This Dog for Hire

her?"
    “Maybe we should call the hospital first, see how he’s doing.”
    He nodded, glad, I figured, not to have to do anything.
    We sat quietly, Magritte asleep on Dennis’s lap. After a while I went to call St. Vincent’s, and on the way to the pay phones I decided that instead of making things more complicated, I would simply tell the truth.
    “I’m sorry, Ms. Alexander,“ the attending from the ER said, in a voice more weary than sad. “He arrested in the ambulance, on the way here. Everything was done that could have been done. We weren’t able to get him back.”
    He paused, but I said nothing.
    “Would you like us to try to contact Mrs. Gilmore, or would Mr. Keaton prefer to do that?”
    “Thank you, but we’ll take care of it,” I said.
    I headed back to the benching area to tell Dennis.

26
    You’ll Only Have Yourself to Blame

    “WHAT WAS IT? His heart?” Dennis asked, his pale complexion looking gray under the harsh lights.
    “I guess. He just said he arrested in the ambulance and they weren’t able to resuscitate him.” “Well, that’s that,” he said. “You know, it’s difficult to feel happy, even satisfied. I wanted to kill him myself, Rachel. Now that he’s dead, I just fee!, well, nothing. Empty. I’ll go call Marjorie.”
    We slid Magritte onto my lap. He barely opened his eyes. His tail curled partly and then relaxed again. He was back to sleep before Dennis was out of sight.
    Dennis came back, carrying a five-pound bag of Nutro Max kibble.
    “He really loves this shit. You’ll still take him, Rachel, won’t you? It’s too late for me to make other plans.”
    “Of course. Did you get Marjorie?”
    “Thank God, I got Chris, the kennel manager. She’s going to tell Marjorie. This way Marjorie won’t be alone when she hears. I gave Chris the number of the hospital, and the number here. She has my number at home, of course, in ease there’s anything I can do. I said that. In spite of everything. I mean, Marjorie didn’t do anything wrong. Except marry badly.”
    I barely listened as Dennis told me how much food to give Magritte, and when. He gave me his hotel number in Boston, just in case I had a problem with Magritte. At the dinner break, I insisted he go out and sit someplace nice for dinner and eat something other than a greasy hot dog. After he left, I walked around the benching area with Magritte, got myself a greasy hot dog, and went back to Magritte’s bench to eat.
    As it got closer to the groups, people began coming in who had been at home or in their cars when they had heard about Gil on the news. The story spread quickly around the benching area. I was glad I had finished my hot dog before hearing all that talk about heart attacks and everyone’s theory on why.
    “He was a smoker, you know,” a short guy with thick glasses said.
    “Weight’s not everything,” a really fat man said, “it has more to do with how many high-density lipids you have, whatever a lipid is anyway.”
    “All that running in the ring,” a young man with long, blond hair holding a black-and-white whippet said, “you’d think heart disease would be the last thing a handler would get.”
    A woman in red said that Live at Five had reported that Gil had fallen in the ring at 12:1I and had arrested at 12:14, in the ambulance. They mentioned Clifford, of course, and went on to dub Ch. Ceci N’est Pas un Chien “the bad luck dog.“ They had showed his picture, but hadn’t had one of Gil. Mow when people passed where I sat with Magritte, they did so silently, shaking their heads. Or they were careful to look anywhere but at us. Poor Ceci!
    At eight Dennis and I went to his box seats to watch the evening judging, Magritte with us. I had gotten my coat from the coat check on the way so that after Best in Show I could make a hasty exit, j draped the coat over Magritte so that he could curl up on my lap and still be out of sight. Too many people were staring. Besides, there were TV cameras and press photographers everywhere, and I didn’t want to see my own face on TV or in the paper. They’d probably dub me the bad luck bitch and report that I had once married outside the species.
    As if they were perfect!
    I wasn’t sure why we were staying. We no longer cared who’d win, and considering the circumstances. Magritte could have gotten excused, but leaving would require energy, and energy was something neither of us had.
    Dennis finally left right before Best in Show. I