Angry muttering followed. It was, I suspected, directed more at Charles than at the heckler.
“I’ll tell you my point,” Charles said. Despite the obvious opposition in the room, he remained unruffled.
“Dog shows were originally intended to be a sporting competition to determine whose dogs were best suited for the purpose for which they’d been produced. That is obviously no longer true. In the show ring, we have retrievers who can’t retrieve, Newfoundlands who’ve never been allowed to swim, and terriers who wouldn’t recognize vermin if it ran between their legs. One by one, the usefulness of our breeds is slipping away. They’re being ruined by what has essentially turned into a canine beauty contest. And that is a damn shame.”
The audience—all of them dog lovers, and all of them dog show aficionados—was growing mutinous now. People were speaking loudly among themselves. Other voices joined those of the initial heckler.
Caroline rose, excused herself, slipped from the row of chairs, and left the room.
Charles, still speaking, didn’t appear to notice.
“As we look toward the future, we need to recognize that not only are the animal rights groups not going to go away, but they are going to increase their base of support. It would be a show of wisdom on our part to accept the fact that they have some valid points. Rather than dismissing their agenda, we need to find a way to reconcile and to work together with them.”
“No way!” someone called out.
A woman I didn’t know stood up. “You want us to reconcile with people who think it’s all right to stage protests by showing up at dog shows, opening crates, and turning defenseless dogs loose to run in traffic? That’s the kind of agenda you think we ought to support?”
Charles looked to see who had spoken up.
“I’ll admit that in an effort to get our attention, some of their tactics have been extreme. But that doesn’t negate the fact that some of what they’re saying has merit. We are the ones who are to blame for letting dog shows reach their current state. We have work to do, people, and it’s high time that we accepted that fact.”
Charles may have firmly believed what he was saying, but if he had expected to find even a shred of approval or agreement in this room, he had sadly misjudged his audience. He tried once again to drive home his point.
“In a perfect, future world the huge dog shows that we know today, the events that are little more than testimonies to artificiality, would cease to exist. Instead, our breeds would be allowed to return to what they were meant to be in the beginning—friends, companions, helpmates to man. Dogs would be bred for function rather than the need to conform to a pre-set standard. And they—and we—would be much the better for it.”
Charles finally stopped speaking. No applause greeted the end of his speech. He didn’t seem to expect any.
In this crowd, what he’d said was tantamount to heresy. If he hadn’t realized that in the beginning, he certainly had to know it now.
After a moment, he stepped away from the podium and strode off the stage. Margo, already on her feet, turned and hurried after him.
“That was interesting,” I said.
“Interesting, my foot,” Aunt Peg snorted. “Whatever else Charles hoped to accomplish, he’s just committed career suicide.”
“He probably doesn’t care,” Bertie said practically. “Considering that he just issued a call for the abolishment of dog shows.”
“Nobody will take him seriously on that score,” said Peg. “They couldn’t possibly.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Caroline? I imagine she’s about ready to kill him.”
“She slipped out five minutes ago.”
“I don’t blame her. She probably didn’t want to listen to that drivel any more than the rest of us did.”
“It wasn’t entirely drivel,” I said. “He made a few good points.”
Aunt Peg disagreed. “A well-reasoned call for reform would have been one thing. But asking us to align ourselves with the animal rights groups? Charles had to have known he was going much too far taking a stand like that.”
“Why do you think he did it?” I asked.
Now that the show was over, the room was emptying quickly. We gathered up our things and prepared to leave.
“I have no idea,” Aunt Peg replied. “It’s hard to imagine that Charles actually believes all those things he said. He’s been a highly respected judge, firmly embedded for years in the system he just thoroughly excoriated. So why the sudden turnaround?”
“Maybe he needs new meds,” said Bertie.
We both turned and looked at her.
“Just a thought.”
Under the circumstances, it wasn’t a bad one.
Sad to say that while Bertie and Aunt Peg went off to do fun and exciting things, I went upstairs and took a nap before dinner. When I rejoined them two hours later, Aunt Peg was holding court at a large corner table in the bar.
I recognized most of the people she was seated with. Richard was there, along with his two buddies, Marshall and Derek. Bertie was sitting next to a woman I didn’t know and on the woman’s other side was Tubby Mathis, whom Aunt Peg had dismissed so firmly at the last gathering.
I slid into an empty chair beside Bertie, and Richard immediately raised his hand and called for another round of drinks.
“Name your poison,” he said to me.
“Just water, I’m afraid.”
“Water?” Tubby lifted his head and looked at me balefully. His arms were cradled possessively around a tall whiskey and there were several empty glasses nearby. “You’ve come to the wrong place if all you want is water.”
“I’d like some pleasant company too,” I said. “Presumably I might be able to find that here?”
The woman I hadn’t met yet barked out a laugh. She reached a hand across in front of Bertie.
“Rosalyn Arnold,” she said. “You must be Melanie.”
“Don’t tell me my reputation precedes me.”
“I’m afraid so. Bertie’s been wondering where you were for the last half hour.”
I sighed. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”
“Wait a minute,” said Tubby. “Are you the gal they’ve been talking about? The one who’s pregnant?”
The one who’s pregnant? Was that what I had been reduced to now? Had every other aspect of my being been relegated to lesser importance compared to the fact that I was carrying a child?
Resigned, I nodded. “That’s me.”
“Well, all right, then,” Tubby said. “Course you don’t want something hard to drink. Barkeep, bring this gal some water. Looks to me like she’s probably thirsty.”
Oh God. Now every eye in the bar had turned my way. Everyone was checking out the pregnant woman who wanted only water to drink.
“What did I miss?” I asked brightly. Anything to change the subject. “What were you guys talking about?”
“Three guesses,” said Derek. “And the first two don’t count.”
“Charles’s speech?”
“Got it in one,” said Peg.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст