The Wicked Flea

at the grandfather. “My dog stole your lunch. I’m really sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.”
    The three adults were much more forgiving now than they’d been at S & I’s. Probably because I hadn’t just foiled a plan to establish the grounds for a lawsuit, they were, in fact, friendly and pleasant. They even went so far as to introduce themselves.
    “Tim Trask,” said the father. “Brianna, my wife. And my father, George. Fergie and Diana.” He pointed at the girls. Fergie was the taller of the two.
    “And Charlie,” little Diana piped up. “Charlie’s our dog!” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
    “And Charlie!” I replied. “I’ll bet Charlie is a really good dog.”
    Fergie responded. “Charlie is the best dog in the whole world!”
    The three adults exchanged sad-faced glances. Addressing the children, I asked, “And how come Charlie is at the dog show today?”
    The children’s exclamations had aroused my hopes. American Kennel Club shows sometimes include Canine Good Citizen testing, for which Charlie would be eligible. The CGC program is open to all dogs, including mixed-breed dogs and purebreds with disqualifying faults.
    Fergie answered my question. “I told you! Because Charlie is the best dog in the world!”
    “Have you entered him?” I asked Tim Trask. “You’re showing him today?”
    The response was immediate and vehement. “Put him in a dog show? He can hardly walk! You ever heard of what they call hip dysplasia?” Tim demanded. In a sympathetic tone, I said, “All too often.”
    “You know what it costs to fix?”
    “I know what a full hip replacement costs.”
    For the price of having both hips replaced, you could buy a new car instead of new hip joints for your dog. The car would be used, and it wouldn’t be a two-year-old Mercedes. But this family couldn’t’ve come up with the money for a new bicycle.
    I asked, “It’s severe dysplasia? Is Charlie in pain?” Brianna answered. “If you touch Charlie on the rear, he yelps. The kids are good about it. They’re real gentle with him. We give him aspirin, but it doesn’t do much, and there’s this other medicine we tried, but it didn’t do too much, either, and you could feed your family on what it cost. The vet did an X-ray, and he said the medicine was a waste of money. He said to get the operation or—”
    Her husband interrupted her. “Brianna, shut up! We’re not doing that, and for Christ’s sake, not in front of the kids!”
    Euthanasia.
    “There’s another kind of surgery,” I said. “Your vet probably mentioned—”
    Sensibly, Tim Trask glared at me. As I should’ve kept in mind, this wasn’t the first time these people had discussed the dog’s ailment. Tim’s expression said that the dozens of questions that came to me had already been asked and answered.
    The elder Mr. Trask, George, spoke up. “For all practical purposes, the dog’s got no hip sockets. The hip joints are deformed, both sides.”
    “Any chance of talking to Charlie’s breeder about it?” I asked, half expecting to hear they’d bought the dog at a pet shop.
    But in a sweet, high-pitched voice, little Diana said, “The lady died.”
    “Every once in a while, people get what they deserve,” Brianna said.
    George Trask told me what I already knew. “Breeders are supposed to take X-rays of their dogs before they breed them so’s this doesn’t happen.”
    “That’s not foolproof,” I said.
    “I know it’s not!” George hollered. “Hey, I could pass a vet school test on hip dysplasia! I read up at the library, including on the Internet. And you wanna know what’s not there? What’s not there is why the hell they let people get away with not doing a damn thing. This dog’s got papers. There’s all kinds of clubs about dogs, you know, fanciers of everything, official this and that, Golden Retriever You Name It, Everything Kennel Club, and did any of them give a shit how people were gonna feel when this happened?” His eyes were wild, and he was beating the cold air with his bare fist.
    Sorriness goes only so far. The violence in George Trask’s voice and gestures made me want out. Immediately. “It should never have happened,” I said, careful to agree with him. Not that I disagreed. “I’m really sorry.” Turning to the children, I said, “And I can see what a good dog Charlie is.” Pointedly looking at my watch, I said, “I have to run. I’m late for something.” With an