The Wicked Flea

malamutes I’d ever seen in the ring. Not that I’m a poor sport! Ask anyone! I’m well known for my excellent sportsmanship. It’s just that I don’t believe in wasting my money asking for the opinion of an ignoramus who isn’t qualified to judge stuffed animals.
    But as I’ve remarked, I’m a good sport. Instead of explaining about Sam Usher, I politely asked Wilson about Llio, who, he replied, was entered. I said I’d look forward to seeing both of them. Since Wilson and I were now on chummy terms, I went on to point out the obvious, namely, that the cake I was holding was a gift from Ceci. What would he like me to do with it? In yet another display of what a good sport I am, I want to take full responsibility for what happened next. I have spent my entire life with dogs. By profession, I am a dog writer. I own, train, and show my dogs, who are, I should add, the most determined and voracious food thieves I have ever even heard of. And I knew that the Metzner household included two dogs. So, when Wilson belatedly thanked Ceci for the cake, moved a couple of pizza cartons to the floor, and told me to put the cake on the coffee table, I should have ignored him. Instead, I complied.
    Where had Zsa Zsa been? I have no idea. Maybe she’d been sleeping. If so, the sound of the cake plate making contact with the table perhaps awakened her. In any case, a few seconds after I finally got rid of the cake, a golden-furred blob zoomed out of nowhere, crashed into Ceci, knocked her to the floor, made a dive at the cake, sent plate and cake flying off the table, hurled herself at her booty, and began gobbling it up. “Bad dog!” Wilson yelled. “Bad, bad dog!”
    Ceci had pulled herself to a sitting position. I lowered myself to her level. “Are you hurt?” I asked. “Is anything broken?” Within a few seconds, it became clear that she was more angry than injured. Luckily, she’d cushioned her fall by lurching against one of the couches. As I helped Ceci to her feet, Pia, jolted awake, began swearing about how no one ever gave her any consideration, and Eric made the mistake of trying to get the plate and the remains of the cake away from Zsa Zsa, whose response to his effort was a snarl.
    I’d be curious to know how quickly I got us out of there. I have a clear memory of gripping Ceci’s arm and almost dragging her to the door as I simultaneously and unnecessarily told anyone who might be listening— no one was—that we were going. It may have been as little as fifty seconds from the moment Ceci hit the floor to the moment she and I stood on the front walk catching our breath and recovering our sanity. The tidiness of the weed-free front lawn, the neatness of the heavily mulched rhododendron beds, the solidity of the big brick house on this infinitely suburban street were in such contrast to the chaos within that I felt momentarily disoriented.
    "That,” said Ceci, “was a mistake. Holly, those people are barbarians.” To my relief, far from showing any ill effects, she had apparently been revitalized by her tumble to the floor. Her face was pink with excitement, and her eyes sparkled.
    “You’re sure you’re okay?”
    She gave her dainty hands a shake, as if to brush off my worry. “Zsa Zsa isn’t even half the size I’m used to.” Stepping briskly forward, she commented, “Won’t it be perfectly lovely to see our dogs! Quest and Rowdy are such a contrast to people like that. Ugh! And to dogs like that one, too. Although I must admit, I can’t help thinking that pain is contributing to that horrible behavior, and money is no excuse, there’s obviously plenty, and if you ask me, Sylvia would’ve done well to push those children of hers out of the nest and take the money she’d’ve saved and get Zsa Zsa to a good veterinary surgeon for a full hip replacement, except that she’s probably too fat, isn’t she?”
    By then, we’d reached my car, where Ceci was diverted from the topic of Zsa Zsa’s appropriateness as a candidate for hip surgery. Having tapped on the rear window and waved to Quest, she got into the passenger seat and chatted to Rowdy about how nice it would be to get to the park and away from those horrid people. Meanwhile, I got into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and had just started the engine when a small, flashy silver sports car pulled up right in front of my Bronco. Out of it stepped a tall, thin, extraordinarily beautiful woman with long blond hair and a sour