Black Ribbon

things you ever saw.” Basic tabloid Elvis reincarnation and miracle-cure story, with dog, of course: “Jailhouse Rock” Crooning Coonhound Cures Caddie Dealer's Cancer. More? Brave Brittany Battles Alien Captors, Saves Self and Cairn Companion, except when you read the story, it turns out that the whole thing happened in 1932, but it did happen, right? That’s what counts. The Royals: Queen's Corgis, Caught in Secret Love-Nest, Snub Di. That one’s a little disappointing, I’m afraid. The so-called love nest was just an ordinary cedar-filled dog bed; the breeding was, in fact, carefully planned; dogs being dogs, it didn’t take place in any kind of bed or nest at all; and the corgis, sensitive to their owner’s true sentiments, had never much liked Di to begin with. Oh, and don’t neglect celebrities. Exclusive Poolside Photos Show Latest Lassie’s No Lady. None of them have been, actually— male collies have better coats for the role—but the pictures’ll be a real plus, good and graphic, blurred, too, obviously shot from the depths of shrubbery.
    Anyway, the column to which Cam directed my attention— “Nose to the Dirt,” this journalistic gem was called—appeared under the shamelessly plagiarized nom de plume of Snoopy, according to whom— Dog Beat's, not Charles Schultz’s—Sara Altman and Heather Richards were starting their own agility camp next year. Had Max McGuire heard the news? And if Waggin’ Tail made it through its first year, would Max have any staff left? Not according to the rumors that had reached Dog Beat.
    Maxine must have read the item at the same time I did. “Heather,” Max demanded shrilly, “is this true?”
    Heather, who’d supplied herself with coffee, took a casual sip. “It’s just something we’ve discussed.”
    “Well, not with me!” Maxine snapped.
    In what I took to be an effort to deworm Max’s mood with a purgative dose of reality, Eric reminded her that Dog Beat wasn’t exactly a reliable source of information. Phyllis was obviously alive, he pointed out. So was what’s-her-name’s dog- But as Max correctly told him, Heather and Sara hadn’t denied the rumor. Far from it! Hadn’t Eric just heard...? Was that what he called loyalty? Was it his idea of loyalty, too? Maybe Eric was also planning...
    Eric spoke calmly. “Max, running a camp’s not on my agenda.” He excused himself from the table and rose. In a huff, Max followed him. Don and Phyllis, who’d been muttering about who at Dog Beat was really to blame and how best to deal with the situation, were now giving voice to long lists of people they needed to call. With Don stating that he’d track the damn thing down, they departed. Everyone else was leaving, too. I’d had all the human company I needed for one day. I started to slip out of my chair.
    In back of me, Heather addressed Eva Spitteler: “You did this, didn’t you? I know you did.”
    Sara, chiming in, said, “All of it! The cards, the scary stuff, everything! And you know what? Everyone knows you did it, too, because you’re the only one here who’s mean enough. You just can’t stand to see anyone else have fun, can you?”
    For the third time, the force hit the back of my chair, but I’d just squeezed out, and I escaped the impact. As I crept away, Eva was loudly defending herself. “You know what you’re doing? You’re scapegoating me! And the reason is, you’re just jealous, is all, because you’re all trying to make a living in dogs, and not one of you’s got a clue of how to do it. Let me tell you something. The real problem here isn’t me; it’s Maxine. She’s greedy, and she’s stingy, and she’s not even good at covering it up. She doesn’t know the first thing about running a business or about allocating resources. She can’t plan, she can’t make decisions, she can’t follow through. And she’s stupid: She made a whole lot of promises she couldn’t keep. This whole damn camp is completely disorganized. But, hey, everyone’s buddy-buddy with good old Max. So who gets the blame? Me. And I paid good money to be here, and all I’ve got for it is your shit.”
    What popped into my mind was, of all things, a line from a poem I’d had to memorize in high school: “The world is too much with us; late and soon....” Wordsworth. I remembered his first name: William. His country: England. England, fair England, where the official church is the C of E and the true religion is the worship of dogs.