Black Ribbon

“But if a judge is really bad, all the spectators complain to AKC, and if it’s just a matter of losing a few points you should’ve kept, you have to think that the next time, maybe you’re going to keep a few points you should’ve lost. So, if you avoid the really bad judges, in the long run, it all evens out.”
    “The voice of experience,” Cam told Marie. “But what I’m Wondering about is Eric Grimaldi, because he’s a breed judge, and that’s where you’re more likely to get exhibitors with real grudges.”
    True. Obedience and tracking judges follow detailed sets of rules. In contrast, breed judges pick the dogs they like, and that’s pretty much it; they’re supposed to interpret breed standards, but there aren’t any rules about how they’re supposed to interpret them.
    (Still lost? Sorry. Let’s get this straight. Breed: conformation. How well does the dog conform to the breed standard? Like Westminster? On TV? That’s breed. In fact, that’s a dog show. What confuses newcomers is that obedience trials are often held in conjunction with dog shows, and when they aren’t, they tend to be small events that the general public never hears about. And tracking, I’m afraid, just doesn’t make it as a spectator sport, because each dog follows a track across a field—and, at advanced levels, through woods—and if the public were allowed to go galumphing after the dog, the scent and commotion would obviously ruin the dog’s work. Also, tracking tests have small, limited entries, so the casual visitor who expects anything like Westminster is going be extremely disappointed.)
    “Except,” I said, “in tracking? TDX tests”—that’s Tracking Dog Excellent—“are hard to get into, so it’s possible that if someone had some problem with a judge....” I faltered. My real source of uncertainty was the high esteem in which I hold tracking judges, who are a remarkably dedicated, fair, straightforward, congenial, and altogether likeable group of people, most unlikely targets for anyone’s rancor. I thought, for example, of Ginny Garabedian; it was hard to imagine anyone wanting to do something mean to her. Unless, I suppose, you counted the five dead husbands.
     

 
    “WELL, THAT SETTLES THAT.” Cam plunked her bowl of Indian pudding on the table and sat down. Neat and efficient in all things, Cam had cleaned her plate and gone for dessert while the rest of us were still eating dinner. “Eric didn’t get one.”
    Or hasn't yet, I thought.
    “Cam,” I said, “Mrs. Abbott is right about AKC, isn’t she? In theory, if someone harasses an AKC judge in a place like this, not at a show, is that still grounds for suspension or a reprimand or something?”
    Let me note that a reprimand is what it sounds like—and so is a fine, another form of discipline. Suspension, however, whether temporary or permanent, is far worse than it sounds: It’s total excommunication. A person whose AKC privileges have been suspended can’t register a dog, show a dog, or even set foot on the grounds of an AKC show. For the duration of the suspension—three months, six months, five years, life— the excommunicate is dead in dogs.
    “It’s still misconduct against a judge.” Cam dipped her spoon into the ice cream on top of the pudding and filled the spoon by pushing it away from her. I wondered whether her mother had taught her the rhyme about little ships going out to sea. “And it’s obviously conduct prejudicial.” The full text: conduct prejudicial to the best interests of pure-bred dogs, dog shows, obedience trials, field trials, or the American Kennel Club. “And, of course, once someone prefers the charge, AKC is obligated to investigate. But even if Phyllis knew who sent that card, the question would be whether she was harassed in her position as a judge, I think, or whether it was a strictly personal matter.”
    “So it wouldn’t necessarily be—”
    “Well, Phyllis could prefer the charge, but AKC might not agree. If everyone at camp got harassed, then the complaint probably wouldn’t be sustained, because it wouldn’t really have anything to do with AKC. But she could still prefer charges, and if the complaint wasn’t sustained, all Phyllis would lose would be the ten dollars it cost her to make the complaint in the first place.”
    Michael, he of the Akita tattoo, spoke up. “That’s just judges?”
    Almost everyone else answered in unison: “No.”
    Cam expanded. “In theory,