Yeuxette caressed the small, scruffy puppy on its head.
Its coat was dirty, rough, wiry.
The mother dog circled the small group of people
uneasily, frightened, wary.
Typical unsocialized adult dog, Yeuxette thought.
Another persistent thought sneaked into her mind: Why was she here?
Yes, she had conquered a great fear, crossing the ocean on a plane, in order to obtain this puppy.
Yes, she had become friends (or so she thought) with the American president of this rare breed.
But that was before the big, accidental revelation.
She was part of a group of American club members who had gone to France on a planned trip to bring back almost 20 puppies amongst them.
However, about three weeks prior, on one little, excited email, Yeuxette had inadvertently broken the news to the rest of American membership.
They had not been told exactly how many puppies were being brought back on this trip.
This (basically unknown) breed has no support system in place here.
There is no real rescue group in place.
No net.
No way to take care of that many puppies if some of them did not work out here. They could not be sent back to France!
But it was a way for the club president to obtain more breeding stock, to make more money off this "movie dog" breed, even if the puppies were only sent to "pet homes."
The rest of the American membership was surprised. The French club members (those who found out) were appalled. Many vowed to never send puppies to America again.
But nobody was more shocked than Yeuxette, who found herself suddenly blackballed and badmouthed, the victim of the club president's relentless spin doctoring of the situation.
The president and her members were beginners, new to the dog world, unknowing of how nasty the greedy politics work in that universe.
However, she turned out to be an instant expert at redesigning a sticky situation in her favor. So she did her best to cast Yeuxette in an evil light for the one honestly innocent act of revealing the truth behind her own operation.
Yeuxette found herself cast aside in favor of the Slurping Yes Women of the club (whom the club president had spent the entire summer badmouthing to Yeuxette on the phone).
These poor, deluded souls held the club president in high regard, no matter how dishonest, no matter how ulterior her motivation.
Yeuxette had been brought into this club to use her 18 years of experience in AKC (and in another rare breed) to help this club president navigate the road to eventual recognition by AKC.
All throughout the previous summer, the club president and Yeuxette had discussed the process.
Once in France, however, at a club meeting, the club president took her spiteful revenge to the next level, going so far as to denounce and disrepute the process of AKC recognition of the breed. She proclaimed it, simply a "Bad Idea" with no further discussion proffered from her bevy of Slurping Yes Women members.
When Yeuxette spoke, she was told to "shut up."
Yeuxette was disappointed, angry.
Baited and switched.
By now, the club president was on a mission, a rampage. She was bloodthirsty, in her true element, sharpening her power-hungry claws and using her political mastermind to manipulate her words and tirelessly dispense trite proverbs and phrases (masquerading as her own mantras) to
hush and punish Yeuxette. She wanted to make sure Yeuxette knew her place at the bottom of the food chain, with no possible recourse, no possibility of ever saving her face or grace.
The club president left no wiggle room for Yeuxette to ever come back or redeem herself.
She publicly humiliated and embarrassed Yeuxette as much as possible, discounting and devaluing anything that she ever was or could ever be (in her and the Slurper's all-believing eyes). At the end of each email tirade, she would select a generic proverb to cut down and discredit Yeuxette even further.
This was Yeuxette's friend?
Now she found herself on a trip she could not refund. She had been mistreated by the Slurpers throughout the trip, who obviously believed all the lies the club president had told them about her.
She was in one of the most beautiful countries in the world, yet she wished she were someplace else. Anywhere else.
But she was here, at this breeder's 250 year old house, petting that scruffy puppy, picking her up, hugging her.
"You're my booby prize," she whispered in the little dog's floppy ear.
Even in the bloody wake of a real-life monster's attack, one can find a small consolation, a beautiful Crepuscule to end the day.
