Say Woof
by Leslie What
“Down on all fours!” shouted Buzz, the owner of Buzz Raptor’s Exotic Pet Agency. He was portly and bald, inelegantly dressed in pleated pants and a red bowling shirt, his name in yellow thread embroidered on the pocket. “Let me hear you say ‘woof.’ ” Buzz climbed atop his desk to give Olivia a demonstration howl.
Olivia dropped to the ground. “Woof,” she barked. This had to be the weirdest employment interview of her life. But being shy, depressed, and huge enough to be scary had many times hindered her ability to find acting jobs, so the least she could do was be cooperative.
“You must work out,” said Buzz appreciatively.
Olivia nodded. At the moment she was muscular and very strong, having toned down to a comfortable weight of two hundred twenty pounds. She rather liked herself this way. Her hair was dyed black and she wore a studded leather vest and pants, accessorized with a silver chain choker. She looked tough. Working as a temporary pet would be a step down from her last position as a bouncer at Larry’s Leather, but she needed money. She barked several times, as if Buzz didn’t already know that she was desperate.
Behind Buzz’s desk was a wall of shelves. Most of the space in the small office was taken up by a wire-fence kennel. Inside the kennel, a scrawny woman in a white fur bodysuit ran furiously around a giant hamster wheel. The hamster woman paused every now and again to check her weight on an electronic scale before hopping back on the wheel. Not a bad job for an anorexic. Olivia waved to her, though the hamster woman seemed oblivious to anything but her wheel and her burlap sack of sunflower seeds.
“So, snarl, already!” said Buzz. “And put some lip into it.”
Olivia showed off her best snarl and took what she hoped was a threatening step forward.
“My gawd!” said Buzz, thumping his hand against his chest. “You give me shivers. You’re that good, girl!” he said. “You ever been on Broadway?”
She felt her face glow warm with pride. It had been ages since a man had complimented her.
Buzz jumped off his desk to shake her hand. His palms, not surprisingly, were sweaty. “Absolutely perfect!” he said. “And me, ready to give up hope. You’re the first bitch I’ve had all day who could pass for Rottweiler! You’ve got ‘watch dog’ written all over you.”
“How much does it pay?”
“A hefty bit more than some kibble and two-bits,” Buzz promised with a wink. “ ’Course, without an equity card, I can’t pay you scale.”
He gave her a W-4. “I see you come with your own collar,” said Buzz, pointing to Olivia’s chain choker. “I can give you a credit for that.” He pulled a boxed uniform from the shelf. “Deposit of three hundred taken from your first check. Refundable, of course. You’re paid on the second and fourth Friday of the month. You agree that any tips will be split fifty-fifty with the house. I’ll nail on taps for your shoes so you’ll make noise on the kitchen floor—makes you sound like you got toenails that need clipping. A nice touch.” He pointed to a folding screen propped against the wall. “There’s the dressing room. I’ll issue your dog tags and license while you change.”
Olivia set up the screen, then stood behind it. She took off her things and gathered the sleek black fur suit above her feet, then pulled it gently over her legs. The zipper ran from crotch to neck. She smoothed the hood over her head and worked with the ears until they stood up straight. She brought her street clothes around to the desk.
‘You won’t be needing those for a while,” Buzz said. He gave her a claim check and tossed the clothes to the floor.
The dog suit felt very nice; fitting snugly, as if it had been custom made for her. She rubbed the fur on her arm with one hand, rubbed both thighs, and touched the back of her neck.
“How’s it feel being a licensed professional?” said Buzz, handing her a dog tag. Checkers was engraved on one side, Buzz’s pager number on the other. Olivia inquired about the name, hoping she didn’t sound too ungrateful. “She’s old—the lady who’s hiring you. Checkers has sentimental value. Think of it as a code word for loyalty. I mean, the money’s great… you live rent-free in a luxury condo at Riverplace. You want more than that? I don’t got it.” He brought his thumb and forefinger down his double chin like he was pulling taffy. “Still,” he said, “I never make my girls work where they don’t feel comfortable. They need a guard dog over at Lars’ Scrapyard. Graveyard shift.”
“No,” said Olivia. “This will be fine.”
Buzz pointed to a calendar on the wall. “Play your cards right, you could make Pet of the Month,” he said.
She squinted at the green-eyed beauty in the shiny python suit. Ms. January’s pink tongue seductively tasted the air; her fluid body was wrapped tightly around her prey. On closer inspection, that turned out to be Buzz. Olivia shuddered.
“Remember,” Buzz said, giving her a thumbs up. “Loyalty.” He handed her his card with an address scrawled across it, and held out a worn employee manual. “Try not to lose your humanity,” he said, with a wink toward the hamster. “Not as easy as it sounds.” For a moment he looked as if he might cry. “Had a man go over last quarter. Forgot he was playing a part. Thought he was a real alligator. Ate my client. Nasty business. Nasty. Almost ruined me.” Solemnly, he grasped her shoulders. “The second it stops feeling like an act, you call. Understand?”
Olivia nodded, then left. As she walked toward the river she read the introductory notes in the manual, then skipped to the section called Tricks of the Trade. “Whenever you see your master make him believe you’ve spent your entire day—better yet, your entire life—waiting for this moment!” She perused the chapter on behavior. “While on duty, bark once for food and twice to be let out.” Another chapter, Devotion Is Its Own Reward, taught her to twitch her legs when her belly was scratched. The job seemed less and less bizarre.
The little old lady, a widow named Mrs. Waverly, was obviously in great need of companionship. She explained to Olivia that she was somewhat hard-of-hearing, and that her previous dog, a natural cocker spaniel with uncontrollable halitosis, had only recently passed away. “I’ve been so lonely, Checkers,” she said. “There are times I can hardly sleep at night.”
Olivia clumsily bent her knees and bowed to let Mrs. Waverly pet her head. She helped Mrs. Waverly make up a soft pad next to her own bed and watched as the old lady set out clean bowls filled with water and chopped sirloin. “You cooked for me?” asked Olivia.
Mrs. Waverly shushed her. “I’m going to let this go, seeing as you’re new. Checkers, you’re a dog now. No more talking!” she said.
“Woof,” said Olivia. She sat on her new bed and scratched herself behind one ear.
Mrs. Waverly said, “Good dog,” and gave her a biscuit hard as cast iron.
Olivia could not remember ever being this content. In the morning, she fetched the paper and dropped it in front of the old lady’s feet. In the afternoon, she barked at the mailman and bit the UPS driver when he tried to leave a package at the door. In the evening, Mrs. Waverly scratched her belly for almost an hour.
“Except for dog poop you’re quite realistic,” said Mrs. Waverly. “Don’t get me wrong! I don’t miss it or the fleas!” She was so kindly and considerate that it wasn’t long before Olivia looked upon her as a grandmother. Mrs. Wa-verly’s only flaw was her bad habit of giving out too many biscuits without demanding a trick in return. By the end of the first week Olivia noticed her dog suit had grown snug in the crotch. She vowed to get back into shape; she could stand being big as long as she was strong.