Rote training took over: “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and extended his hand.
The dog clasped his hand in hers; the enhancements had included an opposable thumb. Her hands were almost human, except for the fur. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” Jasper said. Her voice was low and a little raspy.
“I hope we’ll see you here again next week,” Father Andrew said, and Jasper’s strange eyes brightened; he could see her tail quicken.
There was a startled murmur from the other churchgoers, and Lisa stepped forward quickly to clasp Jasper’s elbow. “You will,” Lisa said.
Lisa and Jasper headed away towards the parking lot, the rest of the churchgoers staring after them.
“I didn’t know that they were allowed in churches,” one of the men said as Lisa and Jasper disappeared around the corner. He was looking at Father Andrew.
Father Andrew had been staring after Lisa and Jasper, but now he turned back. “I don’t believe there’s a rule against it,” he said, and ducked his head to shake hands with a child.
When everyone had left, Father Andrew closed up the church, hung up his vestments, and walked back to the Rectory. Across the street from the church, there was a yellow lab picking up litter outside of the bar. Father Andrew studied the dog as he passed by. The yellow lab never looked up from her task. Her tail waved lazily as she worked. She was retrieving, Andrew supposed. No wonder she was happy.
When genetic technologists had enhanced dogs, they’d left a lot of the breed traits intact. Enhanced retrievers liked to retrieve—picking up litter, harvesting crops, finding misplaced items in grocery store shelves. Airports had crews of border collies directing people to gates and baggage claims. Swimming pools used Newfoundlands as lifeguards.
Andrew wondered why you’d enhance a Siberian husky. Jasper was bipedal—she didn’t look like she’d pull a sled very well. And what on earth was she doing with Lisa? He unlocked the Rectory; Caramel bounded to the door to meet him, skinny tail whipping back and forth.
“Down,” he said, and patted Caramel on his side. “Good boy.”
Andrew got some leftover potato salad out of the refrigerator for lunch and took it into his study, padding across the carpet in his bare feet. He kept the blinds drawn against the July sun, and the study was cool and dim. He sat down at his net terminal and flipped it on; sure enough, he had a letter from Leo. Leo was a Jesuit theologian who lived in Rome; Andrew had met him at a conference. After an interesting conversation, they had exchanged e-mail addresses. Andrew had heard from Leo almost daily since then.
Andrew scrolled quickly through Leo’s message, then hit reply.
You’re not going to believe what someone brought to Mass this morning. One of those enhanced dogs! Maybe the girl who did it had her dates mixed up and thought that today was the Blessing of the Animals, but I doubt it—it was pretty clear she was trying to make a point. She brought the dog up to me after the Mass to introduce her. So now I’ve shaken hands with a dog. Come to think of it, I’ve trained Caramel to do that, but this one didn’t then roll over and beg for a treat . . .
The phone rang. Andrew saved the message and picked up, hitting the display key on the terminal to see his caller. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello, Father.” The caller was Jerry, one of the older men of the Parish. Jerry was still had his tie on from church; his voice was even stiffer than his collar. “Er. I’m calling about the dog.”
“Yes?” There wasn’t much point in pretending he needed to ask which dog.
“I’d appreciate it if you could talk to the young lady about appropriate behavior in church.” Jerry’s voice had taken on a bit of an edge, and Andrew felt himself bristle slightly. Jerry’s eyes narrowed and he added, “My wife, she’s allergic to dogs. We had to leave early today, she was starting to sneeze.”
Jerry and his wife nearly always left Mass early, as soon as communion was done. Andrew smiled as sincerely as he could. “I tell you what, Jerry. There are almost always plenty of seats up front. Why don’t you and your wife sit up there next Sunday? It’s a big church, and I’m sure that if the dog comes again, it won’t bother you.’
Jerry muttered something inaudible and closed the connection abruptly.
Andrew turned back to his e-mail message to Leo. He read through it, then deleted what he’d written and retyped:
You’re not going to believe what came to Mass this morning. One of those enhanced dogs! I recognized the parishioner who brought the dog—Lisa grew up in the parish, though she’s been somewhat less than a twice-a-year Catholic since her confirmation. Anyway, I spent most of the Mass trying not to stare . . .
The phone rang again. This time it was Carolyn, a woman in her early thirties with three young children. She’d called from her kitchen; behind her, Andrew could see her nanny-dog feeding Carolyn’s children their lunch.
“Hello Father,” Carolyn said. “I was just calling to tell you that I think it was just awful of Lisa to drag her dog along to church this morning. Some people just have no idea how to behave, don’t you think?”
“I was a bit surprised,” Andrew said.
“I just wanted to let you know, if you’d like someone to go talk to her, to let her know that this is just not okay, if you know what I mean, I’ve talked to my neighbor Marie and we’d be happy to go talk to her for you, you know—”
“That really won’t be necessary,” Andrew said.
“So you’ll talk to her yourself? Oh good. I think it will have a lot more effect coming from you, and Marie agrees with me, that it would really be best if you talked to her—”
“Carolyn,” he said.
“Yes, Father?”
“Why do you have such strong feelings about this? Especially when you have a nanny-dog yourself.”
Carolyn’s face twisted into something ugly. “Dogs don’t belong in church,” she said.
This is really becoming the controversy du jour, amigo. Two phone calls so far; it’ll be ringing off the wall once everyone’s had lunch and a chance to think things over. Everyone seems to want a “No Dogs Allowed” sign on the door. So far I’ve just been noncommittal and as soothing as possible, but it’s clear I’m going to have to make some sort of decision here. What do you think?
Andrew sent the message just as the phone rang again. He picked up the receiver to speak voice-only; if it was about something other than the dog, he could always switch the screen on. “Father Andrew?” a woman’s voice said. For a moment he thought it was Lisa calling, but the voice had an oily sheen of self-satisfaction that didn’t fit his image of her.
“Speaking,” he said.
“I thought you might like to know why that girl brought the dog to church today.” The caller did not identify herself, and the edge in her voice sharpened into something almost gleeful. “Lisa is in one of those Animal Liberationist groups. You know—Free the Horses and all that.”
“Really,” Andrew said. There was a long pause, and he hoped that his caller was winding herself up in frustration at not being able to see his face.
“I just thought you might like to know,” the caller said again. “That’s why she brought the dog—her kind think the dogs are people in fur coats, you know? Why shouldn’t they go to church.”
“Ah,” Andrew said. He remembered Lisa’s button—AWARE. He remembered suddenly what AWARE stood for: Activists Working for Animal Rights and Emancipation. He’d seen a brochure a few months ago.
“I just thought you’d—”
“—like to know. Yes. Was there anything else?”
The caller hung up without saying goodbye.
Andrew decided to get out of the house before the phone rang again. He needed a chance to think about this before he had to make a decision. Running—he’d go running.
Father Andrew’s doctor had suggested for the last five years that he take up some other form of exercise—swimming, perhaps, or biking. Something easier on the knees. Andrew had tried biking; he e
ven purchased one of those silly rowing machines, which he used as a place to drape his clothes. There was just something about running that nothing else could substitute for. To satisfy his doctor, he dropped the idea of a marathon, and he simply endured the knee pain.
Andrew changed into running clothes, locked up the Rectory, and stretched his muscles as quickly as he could. If he had to run, his doctor suggested last time, at least he could use the high school track, instead of running on the sidewalk. Today, though, Andrew ran along the tree-line residential streets of Willmar. Running in circles on a track would feel too much like he wasn’t getting anywhere.
So. Lisa considered the dog equal to a person. Andrew found himself remembering Jasper’s strange eyes; she certainly wasn’t just a dog, like Caramel was. He had never spent that much time around enhanced animals—no, that wasn’t really true. They were everywhere these days—last year at the Blessing of the Animals, he’d blessed as many nanny-dogs as pets. He ate at the bar and grill across from the church, ignoring the enhanced yellow lab that swept the floors; last year when he was trying to take up swimming, he swam at a pool with a Newfoundland lifeguard. He’d spent plenty of time around enhanced dogs. He’d just never really looked at one before.
Still, what did Lisa hope to get out of bringing Jasper to the church? Or—what did Jasper hope to get? Presumably if Lisa treated the dog as a person, she didn’t make the dog go anywhere. Or maybe she did. Or maybe if Lisa wanted something, Jasper wanted it too—enhanced dogs were designed to be eager to please.
He could, he supposed, simply ask Lisa.
The phone was ringing when he got back to the Rectory, but he ignored it. He stood in the shade of the maple tree in the yard, stretching his muscles and hoping no one would drop by to confront him about the dog in person. Once he’d showered and dressed, he picked up the phone while it wasn’t ringing and called Lisa.
“Hello?” The face on the screen wasn’t Lisa’s. For one disconcerting moment, Andrew thought he’d dialed the wrong number—and then he realized that the funny wrinkled face staring at him belonged to a puppy.
“Hello, I’m Father Andrew from St. Mary’s,” he said. “Is Lisa there?”
The puppy wagged its tail. “I’ll go find her,” it said with an air of immense dignity that was somewhat spoiled by the tail; Andrew could see it hop off the phone table. “Lisa!” he heard it yell.
“Who is it?” Lisa voice called back from another part of the house. Another puppy leapt up on the table, peering quizzically into the screen.
“It’s Father Andrew from St. Mary’s,” the puppy repeated carefully.
“Oh! Tell him I’ll be right there.”
The puppy jumped back onto the phone table. “Hey!” said the puppy who’d been peering at the screen. “I was up here.”
“I was here first,” said the puppy who’d answered the phone, forgetting all about the message. They’d degenerated into squabbling when Lisa came in.
“Cut it out, both of you. Down, off the table. I need to talk to Father Andrew.” The puppies jumped down and rolled into a tussle in the corner.
“Sorry for the chaos,” Lisa said with a nervous smile. “Was there something you needed?”
“How many enhanced dogs do you have?” Andrew asked, staring past her at the puppies, and the enhanced border collie that had just arrived to hustle them out of the way.
“I live with twenty-seven,” Lisa said. “I don’t have any.”
Andrew winced. “Right,” he said.
“Was that what you called to ask me?” Lisa said.
One of the puppies jumped back onto the phone table to stare at Andrew; its nose squeaked against the glass. “Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you and Jasper again,” Andrew said. The puppy stepped on the keyboard and nearly disconnected the call; Lisa picked up the fat little body and deposited it on the floor, ignoring the puppy’s protests. “In person, maybe?”
A faint rueful smile crept into Lisa’s eyes. “It is a little difficult using the phone with puppies around,” she said. “Why don’t you come out to my farm? I’m just south of town on highway 5.”
“Sounds great. This afternoon?”
“I’ll be here,” she said, and rang off.
As soon as he’d hung up the phone, it rang again, but he didn’t answer. He knew he was neglecting his other duties, but they’d just have to wait—because it was clear that this could not.
Lisa’s farm was about ten minutes outside of Willmar; a long unpaved driveway stretched from the road to the cluster of willow trees sheltering her house. He pulled up beside Lisa’s oversized van and parked. The property included a house, barn, and shed; dogs poured from all three as he got out of his car. At the edge of the driveway, some of the puppies were swinging from the willow branches; one of them seemed to be wearing a cape.
Lisa had followed the dogs out and stood in the doorway of the house; a very small puppy snoozed in the crook of her arm. “Come on in,” she called, and Andrew trudged past the dogs to the house; the screen door banged shut behind him.
All the furniture in the living room was covered in dog hair. Andrew sat down gingerly, thinking about dog hair all over his black trousers, but he felt like it would be rude to brush off the sofa first.
“Jessie is setting up a sprinkler outside for the puppies,” Lisa said. She set the sleeping puppy down on an overstuffed chair, and poured iced tea into two heavy glasses, handing one to Andrew. “That should keep them out of the way. Jessie’s a border collie, and really good with the puppies. She was bred as a nanny-dog.”
Andrew was going to ask about Jasper when he realized she hadn’t been in the crowd outside. “Where’s Jasper?” he asked.
“She should be back soon. She went running after Mass.”
“Running?” Andrew said.
“Siberian huskies were bred to run. Jasper isn’t really built for it—Siberians were meant to run on four legs, not two—but she loves running anyway.”
“How did Jasper end up with you?” Andrew asked.
Lisa hesitated, taking a sip of iced tea. Outside, Andrew heard the water turn on; a puppy shrieked, “It’s COLD. You didn’t say it was going to be COLD,” and Lisa stifled a smile. She set down her glass. “After I graduated from college, I was hired to oversee a work team of dogs at a recycling plant in Rochester.”
Andrew tried to imagine Lisa in an overseer’s uniform; he realized that he couldn’t even imagine her at a regular job.
“I ‘knew’ what everyone else ‘knows’ about enhanced dogs. They were genetically altered to make them more intelligent, but it was really just a highly efficient form of breeding. They were intelligent, but they weren’t human, so it was okay to buy them and sell them, so long as you fed them and gave them somewhere to sleep. After all, what were you supposed to do, give them a paycheck and let them go rent an apartment? They’re just dogs.” Lisa picked up her glass of iced tea and took a sip; her eyes met Andrew’s over the rim. Andrew had expected steely eyes, rigid with determination—Lisa’s eyes were defiant, but uncertain, and a little bit afraid.
“Most of the dogs at the plant were golden retrievers. The designers kept the sweet disposition and eagerness to please, so that the dogs would be happy so long as you said ‘good dog’ periodically. But Jasper was different.”
Andrew heard the tick-tick-tick of dog’s claws on a wood floor. He turned around; Jasper had returned. “I’m telling your story,” Lisa said to her, a little abashed.
Jasper shrugged. “Keep going,” she said. “It’s more your story than mine, anyway.”
Lisa went on. “You can say that retrievers are happy doing whatever you tell them to, or that terriers are too dumb to know they’re slaves, but you can’t say either of those things about enhanced huskies. I could tell that Jasper wasn’t happy. So I started keeping an eye on her. One day, when I got back from lunch, she was missing. I found her curled up under the basement stairwell, squinting in the dim light at the pages
of a book. It took me a minute to realize what I was seeing. I’d always been told—”
“Dogs can’t read,” Andrew murmured.
“As soon as Jasper saw me, she threw the book down and jumped up, apologizing and begging me not to tell anyone. All I could think was, ‘Dogs can’t read, and where on earth did she learn?”
Andrew looked at Jasper. “Where did you learn?”
“They let us watch TV sometimes,” Jasper said. “I learned from a TV show.”
“The book was mine,” Lisa said. “Jasper had borrowed it to read.”
“After she found out,” Jasper said, “Lisa would bring books just to lend to me. I read them in the evenings.”
Lisa looked over at Jasper with a gentle smile. “Her favorite was the one she called ‘the one with the talking animals, and the Great Lion that everyone liked.’”
“C. S. Lewis,” Andrew said. “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
“You guessed it,” Lisa said. “But she didn’t understand a lot of it, so then I brought in a book of Bible stories for children. We spent months that way.” Lisa took a sip of iced tea. “Then one day, I came in late, and one of the other overseers covered for me. When I came in to the factory floor, the other overseer was beating Jasper. I snatched the whip out of his hand, and shouted, ‘How dare you?’ And then suddenly I realized that I was as guilty as he was—even if I was kind to Jasper, I was still her master. Not her friend.”
Jasper took over, her voice quiet. “Lisa went to the manager of the factory, and she bought me. She took me away from the recycling plant and told me that as far as she was concerned, I was free. I could go running whenever I felt like it, I could read all the books in the world, whatever I wanted.” Jasper paused. “Of course, I’ve had to stay with Lisa. There’s no law recognizing a free dog. But I don’t mind staying with Lisa. She doesn’t tell herself that I’m just an animal. She’d set me free if she could.”
Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories Page 2
