French bulldog limped past the Chihuahua. Annubis noted that the dog had an artificial foreleg. “This is Faux Paw,” Chi-chi explained as the French bulldog let loose a tremendous fart. “Pardonnez-moi,” the three-legged dog apologized via Speak & Spell. The Italian greyhound bounded toward Annubis and leapt up on him with its bony, impulse-control-challenged limbs. “This is Napoleon Bone-apart,” Virginia Woof explained, concluding her introductions. The Italian greyhound, not having a Speak & Spell, nudged the round plastic toy strapped to its side.
“The cow says …
mooooooooo
!” the See ’n Say said cheerfully. Virginia Woof tapped out her explanation. “All that was left. He’d probably say same thing even if he could speak, though.”
Annubis, proud and dignified, willed his tail to wag in canine camaraderie. Through years of working alongside humans, he had learned to restrain the flagrant expression of emotion so common with his species. Most humans—especially those in the aggravated bowels of Heck—had a way of holding something like that against you.
“My name is Annubis,” the dog god said, “and I am here to retrieve my wife and daughter, in addition to a friend’s ferret. I know that they are in the Furafter, yet I know not where.”
Poochiano Pawvarotti shook his droopy flews, then tapped a response.
“Ferrets,” he replied in a halting monotone. “Funchase, no fun catch. Probably in Kennels. Where they put pets don’t know what to do with. As for wife and child—”
The klieg lights—obviously set on some timer, Annubis thought—winked off, submerging the dogs in darkness. Almost immediately, the faint, guttural sound of malicious feline boredom pricked Annubis’s ears.
“Best be moving,” Virginia Woof suggested. “Place is regular Katmandu when lights out.”
The dogs’ home resembled a dank, wood-paneled rubbish heap composed of all the castaway junk that remained unsold at the worst garage sale
ever
. The stiff, orange shag carpet—a horizontal work of abstract expressionism made of oil stains, cigarette burns, and what Annubis prayed was fossilized spaghetti—was, to Annubis’s eyes, perhaps the most pleasing aspect of this caved-in rumpus room on the haunches of the Furafter.
The dogs led their guest to a clutch of gutted beanbag chairs.
Annubis sat, cross-legged, beneath a black velvet picture of a group of dogs huddled around a table engaged in a game of poker. The painting seemed, by its gilded frame and position at the intersection of two beams of track lighting, to hold some importance to the dogs.
“A Bold Bluff,”
Virginia Woof commented through the flat tone of her Speak & Spell.
Annubis cocked his head. It was amazing how all of these old habits came flooding back when surrounded by your own species.
“Excuse me?”
“Name of painting,” Chi-chi LaRue clarified, trembling on a burned-out chesterfield that appeared to have not quite survived a fire sale. “Masterpiece.”
Annubis turned back to Virginia Woof as she cleaned her back foot.
“This is all very … cozy, but I need to find my family, who I assume are suffering in the Kennels. Now this caretaker, this Mr. Noah …”
“He greet every new arrival in Stay! before leading to either Really Big Farm, pet Heaven, or—in extreme cases—Kennels: pet
you know where,
” Virginia Woof said, tapping the red plastic toy strapped to her side. “But haven’t seen him for weeks. Without Noah, cats treat place like scratching post.”
“In any case,” Annubis pressed, “I need to go to the Kennels. As soon as possible. I don’t care if the cats play—”
“
Ruff
… the dog says … ruff!” Napoleon Bone-apart, tongue lolling out of his mouth with happiness, communicated with a nudge of his See ’n Say.
Virginia Woof rubbed her face against Annubis’s leg reassuringly before tapping out another message.
“It’s okay,” she said through the toy’s flat,
“The cow says …
mooooooooo
!” the See ’n Say said cheerfully. Virginia Woof tapped out her explanation. “All that was left. He’d probably say same thing even if he could speak, though.”
Annubis, proud and dignified, willed his tail to wag in canine camaraderie. Through years of working alongside humans, he had learned to restrain the flagrant expression of emotion so common with his species. Most humans—especially those in the aggravated bowels of Heck—had a way of holding something like that against you.
“My name is Annubis,” the dog god said, “and I am here to retrieve my wife and daughter, in addition to a friend’s ferret. I know that they are in the Furafter, yet I know not where.”
Poochiano Pawvarotti shook his droopy flews, then tapped a response.
“Ferrets,” he replied in a halting monotone. “Funchase, no fun catch. Probably in Kennels. Where they put pets don’t know what to do with. As for wife and child—”
The klieg lights—obviously set on some timer, Annubis thought—winked off, submerging the dogs in darkness. Almost immediately, the faint, guttural sound of malicious feline boredom pricked Annubis’s ears.
“Best be moving,” Virginia Woof suggested. “Place is regular Katmandu when lights out.”
The dogs’ home resembled a dank, wood-paneled rubbish heap composed of all the castaway junk that remained unsold at the worst garage sale
ever
. The stiff, orange shag carpet—a horizontal work of abstract expressionism made of oil stains, cigarette burns, and what Annubis prayed was fossilized spaghetti—was, to Annubis’s eyes, perhaps the most pleasing aspect of this caved-in rumpus room on the haunches of the Furafter.
The dogs led their guest to a clutch of gutted beanbag chairs.
Annubis sat, cross-legged, beneath a black velvet picture of a group of dogs huddled around a table engaged in a game of poker. The painting seemed, by its gilded frame and position at the intersection of two beams of track lighting, to hold some importance to the dogs.
“A Bold Bluff,”
Virginia Woof commented through the flat tone of her Speak & Spell.
Annubis cocked his head. It was amazing how all of these old habits came flooding back when surrounded by your own species.
“Excuse me?”
“Name of painting,” Chi-chi LaRue clarified, trembling on a burned-out chesterfield that appeared to have not quite survived a fire sale. “Masterpiece.”
Annubis turned back to Virginia Woof as she cleaned her back foot.
“This is all very … cozy, but I need to find my family, who I assume are suffering in the Kennels. Now this caretaker, this Mr. Noah …”
“He greet every new arrival in Stay! before leading to either Really Big Farm, pet Heaven, or—in extreme cases—Kennels: pet
you know where,
” Virginia Woof said, tapping the red plastic toy strapped to her side. “But haven’t seen him for weeks. Without Noah, cats treat place like scratching post.”
“In any case,” Annubis pressed, “I need to go to the Kennels. As soon as possible. I don’t care if the cats play—”
“
Ruff
… the dog says … ruff!” Napoleon Bone-apart, tongue lolling out of his mouth with happiness, communicated with a nudge of his See ’n Say.
Virginia Woof rubbed her face against Annubis’s leg reassuringly before tapping out another message.
“It’s okay,” she said through the toy’s flat,
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