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does anyone else. That’s why most obedience judges are terrific. People don’t enter under the bad ones, and clubs don’t rehire judges who draw small entries. It’s a form of natural selection: survival of the fairest. “Nothing,” Ginny said firmly. “It’s just that Cam—”
    Cam cut in: “It’s nothing. Forget I said it. It’s not Phyllis, anyway. It’s just that Max didn’t have to take everyone who applied.”
    “I, uh, have the impression that she more or less did,” I said. “It’s her first year. I don’t think she could afford to turn people down. And what excuse could she give people? ‘Sorry, but no one likes you’?”
    “There could’ve been a rule about aggressive dogs,” Ginny said.
    “Are the Abbotts’ dogs...?” I asked.
    “No,” Cam said. “And anyway, they’re Poms.” The ideal weight for the Pomeranian is four or five pounds. Toy breeds can be aggressive, but there’s a limit to the harm they can do, and, in any case, Pomeranians are sweethearts. “Actually, Phyllis has very nice dogs. And Phyllis Abbott is a good handler. You have to give her that. Ginny means Eva Spitteler. Ginny, just ignore her. Everyone knows what Eva’s like. No one pays any attention to her.”
    “Eva goes around telling everyone awful things about me,” Ginny informed me.
    Cam sounded impatient. “But, Ginny, no one listens to Eva Spitteler.”
    “Hah! She lures all those pet people in, and she charges them a fortune. They listen to her.”
    “No one who counts,” Cam said. Then she filled me in. “Eva runs a so-called training center. She does a lot of puppy kindergarten, pet obedience, that kind of thing, and she has no credentials—no one really knows who she is—but she gets all these pet people, and they don’t know any better.”
    “She’s never so much as put one CD on one dog,” Ginny said indignantly.
    “The pet people don’t care,” Cam said. “They just don’t know. Eva tells them that obedience is some big deal, and they believe every word she says, and then when they hear that she’s entered Bingo, they think, ‘Oh, wow, an obedience trial. She must be really something.’ And she sells dog food and all kinds of dog supplies, and she charges like five percent less than the pet shops, and she tells people she’s getting them a special deal on everything. And supposedly she’s starting some kind of mail-order business. That’s her latest.”
    “Eva makes a lot of money,” Ginny commented.
    “But she doesn’t sell puppies,” I said. “She doesn’t run a real pet shop.”
    Cam and Ginny looked suitably shocked. “No,” Cam said, “Eva wouldn’t do that. As a matter of fact, she keeps people out of the pet shops. That’s one good thing she does.”
    Ginny held firm. “The only one.”
    “Eva does try,” Cam said. “Mainly, she’s obnoxious. She just isn’t cut out to be an instructor. She doesn’t have any credentials, but she does try. She goes to workshops and things. It doesn’t do any good, but she does go. She just doesn’t learn anything. If you ask me, the real problem is her personality. And, Ginny, that’s the thing about Bingo. Everyone knows that. Considering what Eva’s like, Bingo could be a lot worse.”
    “There ought to be a rule about flex leads,” I said. “I don’t mind so much if Bingo is dog-aggressive, but, if he is, he ought to be under control. He should be on a short lead. What happened was that Bingo went flying at Rowdy, and Eva couldn’t stop him. If he’d attacked Rowdy, well, Bingo is a big dog, but there wouldn’t be anything left of him.”
    At the sound of his name, Rowdy quit fooling around with Wiz, Ginny’s kissy-face Lab, and emitted an elaborate series of northern-breed vocalizations that culminated in a strong
    suggestion politely intoned as a question: Ah-roo, woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo, roo-roo? Translation: Can we get the hell out of here?
    Even without the translation, Cam and Ginny looked