Beth Ann acted as if she hadn’t heard Cora and continued moving items from one pile to another, still chanting, “Leash, leash, leash.” Cora ran to her bag to grab her all-purpose leash but was too late. Chanel squatted and dropped a giant runny pile of poop near the couch.
“That’s okay, baby!” Beth Ann shouted to her dog. She looked at Cora and grinned. “I guess youdohave your work cut out for you!”
ELEVEN
ChienParfait.com’s top blog post was titledBrûler en Enfer, Boris Ershovich, with a whopping forty-two hits, the most of any on her site. Cora assumed the traffic was due to people trying to translate “burn in hell” into French and accidentally landing on her site. Her second most popular wasVas te Faire Foutre, Boris Ershovich,a post probably stumbled on by hapless folks looking to translate “Go fuck yourself.” She had a hard time saying the words out loud, but she couldn’t control what her fingers typed when she was on an Ershovich rampage. In her most recent post, titledÇa signifie la guerre,Boris Ershovich,she declared war after seeing him manhandle a puppy and challenged him to a train-off.
Though she sounded bulletproof when she wrote, she doubted that she could summon the same bravado on a TV screen. But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about Wade’s e-mail. Every time she looked at her inbox, there it was. She didn’t want to delete it, and she worried that she’d forget about it if she filed it, so it sat there like a turtle in the middle of the road, awaiting her attention.
The titles of many of her Ershovich posts were inflammatory, but the content was scientific to a fault. She worried that her few readers might get bored by her endless methodology comparisons, but she had to vent her anger about the damage he was doing in the name of training. Ershovich was abusive, and Cora not only pointed outwhyin her posts, but she also described how to approach typical behavior problems with a dog-friendly, scientific, replicable methodology.
Most of her non-Ershovich posts came from her clients’ lessons. Her series about leash aggression starred her long-term client Benson, the shepherd mix, whose incremental progress each week was enough to delight his guardian. Cora featured her client’s cat Baby, who always tried to take part in training alongside her canine brother. She wrote about the front door trick she’d shown Fran and even included a photo of Sydney in his doorknob tether setup. She always asked her clients’ permission before she wrote about their exploits, particularly when she took pictures of the dogs, but always managed to “forget” to tell them where to find the posts. Cora felt that she needed their blessing in order to write about them with a clear conscience, but she was afraid to get their feedback on what she produced. Her anonymity allowed her to express her feelings without judgment or repercussions. Something that wouldn’t be possible if she stepped into the limelight.
She logged on after her session with Beth Ann to write about the importance of grooming upkeep. Cora had a feeling that unfortunate Chanel would provide plenty of fodder for the blog, from potty training to socialization, all handled with her typical diplomacy. She never said anything negative about her clients, but she was still glad that she hid her identity when she wrote. She’d read other trainers’ blogs that spoke out against Ershovich and was shocked by the venom from his supporters in the comments sections. They claimed that trainers like Cora were just “jealous cookie-slingers” who couldn’t handle “red zone dogs.” Cora didn’t know if she could handle the backlash.
She took a peek at the dashboard, curious to see which posts, if any, were resonating. She was shocked to discover that the traffic to her two top Ershovich posts had doubled in a week. Then she dug deeper and saw thatallof her posts about Ershovich had received a significant increase in traffic. Someone in Maryland was watching her blog very closely, checking back a few times per day to see if Cora had added anything new.
Cora texted her brother. “Can u tell me what’s up w CP? Traffic increase is weird.”
Josh texted back after a few minutes. “So weird. Gimme a sec to ck IP addys.”
Cora and her brother had nothing in common, but they found kinship in the tech side of her business. She was happy to hand him the reins, and he was happy to show off his skills and gain bragging rights to their parents about how much he was helping her.
She scanned the dashboard while she waited to hear back. Her posts mentioning Fritz all had a slight bump as well, but the majority of the hits were about Ershovich. Her phone dinged. “Almost all of them r the same IP addy. Don’t be freaked out...” The text ended.
She waited and freaked out. Josh loved a good cliffhanger. Her phone pinged again with a link from him. She opened it and scanned the confusing “WhoIs” data, scrolling down until she saw the IP address of the mystery reader who had been all over her blog.
TheWashington Post.
TWELVE
“So did you forward your stuff for the audition yet?” Wade asked. He crossed his arms and stared at her, and with his shiny shaved head the pose made him look like a live-action version of Mr. Clean.
“You don’t give up, do you?” she answered with a smile. “I’m still thinking about it. The problem is I have zero experience with TV stuff. I’m just a regular old dog trainer.” His dog Daisy nosed through Cora’s bag as they chatted, well acquainted with the delights inside after four weeks of working together. Cora cleared her throat and Daisy plopped into a sheepish sit next to the bag. She nodded and mouthed “good girl” to her.
“I gotcha, I don’t want to force you into anything that might make you uncomfortable.” Wade shrugged his shoulders and paused a beat. “But I really think you should at least try.”
Cora laughed at his persistence, enjoying their camaraderie. “They want a résumé. I don’t have one! They want a headshot. I don’t have one! These are some major barriers to entry, Wade.”
“Actually they’re not. We can fudge a résumé for you, and Rachel can take your headshot. She’s got a great camera and beyond average skills, and we can use one of the backdrops I use for shooting. Done and done. Now what’s your excuse?”
“Uhhh ... the biggest one of all: my skills. Or lack thereof.”
“Well, let’s figure that out right now. Maybe you’re right—maybe you’re not cut out for it. I’ll film you and that’ll decide it.” Wade pulled his phone from his back pocket. “Take Daisy and teach me something. I don’t care what it is, just pretend like you have an audience and you want to give them a lesson.”
“Right now? I feel stupid! This is weird!” Cora’s stress blush blossomed on her cheeks. She looked at Daisy, who was contentedly chewing on a bully stick pilfered from Cora’s bag. She could handle a family of six watching her work, but the thought of doing it in front of Wade and a camera made her queasy.
“Yup, we’re going to kill this beast. I’ll know if you’re a lost cause within three minutes, and if that’s the case I’ll find a nice way to break it to you and we’ll never speak of it again. Deal?”
“Bon sang,” she muttered to herself. “If this is the only way to get you to stop asking me about it, then okay.” Deep down, she was the tiniest bit excited to try, to know for sure if she had it in her.
She quickly thought about who she should channel for her first time on camera. Dr. York the Pet Vet, morning news correspondent, lovable geek, and friend to all animals? Skye Peterson, elegant pet stylist to the stars and creator of the Designer Doggy Diaper? Or perhaps Alice Goodwin, the beloved primatologist who radiated her warmth and compassion for animals through the TV screen?
Wade directed Cora to move to the center of the room with Daisy and pointed his phone at the duo. His wife Rachel’s decorating skewed Miami despite the fact that they lived in a quaint Craftsman-style bungalow, and the riotous yellows, teals, and pinks in their family room made for a cheerful setting for her first screen test. “Ready?” He snapped his fingers and pointed at her with a serious expression on his face. “You’re on.”
“Right now? I should go?”
Wade nodded, and Cora felt herself morph into dog trainer mode even though she felt queasy. She forgot all about channeling someone else, because she couldn’t be anyone but herself.
