The Animal Girl by John Fulton Page A

them so that we humans can piss more easily.”
    Max laughed a little. “You’re confusing the gallbladder with the urinary bladder. The gallbladder secretes gall.”
    â€œOK,” Leah said. “We’re killing them so that we can secrete gall.”
    â€œNot exactly,” Max said. “We’re killing them for knowledge.”
    â€œAnd it’s worth it?”
    â€œI think so. Eventually. In the long run. Yes.” Then he added, “These dogs aren’t pets, you know. They’re not even strays. They’re bred for the lab. No one has trained them. They’ve never lived in a home.”
    Leah nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I agree.”
    And for some stupid reason, Max had to ruin their little discussion of science and ethics by repeating his cautionary note to her. “It’s not a good idea to befriend them, Leah.”
    â€œNo duh,” she said. Then she asked an odd question that had been on her mind for some time and that seemed both wrong and necessary to ask. “How much do they cost?”
    â€œNot much,” Max said. “They’ve been donated to us. The transportation, the food, and your services are our main costs.”
    Leah was surprised to learn that she was part of these costs. “Ten bucks? Twenty bucks?” she asked.
    â€œMore or less,” Max said.
    It was to teach Max a lesson that Leah befriended a dog the next day. It was a medium-sized, long-haired mutt, its white coat spattered with muddy brown spots. He’d been delivered that morning with two other dogs, and Leah had noticed him immediately. He was the calm one, serene almost, amid his barking companions, who would probably spend the next hour jumping and howling at their cage until they discovered that it would not budge. He looked at her in the same moment she looked at him. And when she walked up to him, his companions becoming more frenzied even as he remained calm, she could not help saying, “Sit, boy.” Amazingly, the dog sat. “Lie down,” she said, and he obeyed. But what excited her most was when she said next, “Roll over,” and he did absolutely nothing. That decided it: He would be hers for the day.
    As soon as he sauntered out of the cage and calmly plopped himself beside her desk, she sensed that she’d made a mistake. She liked him—liked him a lot—but she didn’t want to like him. He edged closer until he was beneath her chair, resting his head on her feet. He licked the rubber toe of her shoe, then closed his eyes, snorted, and all at once fell asleep. Trying not to disturb him, Leah didn’t move for nearly an hour. When she did, he followed her everywhere, as if terrified that she might leave him. He wanted to be close. He was at her side as she watered and fed the sheep, as she swept their cages and replaced the wood shavings; then he trailed her back to her desk. He was hungry for her fingers, licking them, nibbling on them whenever they came near. She tried to stop herself from touching him, but he looked at her with a wide, dopey gaze that pulled her in. She wanted to get him back into his cage, get him away from her, but she couldn’t make herself do it.
    When Max came by that morning to say hi, the dog was still at her feet. “What’s he doing out?” Max was angry, and this made Leah angry in turn.
    â€œHe’s my friend,” she said. Max shook his head and seemed too upset to speak. “His name is Ten Bucks.” She hadn’t intended to name the dog, and as soon as she’d said those words the dog leapt to its feet, seeming to recognize its name, and once again Leah felt that she was wrong. She was making a mistake. And yet she couldn’t stop herself. “Watch,” she said. She made him sit and lie down. “You said these dogs aren’t trained. But he is. Somebody trained him.”
    â€œYou’re playing with him, Leah. He’s not to be