy had each won it twice before. Whether Sandy and Ogden really deserved to lose the half-point that Judge Abbott deducted for a slightly crooked sit, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I am convinced, however, that in Judge Phyllis Abbott’s eyes, the sit was not perfectly straight. I have never doubted Phyllis’s impartiality and fairness in the ring. One of these days, I may show under her again. After all, my mother is dead. Her representatives are all I have left. Who am I to oppose my mother’s wishes?
    In her own way, Eva Spitteler, too, left me a legacy. I used to go around telling myself and everyone else that scores don’t count. I’ve learned better. These days, Rowdy and I are training harder than we used to, and not just because Rowdy is going up against Tundra, either. No, the real reason is that a half-point deduction for a crooked sit was ultimately what cost Eva Spitteler her life. If Rowdy and I ever end up in a runoff, I’ll know that the outcome may be highly consequential. I intend to be ready. I intend to win. Victory is, after all, what my mother would have wanted. My mother. And her representatives.
     

Aboutthe Author
     
    SUSAN CONANT, three-time recipient of the Maxwell Award for fiction writing given by the Dog Writer's Association of America, lives in Massachusetts with her husband, two cats, and two Alaskan malamutes—Frostfield Firestar's Kobuk, CGC, and Frostfield Perfect Crime, called Rowdy. Her work has appeared in Pure-bred Dog/American