Evil Breeding

you? To approach you as, shall we say, a woman of action?”
    “Yes! Yes, she does. Well, it may seem strange, but I offered to help her. I gave her my card, and I told her to get in touch, but it was about a dog, not about... One of the Motherway s’ dogs lives in the house, a big black shepherd, Wagner. And twice when I was there, the dog growled at Jocelyn. What bothered me was that no one did anything. Jocelyn just took that nasty behavior for granted. She didn’t like it. She was afraid. Appropriately, I thought. I didn’t trust the dog. But it didn’t seem to occur to her that she could do anything about the dog. She sort of crept around hoping Wagner wouldn’t notice her and hoping she wouldn’t get bitten. And I thought that was outrageous.” I paused. “He isn’t really a bad dog,” I added.
    Althea crowed.
    “There are some! Really, there are,” I protested. “A few. Hardly any. But this situation was as unfair to the dog as it was to Jocelyn. A dog has a right to know what’s civilized and what isn’t, and no one had taken the time to inform this poor dog that aggression toward a family member is absolutely, unconditionally unacceptable. And no one had told Jocelyn that she didn’t have to take it! Until I did. I told her it was unnecessary. I said that if she wanted help, she should call me. I gave her my card.”
    “Before you received the first of these mailings,” Althea said.
    “Yes. Before.”
    “And she did not call you. She lacked the gumption. You, however, demonstrably did not lack gumption. Faced with a large, menacing dog, you did not cower. Quite the reverse! You bravely offered to intervene.”
    “It wasn’t gumption. It was common sense.”
    “Perhaps you could call her,” Althea suggested. “A simple phone call might produce interesting consequences.” Althea looked exhausted. I started to gather the material spread on the table. She stopped me. “Could you leave that with me? Ceci is illiterate in matters concerning the Canon, but she is generous about sharing her eyes. Something is eluding me. I want to reconsider after I have recovered my forces.”
    I agreed, of course. Rowdy and I made a swift departure. Just before we left, Althea said, “Altruism. That’s what it is! It’s the altruism that I don’t entirely trust. And something else. What can it be? I have the odd sensation that it has something to do with a dog .”
     

Chapter Twenty-two
     
    THANK YOU FOR CALLING Haus Motherway German Shepherd Dogs,” announced Peter Motherway’s voice, “proudly bred by geneticists for protection and devotion.”
    I’d dialed the toll-free number given in the ads in the dog magazines. The posthumous thanks reminded me of the urban myth about Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of Christian Science, whose monument at Mount Auburn is big enough for a few hundred bodies—or one gigantic ego. Anyway, according to Boston legend, Mary Baker Eddy had been buried with a telephone in her coffin. So, in Mary Baker Eddy fashion, Peter Motherway continued: “We offer world-class puppies and adults from outstanding German and American bloodlines. Stud service is available. For free information, including photos and pedigrees, leave your name and address at the sound of the beep. To order your beautiful Haus Motherway German shepherd puppy or adult, leave your phone number, and we will return your call as soon as possible. Please speak clearly and spell any unfamiliar words. And remember! If it isn’t a Haus Motherway shepherd, it isn’t a real dog.”
    Who needs to spell out bullshit ? But after obediently waiting for the beep, I left a neutral message carefully phrased for the ears of B. Robert, Christopher, or Jocelyn. I had a hunch that Jocelyn got stuck with the clerical work as well as the housework, but in case I was wrong, I didn’t want to alert the grandfather or grandson. Without actually trying to disguise my voice, I adopted the eager tone of a puppy buyer. “I’m interested in the material you sent,” I gushed, “especially the picture of the black male. Could you call me?” I left only my phone number.
    Althea had predicted that one simple call might produce interesting consequences. I left the message at about twelve-thirty. The consequence arrived at three o’clock in the form of Jocelyn, who appeared at my front door in what I diagnosed as an advanced state of true panic. When I opened the door, Jocelyn’s eyes darted left and right over her hunched