Black Ribbon

he handed around to the people at our table and to some of the others who’d been drawn by the hubbub. Seated right next to Phyllis, I managed to snag a copy. I’m not usually greedy, but as a dog writer, I felt that my profession entitled me to first grabs. And I did share my copy with Cam and Ginny.
    “It’s probably just some ordinary snafu,” proclaimed Maxine, looking up from her copy. “Unfortunate. But there you have it.”
    “We,” I said, royal we, meaning Dog’s Life, “check with the family, and I think the Gazette does, too. Standard practice is that you prefer to hear from the family, and at a minimum, you double-check.”
    “Is anyone finding anything else in here?” Ginny asked.
    “Drivel,” said Heather. “I’ve never seen this thing before. It’s really a piece of junk.”
    “It’s for show people,” I told her. “Or supposedly, anyway. It started out mostly reporting show results and running ads and things, but it couldn’t really compete with Dog News and the other biggies, so it degenerated into this. First, it started running gossip columns like the normal ones—who wore what, best-dressed judge, whose birthday was celebrated, who was at fund-raisers—but then it really couldn’t compete that way, either.”
    “This is trash,” Sara snapped. Proudly raising her chin, she added, “In agility—”
    I interrupted. Dog Beat was garbage, but in a disgraceful sort of way, it was part of the fancy, and I felt compelled to explain that the show people didn’t approve of it any more than Sara did. “Well, for what it’s worth, the one rumor that Dog Beat won’t publish is that it’s supposed to be in big financial trouble. People think it won’t be around much longer.”
    “Well, Max got a plug,” Don Abbott remarked.
    Max groaned. “Oh, God, what’ve they said about me?”
    “They wish you luck,” he told her.
    “Well,” Maxine said, “I find that slightly ambiguous, don’t you? Luck? Not best wishes? As if I needed —”
    “No, it’s a real plug,” Don said. “Second page.”
    Finding herself ignored, Phyllis said, “Donald, this is a matter that I take very, very seriously. Someone has done this to me!”
    Rather gruffly, Eric said, “You know what, Phyllis? There’s something off here.”
    “Off?” she demanded. “They say that they’re sorry to hear that I passed away, and you find that—!”
    Eric was calm. “Naturally. But it’s not like you and Don are bard to get hold of, and it’s not like you’ve been in hiding. You’ve been out there.”
    “Good point,” Don agreed. “We both have. Phyllis’s been visible enough. And lately, too.”
    “All summer!” Phyllis said. “Ever since... We were in Boston—Ladies’ and Essex County. When was that?”
    “Around Memorial Day,” I said.
    “And you judged Passaic,” Eric reminded her.
    “That was mid-June,” said Ginny.
    Barging in, as always, Eva Spitteler added, “Yeah, Passaic.
    Cam and Nicky went High in Trial. I watched ’em in Mrs. Abbott’s ring. I was there.”
    My reflexes took over. To be precise, two of them did. I rejected Eva Spitteler’s bid for inclusion just as automatically as I congratulated Cam. “Cam, that’s great! That’s a very competitive—”
    “You know,” Cam said, “if there’s this thing about Phyllis here, I wonder if any of the rest of us... Has anyone found anything about the rest of us? Besides wishing Max luck?”
    Almost simultaneously, Phyllis addressed her husband. “Donald,” she demanded, “would you please put that telephone to good use, and find out exactly who has done this to me!”
    It was an odd little episode. Even for a handler like Cam who was used to being in the ribbons, High in Trial at Passaic must have been special. Furthermore, nothing in the guidelines for obedience judges would have prevented Phyllis from commenting on Nicky’s performance. Having awarded Nicky the score that put him High in Trial, Phyllis could have stood behind her own judging by saying how good he’d been. Both Cam and Phyllis, however, had changed the subject. It crossed my mind that Phyllis could have given Nicky a perfect score and later regretted that 200. A perfect score—that legendary 200—is, by AKC decree, “extremely rare if the Regulations are followed.” As the AKC goes on to warn judges: “When the owner of a dog which has received a perfect score feels that the performance deserved only 197 ½ points and knows just