too. The hair on his back began to rise. “Puppy,” I told him. Rowdy knew the word, but, for obvious reasons, didn’t believe me. Cash stared placidly into space.
“Don’t worry about it,” Maxine said cheerfully. “Cash doesn’t mind.”
Confronted with the overwhelming evidence of Cash’s total lack of interest—Cash completely ignored him—Rowdy slowly began to lower his hackles. Rowdy is more hierarchical than he is aggressive; if Cash didn’t want to play King of the Mountain, neither did Rowdy. Even so, especially because of the subject I wanted to raise with Max, I felt embarrassed. I cleared my throat. “I wondered if there might be some rule or whatever about dogs on long flex leads. People do it at shows, and it can be a problem there—they let the dog out the full twenty-six feet. A while ago, a dog shot out of nowhere and went for Rowdy. Nothing happened. But it made me a little uncomfortable. And I wondered.”
Max scowled. “Whose dog?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s the general—”
“Eva Spitteler. You ever run into her before?”
“No. Just today.”
Maxine drew close. Her breath smelled like candy. “Did Eva bite your head off?”
I live with two Alaskan malamutes, and I’m still here
, I wanted to say. I contented myself with a simple no.
“There’s a little problem there,” Max confided.
“If that big Lab of hers takes on the wrong dog, the problem won’t be so little.” My eyes darted to the peaceful mastiff. “Even Cash would defend himself.”
Max dismissed the possibility. “A Lab’d just bounce right off him. If Eva bothers you, just ignore her. The truth is, I didn’t find out about her until she’d already signed up, and by the time I got warned about what a pill she was, it was too late. I put her by herself in one of the cabin units, and all she paid for was a shared double in the bunkhouse, so that ought to put her in a good mood, and no one’s stuck rooming with her. That’s the best I can do. Sorry, but there’s a rotten apple in every barrel.”
Without having really addressed the question of keeping dogs under control, Max hastily excused herself to get the meeting started. Rowdy and I followed her. The crowd had grown to about a hundred people and at least that many dogs. I found a shady spot under an ancient white birch near Cam and Ginny. Cam’s sheltie, Nicky, was stretched out at her side, his head resting on his paws. Wiz had been lying down, too, but she rose to her feet, licked Rowdy’s muzzle, abased herself before him, rolled onto her back, and wiggled. Rowdy sniffed her indulgently. I sat cross-legged on the grass. Rowdy put himself in an alert sit and began a systematic survey of the canine competition. Most of the other dogs napped.
Heather, the self-styled Chief Fecal Inspector, appeared with a small loudspeaker attached to a portable microphone. Maxine took the mike and called the meeting to order. She was no public speaker. The mike squealed. Max shouted a welcome. Everyone applauded. Max said that she was happy to see all of us and excited about camp. She thanked us for having faith in her and for making her dream become a reality. The heat made me drowsy. The temperature couldn’t have been above the high seventies, ten or twenty degrees cooler than Cambridge, but in Rangeley, Maine, it must have been one of the hottest days of the year. I drifted.
Max was talking about the contents of the registration packets we’d received when we’d arrived. She held up a red sheet of legal-size paper and said that she was sure that we were just as excited as she was about the courses and the activities. Everyone should take note of a couple of revisions in the schedule. Canine Good Citizenship testing, originally scheduled for Friday, would take place tomorrow afternoon; and Temperament Testing, scheduled for Thursday, would be held on Tuesday. A murmur greeted the announcement. “That shoots that,” I heard someone grumble.
“Don’t worry about it,” Maxine said cheerfully. “Cash doesn’t mind.”
Confronted with the overwhelming evidence of Cash’s total lack of interest—Cash completely ignored him—Rowdy slowly began to lower his hackles. Rowdy is more hierarchical than he is aggressive; if Cash didn’t want to play King of the Mountain, neither did Rowdy. Even so, especially because of the subject I wanted to raise with Max, I felt embarrassed. I cleared my throat. “I wondered if there might be some rule or whatever about dogs on long flex leads. People do it at shows, and it can be a problem there—they let the dog out the full twenty-six feet. A while ago, a dog shot out of nowhere and went for Rowdy. Nothing happened. But it made me a little uncomfortable. And I wondered.”
Max scowled. “Whose dog?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s the general—”
“Eva Spitteler. You ever run into her before?”
“No. Just today.”
Maxine drew close. Her breath smelled like candy. “Did Eva bite your head off?”
I live with two Alaskan malamutes, and I’m still here
, I wanted to say. I contented myself with a simple no.
“There’s a little problem there,” Max confided.
“If that big Lab of hers takes on the wrong dog, the problem won’t be so little.” My eyes darted to the peaceful mastiff. “Even Cash would defend himself.”
Max dismissed the possibility. “A Lab’d just bounce right off him. If Eva bothers you, just ignore her. The truth is, I didn’t find out about her until she’d already signed up, and by the time I got warned about what a pill she was, it was too late. I put her by herself in one of the cabin units, and all she paid for was a shared double in the bunkhouse, so that ought to put her in a good mood, and no one’s stuck rooming with her. That’s the best I can do. Sorry, but there’s a rotten apple in every barrel.”
Without having really addressed the question of keeping dogs under control, Max hastily excused herself to get the meeting started. Rowdy and I followed her. The crowd had grown to about a hundred people and at least that many dogs. I found a shady spot under an ancient white birch near Cam and Ginny. Cam’s sheltie, Nicky, was stretched out at her side, his head resting on his paws. Wiz had been lying down, too, but she rose to her feet, licked Rowdy’s muzzle, abased herself before him, rolled onto her back, and wiggled. Rowdy sniffed her indulgently. I sat cross-legged on the grass. Rowdy put himself in an alert sit and began a systematic survey of the canine competition. Most of the other dogs napped.
Heather, the self-styled Chief Fecal Inspector, appeared with a small loudspeaker attached to a portable microphone. Maxine took the mike and called the meeting to order. She was no public speaker. The mike squealed. Max shouted a welcome. Everyone applauded. Max said that she was happy to see all of us and excited about camp. She thanked us for having faith in her and for making her dream become a reality. The heat made me drowsy. The temperature couldn’t have been above the high seventies, ten or twenty degrees cooler than Cambridge, but in Rangeley, Maine, it must have been one of the hottest days of the year. I drifted.
Max was talking about the contents of the registration packets we’d received when we’d arrived. She held up a red sheet of legal-size paper and said that she was sure that we were just as excited as she was about the courses and the activities. Everyone should take note of a couple of revisions in the schedule. Canine Good Citizenship testing, originally scheduled for Friday, would take place tomorrow afternoon; and Temperament Testing, scheduled for Thursday, would be held on Tuesday. A murmur greeted the announcement. “That shoots that,” I heard someone grumble.
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