Say Woof

“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.

With leash in mouth, she scratched at the door.

“Aren’t you the perky one?” said Mrs. Waverly. “I’ll just get my clutch and we’ll be off.” They trotted outside. Mrs. Waverly said, “Once around the building should do it,” but Olivia dug in her heels and strained against her leash. She held out for the jogging trail at Riverside Park.

“Oh, you stubborn thing,” said Mrs. Waverly. “Well, okay. Let’s go to the park.”

Olivia broke into a jog the second they reached the sawdust trail. The old lady tried to keep up, but after a hundred paces, she dropped the leash and said in an out-of-breath voice, “Go on without me, Checkers.”

Olivia watched Mrs. Waverly sink onto a park bench to fan her brow, then ran five miles before returning. Mrs. Waverly was waiting on the bench, pretending not to notice the scruffy midget in a white, rough-coat dog suit who sweated and grunted as he humped her left leg.

“What are you, some sort of terrier?” growled Olivia. She bared her teeth, but didn’t snap.

“A Dandie Dinmont,” said the fellow, seeming quite proud of himself.

He was perfectly disgusting. She growled and opened her eyes wide so that the whites would show. She foamed at the mouth, and leapt toward him.

“That’s enough! Down, girl!” ordered Mrs. Waverly in an angry voice. She boxed Olivia’s ear.

Olivia whimpered, and hung her head in shame.

“Sorry about all this,” said the terrier’s owner, a man wearing a double-breasted suit. “Been meaning to get him fixed.” At that, the Dandie Dinmont yelped and took a few steps backward.

“He’s an adorable little pup,” said Mrs. Waverly with a sigh.

From then on, Mrs. Waverly instigated their walks. She conveniently dropped the leash at about the same spot near the bench every day, ordering Olivia to run on alone. Olivia wasn’t sure she liked this tactic. On the plus side, she lost a few pounds and her leg muscles became hard as biscuits. She tried not to be jealous of the Dandie Dinmont, though whenever she saw him, a growl escaped her lips. Mrs. Waverly seemed to call her “bad dog” more than she called her “Checkers.”

Olivia was finding it difficult to contain her growing resentment. The repetition that had once seemed comforting now caused boredom. The menu never varied: water and unseasoned chopped sirloin. The clip clop of her toes across the floor gave her a headache. One night, she refused Mrs. Waverly’s cajoling to be licked on the face. Mrs. Waverly punished her by sending her to bed without a biscuit.

The next afternoon, as Mrs. Waverly watched a syndicated rerun of Frasier, laughing especially hard when the little dog came onstage, Olivia wondered if she might be depressed. She called the vet, who assured her it was normal to spend large parts of her day napping. She called Buzz to ask if he had any other jobs, but he reminded her she still owed fifty dollars on the suit. In agony, she hung her head out the window and howled at the moon.

“I don’t need your moping, you bad dog,” said Mrs. Waverly after dinner. “Take the night off.” She gave Olivia ten dollars and directions to a neighborhood bar. “Go get drunk, why don’t you?” she said.

Olivia carried the money in her mouth. She jogged to the bar, but when she arrived, a familiar feeling of timidity overwhelmed her. She did her best to blend into the woodwork. This was much easier than she might have guessed, considering her size and the fact that she was wearing a dog suit. She sat at the bar and tried to order a Black and White, but the bartender said to slow down, that he could not understand her woofing. A smart-aleck in a loose green bird suit sat beside her, and introduced himself as Paulo. The music was so loud she didn’t catch his last name. In his squawky voice he told the bartender to bring them both drinks.

When she spit out the wad of green, Paulo waved his hand and said, “I don’t want your money. Please.”

She smiled and barked her thanks. He seemed to understand every nuance of her voice.

“Shall we dance?” he asked, and she agreed. He stood several inches shorter than she, and was walking stick-skinny, with pale, almost translucent skin. He danced across the dance floor like a cloud wafting across sky. He let her spin him around a time or two. She realized with a blush that she could easily lift him up and carry him out the door anytime she wanted. She wanted that very much right now. Her face felt hot with embarrassment and longing. He asked what was wrong, and she confessed her thoughts.

“Why don’t you?” he said, with a gap-toothed smile, so she did.

He took her to his place. Paulo worked as a parrot for a nearsighted professor in Southeast, who was away birding at the moment on an overnighter with the Audubon Society. The poor professor was a widower, a bird enthusiast who was severely allergic to mites and dander. All that flying around the house had sculpted Paulo’s pectorals into unbelievable shape, considering. When she flexed her own muscles for Paulo he whistled. His whistle was the most beautiful music she had ever heard.

They sat on a swing in his bird cage and talked for what seemed like hours. They kissed good night, and just before breaking apart, Paulo let his hand slide from her shoulder to the small of her back and then downward to her buttocks. A shiver ran from the base of her spine up to her neck as he gently petted her fur. She blew a kiss against his neck, a symbolic ruffling of his feathers. Reluctantly, she left for home.

He called the next morning.

Mrs. Waverly seemed upset, but let Olivia use the phone, though she wiped down the receiver with alcohol after.

Olivia had arranged to meet Paulo at the park. On their walk, Mrs. Waverly dropped the leash near the bench. Instead of her usual resentment, Olivia felt a lightness flowing through her. She ran forward and spotted Paulo. They fell upon each other, and rolled across the jogging track. She got a sawdust bum on her behind, but kissing him was worth it.

Maybe people needed pets for the same reason people needed to be pets—because they couldn’t bear to be alone, yet couldn’t bear to be with other people. Her feelings for Paulo frightened her, but he was so persistent, she so needy, that she could not hold them back. She told him her real name.

She began to suspect Mrs. Waverly had stopped caring for her after the biscuit jar ran dry and wasn’t refilled. Her suspicions were confirmed when the chopped sirloin degraded into ground round—15 percent—and soon after to canned Iams, then Purina, then the store brand. One morning, as Olivia lay on her mattress lazily snapping at flies, Mrs. Waverly sneaked up beside her and smacked her rump with the paper. It all happened so quickly there was no time to react.

“Buzz says I can’t put you down or I would,” said Mrs. Waverly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Her woof failed her; she resorted to words. “But why?” asked Olivia.

“Let’s just say I want something a little smaller and cuter,” said Mrs. Waverly.

Olivia understood that she was talking about the Dandie Dinmont. That hurt, badly enough that when Mrs. Waverly wasn’t looking, Olivia peed in one of her fuzzy pink slippers. She left a message on Buzz’s voice mail, saying she’d be in touch, and walked out the door. She stood on the sidewalk, unsure of which way to go. She was an actress! Not a possession to be discarded. In a flash of anger, she found herself chasing a grey squirrel into the street. She watched with horror as the little beast was run down by a car.

Tears would not come to her; she howled inconsolably. A man walked by and yelled at her to be quiet. She crept down an alley to look for food in the garbage bins, and there she found a half-eaten Polish sausage, a package of oyster crackers, and a sliver of leather from an old wallet. She bit down on the leather and trotted away to the park. Curling up beneath the park bench, she chewed the leather into mush. Eventually, she fell asleep.

She awakened to the sound of her name, and saw Paulo flitting through the brush. He called out to her. She did not mean to answer, but instinct took over. “Woof,” she said. “Woof.”

On the cab ride over to his place she broke down and told him what had happened. “Woof,” she said—I’m so ashamed.

He told her not to worry, then hugged her and let her pull him onto her lap. When they arrived, Paulo asked her to remove her tap shoes so as not to disturb the professor. He led her to his cage.

“What will become of me?” she asked.

“I’ll ask the professor to hire you so we can stay together,” Paulo said.

“You’ll ask me what?” said a grey-haired man in a satin smoking jacket and paisley pajama bottoms. “And what’s all this commotion?”

Paulo explained Olivia’s predicament. It was obvious that the professor didn’t like the idea of hiring her, though he begrudgingly said okay. “Except I don’t care for dogs,” he said. “Cats and birds okay, but no dogs.”

Olivia nodded and tried to purr. A good thing she had studied method acting. In the morning, she visited Buzz to trade in her Rottweiler suit for a Coon cat’s. She had a bit of trouble managing the tail-swishing thing, but vowed to do her best because of her affection for Paulo. She found it surprisingly easy to get into character. She chased Paulo around the house, batting him with her long arms and gently biting his behind when she caught him. She spit the feathers from her mouth and he gave her a wicked smile.

“I love you,” Paulo said. “I want to marry you.”

She followed him into the bird cage and he closed the latch and pulled down the ends of the cage cover. For the first time in her life, she experienced the secrets and the glory beneath a man’s bird suit.

Unfortunately, the professor walked in on them. He sprayed them both with water from his mister. “This is all quite unprofessional,” he said, averting his eyes. “Even for actors. You’re fired.”

But Paulo said, “You can’t fire me! I quit.” He gave his employer the bird and he and Olivia quickly dressed and left the house. “I’m in love!” he warbled. “In love.”

Olivia felt deliriously happy. They took a bus to the Coin-Operated Church of Elvis and deposited enough quarters to be married. The happy couple spent their first night of wedded bliss in a nearby Holiday Inn that allowed pets.

“Even a temporary pet deserves dignity!” Olivia said. She and Paulo snuggled in their love nest and talked of opening America’s first giant flea circus. They would place ads in Variety, hire disgruntled pet workers from across the nation to perform. Perhaps the Dandie Dinmont would apply, and although he was sure to come with excellent references, Olivia smiled, knowing she would refuse to hire him.