Wild & Chance

by Allen Zadoff

  CHANCE TAKES ME TO DOWNTOWN SANTA MONICA.

  We walk the streets together, watching as people rush to work and cars honk as they fight through traffic.

  “I figured we’d walk around a little, and maybe you’d recognize something,” Chance says. “It might help lead us to your home.”

  I sniff my way down the sidewalk, following the scent of neighborhood dogs. The scent grows stronger as I move forward.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Chance asks, but I don’t stop, racing past him and turning the corner onto a busy street. The dog scents merge together into a busy canine highway, and I hurry on, excited to follow the trail.

  “Slow down, Wild! I only have two legs!”

  The scents burst to life, I turn into a large parking lot filled with cars, and stop.

  “What do you—” Chance stops next to me.

  We’re standing in front of a bright white store that runs the length of the block. A sign reads PETSTAR SM. Images of dogs, cats, birds, and fish appear on screens across the front of the store, one shifting into another in a digital montage.

  “You found a pet store,” Chance says, surprised. “Have you been here before?”

  I’m seized by déjà vu as I look at the store. It feels like I know this place, but I can’t be sure.

  I watch as animals of all kinds enter the store, each of them accompanied by a human who cares about it. I whimper and sniff the air, wondering if there’s a person who cared about me. If I find that person, I’ll find out who I am.

  The thought gets my heart racing excitedly, and I trot toward the front entrance of the store.

  “Geez, wait up!” Chance says.

  The door slides open, and I’m hit by a wave of ice-cold air-conditioning.

  “She needs to be on a leash,” the guard says, stepping in front of me.

  “Um, that’s why we’re here,” Chance says. “I’m buying her one.”

  “New dog?” the guard asks.

  “Second day together,” Chance says.

  “A rescue, I hope?”

  “Yep, she rescued me,” Chance says.

  The guard grins and motions us through. “I’ll make an exception just this once. Leashes in aisle seventeen.”

  We walk into a massive store with pet products as far as the eye can see.

  “This place is ridiculous,” Chance says.

  There’s a bright green stuffed turtle on a shelf in front of me, and I dart forward, grabbing it and giving it a playful squeeze.

  “What are you doing?” Chance asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say through gritted teeth.

  I snap my head back and forth, feeling the foam in the turtle squishing between my jaws.

  “We haven’t paid for that,” he says, and he pulls it away from me and puts it back on the shelf.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It just felt really good.”

  I hear footsteps behind us, and I turn to find a smiling young employee. His face is dotted with acne, and he smells like orange soda and pepperoni sticks.

  I don’t care much for the orange soda, but the pepperoni sticks smell delicious.

  “Welcome to PetStar, where your pet is the star of the show,” he says. “My name’s Myron.”

  He looks down at me, and his energy changes. He seems nervous as he stares at me.

  “Do I know you?” he asks.

  I look at his name tag.

  Myron, Groomer

  It doesn’t ring any bells for me.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “She’s brand-new,” Chance says, covering for me.

  Myron glances at me again. His breathing quickens, and he nervously taps his foot on the ground.

  What’s wrong with this guy?

  Myron gulps and pulls himself together. “If this is your first time, you’re entitled to a free grooming.”

  “We don’t need a grooming,” Chance says.

  “Sure looks like she could use one.”

  I snort, offended by his comment. Then I look down at my coat and see my fur is matted and dirty. I shake myself and dust particles fly into the air.

  Maybe I could use a little shampoo after all.

  “You happen to be talking to Magic Myron, the fastest groomer in the store. I’ll wash her and have her back to you in no time.”

  I look up at Myron, and he winks at me.

  Okay. Weird.

  “She doesn’t like to be touched,” Chance says.

  “We see that all the time,” Myron says. “It’s not a problem. Give me twenty minutes, then you can pick her up at Mar del Mutt.”

  He points to a small pen of dogs running back and forth in a fake beach scene complete with a plastic palm tree.

  Chance looks nervous. “Is that okay with you, Wild?”

  Something is definitely going on with this Myron guy, and I want to know what it is.

  I wag my tail to signal Chance.

  Myron smiles. “Looks like she’s fine with it.”

  “I guess,” Chance says.

  “Her name’s Wild?”

  Chance nods.

  “Wild and I will see you soon!” Myron says.

  Chance heads down the aisle, looking back twice to make sure I’m okay.

  The moment he’s out of earshot, Myron leans down.

  “Is it really you, Honey?”

  Honey?

  He looks at me like he recognizes me. I feel excitement bursting in my chest. “Do you know me?”

  “You missed your last grooming, and I thought you were—”

  Sweat breaks out on Myron’s forehead, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

  “You thought I was what?” I say, anxious to hear what he knows, but I can tell from his expression that he can’t understand me. Just like everyone else.

  “We shouldn’t be out here where they can see us.”

  He motions for me to hurry, and then he heads down the aisle, disappearing behind a door marked THE GROOMING GROTTO.

  Does Myron know who I am?

  I run after him, thrilled by the possibility that I’ll finally get some answers.

  I FOLLOW MYRON PAST THE GROOMING STATIONS.

  He stops in front of a large supply closet in the back of the grooming area.

  “In here,” he whispers. “Hurry. You don’t want to be seen out on the floor. They have spies everywhere.”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  He checks that we’re not being watched, then he unlocks the door and urges me to follow him inside, bolting the door behind us.

  “Is it really you?” Myron asks.

  “Can you understand me?”

  Myron points to his ear.

  “I think you’re trying to talk to me,” he says, “but I only hear barking. I don’t have the device for my ear.”

  What kind of device is this guy talking about?

  I whine in frustration, a thousand questions going through my mind, none of which I can ask him.

  “I’ve been your groomer for a while,” he says. “When I last saw you, you were with a little redheaded girl and a security guard. Super wealthy. She called you Honey.”

  Honey?

  I get a flash of memory. The redheaded girl in pink shoes runs toward me in a beautifully decorated living room.

  “You have a burn scar on the back of your neck. It looks like it’s nearly healed.”

  Healed? It was raw and oozing just yesterday. How could my body have healed the wound so quickly? I look down at my legs and notice the scratches from jumping through the window at the warehouse are also gone.

  My body seems to be healing at a superfast rate.

  “I’m guessing that scar comes from one of the zapper weapons you told me about. Probably zapped your memory.”

  What’s a zapper?

  “I thought there was something strange going on with some of the dogs we were seeing, but I didn’t believe it until you told me your secret.”

  Wait… This guy knows who I am!


  “What did I tell you, Myron? Why did I trust you?”

  He points to his ear again and shakes his head.

  “I think I know why you’re here,” he says. “You came for this.”

  He reaches behind a shelf and pulls out a bright yellow briefcase, which he puts on the ground in front of me.

  I sniff at it, unsure of what I’m looking at.

  “It’s your case,” Myron says. “You asked me to hold it for you. You said some day you might get into trouble, and you’d come for it. I guess today is that day.”

  I left this for myself?

  I look at the case, and a light flashes in my eye, startling me. A lock whirs and the case pops open.

  What the—

  Inside the case is a brown-and-white dog collar with a pattern similar to my coat.

  “That’s the translator!” Myron says, looking over my shoulder. “You were wearing a collar like that the last time I saw you. It translates your voice to an earbud. Do you want me to put it on?”

  “A translator? Let’s do this!”

  I nudge the case in his direction and lower my head.

  Here goes nothing.

  Myron puts the collar around my neck. It suddenly snaps into place and tightens without his doing anything.

  He gasps and steps back.

  “It’s like it fastened itself on its own,” he says.

  “How is that possible?” I ask.

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Can you understand me now?”

  He points to his ear and shakes his head.

  “You need the other device,” he says. “The bud for my ear. You let me borrow one before.”

  Translator, earbud… I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Maybe it’s in the case?” Myron asks.

  I look inside the case and Myron joins me, searching the corners and even turning it upside down.

  But there’s nothing.

  Myron looks at me, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d know where to find it.”

  There’s pounding on the stockroom door, followed by the sound of someone trying to open it from the outside. I react instantly, pushing the case under a shelf and slipping into the shadows.

  A woman shouts from the other side of the door. “Myron! Are you hiding back there? It’s not your break time.”

  “That’s my supervisor, Dolores,” he whispers. “She’s very suspicious.” He puts his finger to his lips, warning me to keep quiet.

  “Be there in a minute!” he calls out.

  “How many times have I—”

  “You’re not my mother!” he shouts through the door.

  “If your mother had taught you better, I wouldn’t have to yell at you all the time. Be out in two minutes or I’ll have security pull you out!”

  I can hear the woman backing away from the door, and I come out from hiding.

  Myron says, “I have to get out there before she has a hemorrhage.”

  Myron puts the case in the trash, covering it with boxes.

  “Before we go, there’s one other thing. Maelstrom.”

  “Maelstrom?”

  The word doesn’t ring any bells.

  “You told me to say that word to you. Do you know what it means?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help more than that,” Myron says.

  He unbolts the door and leads me back through the grooming grotto. Before we leave, he pulls a bow off a station and clips it to my hair.

  “So it looks like I groomed you.”

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a muscular dog with a new collar and frilly purple bow in her hair.

  “I don’t think purple is my color, Myron.”

  I follow Myron outside. When we get back to the main floor, I see Chance looking panic-stricken, pacing as he waits for me near Mar del Mutt.

  “I thought I lost you!” he says urgently, rushing forward.

  “It took us a little longer than expected,” Myron says. “But look how pretty she is.”

  Chance stares at the bow in my hair, then at the collar around my neck.

  “Where’d she get the collar?” he asks.

  “Free gift with purchase,” Myron says.

  “But I didn’t purchase anything.”

  Dolores comes stomping around the corner in loud shoes, heading straight for us.

  “It’s my boss!” Myron says. “Get Wild out of here.”

  “Time to go.” I nudge Chance’s leg, and we head for the front entrance, hurrying past the security guard and through the sliding doors to the parking lot. I glance back to see Dolores close on our heels.

  “Why are we running from that woman?” Chance asks.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

  Chance senses my distress, and he doesn’t hesitate when I start down Lincoln Boulevard, leaving Dolores and PetStar behind us.

  I cross the street and keep going, pausing only long enough to scrape the purple bow out of my hair.

  “You hated it, right?” Chance asks.

  “More than anything,” I say. “Now let’s go home and try to figure out this collar.”

  “I swear it feels like you’re trying to talk to me sometimes,” he says. Then he laughs at himself like it’s an absurd thought.

  WE GO UP TO CHANCE’S ROOM.

  With the bedroom door closed, I stand in front of the mirror, examining the collar from every angle.

  “It looks good on you,” Chance says. “Don’t be so self-conscious.”

  He doesn’t understand what I’m doing, so I scratch at the collar again, craning my neck and reaching back to try and nip at it.

  “Is it too tight? Too loose?”

  I whine, frustrated. He studies the collar, trying to figure out what I want.

  “It’s a really cool collar. It’s the exact same color as your fur. It’s almost like camouflage.”

  I step back a few feet and look at myself in the mirror again.

  Chance is right. The collar is nearly invisible against my fur. He flips on a lamp, and I move closer to the mirror so I can see better. When I get near the lamp, there’s a buzzing noise and the bulb shatters.

  “Whoa!” Chance says, jumping back.

  I sniff at the lamp. The cord is blackened where I was standing.

  I follow the cord back to the wall. When I get near the outlet, the buzzing noise happens again, and the lights in the room dim and come back to full strength.

  “What’s happening?” Chance asks.

  I glance in the mirror and see the collar glowing blue. The outlet glows the same color.

  I think the collar is pulling electricity from the wall. But why does it need electricity?

  I feel warmth creep in at the back of my neck. The sensation is familiar, like I’ve felt it a thousand times before. Myron said he’d seen me wearing a collar like this, and I’m sure he was right.

  I shift and the lights dim again, followed by shouts from the housemother downstairs.

  “Boys! Come to the den immediately! And whoever is using a hair dryer, cut it out!”

  I hear commotion downstairs and the sound of multiple sets of footsteps.

  “What’s happening down there?” Chance asks.

  The bedroom door flies open.

  “Let’s go, dumb—”

  It’s the angry older kid who tried to steal Chance’s phone in the alley last night. He’s one of Chance’s housemates!

  I growl, prepared to defend Chance.

  The boy stands in the doorway with his mouth open, looking from Chance to me and back.

  “Dude, that thing has rabies. What’s it doing in here?”

  “You can’t say anything, Bash!”

  Bash smirks, eyes narrowing. “You’re going to have to pay me.”

  Now I really hate this kid.

  “Whatever you want,” Chance says.

  “We’ll settle up later,” Bash says. “Right now the witc
h wants us downstairs. You’d better hide that monster and get your butt down there.”

  He slams the door shut.

  “He saw you,” Chance says. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Where’s Chance?!” the housemother screams.

  “I have to go. We’ll figure out a plan as soon as I get back.”

  Chance runs out and closes the door behind him. A moment later, the box on my collar makes a high-pitched tone, and the blue glow fades on the collar and the wall.

  I guess the charging is done. I stare at myself in the mirror, and a dozen other questions come to mind—each chasing the next like puppies running around a pen.

  I think about my collar, the wounds on my body healing in record time, Myron who called me Honey and seemed to know me from a different life…

  What does it all mean?

  That’s when the smell hits me, wafting up from the den, traveling up the stairs and under the bedroom door.

  It’s the smell of boys and fear.

  Chance is in trouble!

  I open the door and slip into the hall.

  TWO OFFICERS IN BLUE UNIFORMS STAND IN THE LIVING ROOM.

  The sight of the blue uniforms makes me angry, and I’m not even sure why. I stay hidden at the top of the stairs, watching as they talk to Chance and four older kids who live in the house.

  “Why are the cops here?” one of the boys asks.

  “Because Chance’s farts are a lethal weapon,” Bash says, and the kids laugh.

  The larger of the officers clears his throat. “We’re not the police. We’re Animal Control officers.”

  “Since when does Animal Control make house calls?” Bash says, and the housemother shushes him sternly.

  “A family lost their dog,” the large officer says. “So we’re checking all the houses in the neighborhood.”

  “Must be an important family, since you guys are working on Sunday,” Bash says. “Maybe there’s a reward?”

  The housemother is intrigued, and the Animal Control officers trade looks.

  “Of course there’s a reward,” the small officer says.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” the large one says.

  Who would pay ten thousand dollars to get me back?

  “Ten grand for telling you about a stupid dog?” Bash asks.

  The officer smiles. “That’s all you have to do, son. Tell us about the dog.”