Black Ribbon

the lake! Chessies are like that. But you’ll meet Eric at dinner. And now we have a few very special campers I want to introduce—not that everyone isn’t special, but these are people you’ll want to be sure you get a chance to know. From Dog’s Life, Holly Winter, who’s brought us our only malamute. Holly?”
    I swore under my breath, and popped up and down as fast as possible.
    “And we’re honored to have a very distinguished couple, Phyllis and Don Abbott. Everyone knows Don, and a lot of you know Don’s marvelous book about getting started in the fancy. And Phyllis Abbott, one of our most respected obedience judges. Don and Phyllis?” Don Abbott was, of course, the round-faced man who’d been on the deck when I’d left my cabin, the man who’d been too busy with his phone conversation about AKC politics to give Rowdy even a quick glance. Real dog person. When Mrs. Abbott and her husband stood up, I noticed that she wore a silky-looking blouse and navy slacks that would have been suitable even for the formality of the breed ring. In obedience, it’s common to see women judges in informal slacks or warm-up outfits, but when Mrs. Abbott judged she usually wore a conservative suit with a medium-length skirt. By comparison with what Mrs. Abbott wore on judging assignments, then, today’s blouse and navy slacks were unmistakably casual.
    While I’m on the subject of judges’ appearance, let me
    mention that I’d love to know the full story behind the AKC guidelines on the matter, which sensibly suggest that women conformation judges avoid short or cumbersome skirts, “noisy, dangling jewelry,” and “hats unsuitable for the occasion”; and tantalizingly state that obedience judges “are in the ring to do a job, not to be the center of attention through outlandish dress or bizarre behavior.” So what I want to know is, why the guidelines? Damn, I’d love to have been there! I always envision a long-legged female judge strutting into the ring wearing a miniskirt that barely covers her undies and sporting on her head a gigantic basket of fresh fruit that she proceeds to toss—banana by banana, orange by orange, and grape by grape—to the startled spectators. It must have been some show.
    Anyway, neither in the ring nor at camp did Phyllis Abbott 1 wear any hat at all. She had pretty hair, carefully styled waves tinted a distinctive blondish-red. She was a big woman with a powerful build, muscular but not fat. The fussed-over hair softened what could have been a stern appearance. When Max introduced her, Phyllis gave the same tense, well-intentioned smile I remembered from shows. The Abbotts didn’t seem to mind being singled out. Judges are used to attention—they are special. For some reason, however, Don Abbott nodded and beamed for longer than I thought necessary. Maybe he hoped that if he looked like an affable guy, everyone would run out and buy his book.
    When the introductions were over, Max turned to the final topic of the meeting: camp rules. We were to clean up after our dogs. We were, of course, allowed to take our dogs swimming, but otherwise, except during classes, dogs were to be kept strictly on lead. We were to observe water safety rules. In particular, we were never to swim alone and never to swim at night. The canoes beached by the lake were for everyone’s Us e, but the paddles were kept in the main house and absolutely had to be returned there. I was disappointed to learn that once we’d started a course, we were expected to stay with it; popping in and out to sample this and that was against the rules. Instructors, Max said firmly, were hired only to teach their courses, not to work twenty-four hours a day. “Please respect their personal time,” Max told us tactfully. “Oh, here’s Eric! Eric Grimaldi, our breed handling instructor.” The man was fully dressed and utterly drenched. At his side was the beautiful Chesapeake Bay retriever bitch that Rowdy had admired. Eric had obviously found one way to get Elsa; out of the lake: He’d gone in after her. He was so wet that it was hard to see how handsome he was. Then Max made a last? introduction. “Oh, I almost forgot Everett! Where’s Everett?! Everett is the one who knows how everything works. If your sink gets stopped up, or if your car won’t start, or anything at all, he’s the one you ask. There he is! Everett Dow! Don’t forget. If it breaks, ask Everett!”
    From around the side of the main house