The Lottery--Furry

by Karen Ranney

  When I explained the necessary treatment for Baby, the husband cut me off and told me to euthanize the dog. I pushed the papers across the counter for him to sign and charged them the going rate for the office visit and the procedure.

  "Can I be there?" asked the wife tearfully. “When you put him down?”

  "No," I said. "I'm sorry, but it's not our policy."

  I was getting pretty good at lying.

  I was also going to get very good at forging.

  Just because an owner didn't want to go through the time or the expense of heartworm treatment, I couldn't euthanize a dog who’d had the misfortune of being owned by idiots.

  I said goodbye to them, signed the papers as Baby’s imaginary owner, and began the dog’s treatment. When he was better, I was going to find Baby a better name and a better home.

  Joey whined when I brought Baby back to the kennel, and I explained what had happened.

  “There’s no such thing as an intervention for stupidity, Joey,” I said, talking to him as if he understood me.

  When I was in my Were form, I understood English perfectly well. I thought, reasoned, and planned just as I did as a human, maybe even a little better with wolf cunning.

  But Joey was a dog and only a dog. How much did they really understand?

  “I thought about getting a dog,” I said. “But I just haven’t gotten around to it. You’ll be fine here overnight and then I’ll get started on finding you a home.” I didn’t mention that I was going to neuter him first on the off chance that he understood more than I thought he did.

  He put his head down on his paws, gave me a sorrowful look, the one that almost made me change my mind and take him home.

  I got to my house about eleven, took a shower, grabbed some soup, and went to bed, only to stare at the ceiling until about two. I woke two and a half hours later and was back at the clinic by five.

  Deb worked the early shift at the hospital and could only drop Cleo off before seven. Since it had taken a month to talk Deb into spaying the cat, I wasn’t about to lose this opportunity.

  Cleo was a seven year old calico who hated me and had expressed her dislike by mauling me every time we see each other. I had the feeling that after this morning’s operation she wasn't going to start purring when I came into sight.

  "I don't know what happens to her around you, Dr. Boyd,” Deb once said. “She's never scratched anybody but you."

  I didn't tell Deb that I had that effect on cats. Either they could tell what I was or they knew I preferred dogs somehow. At the time I only said something placating, smiled, and didn’t even try to pet Cleo before she left. I wasn’t ready for another gouging.

  I heard the shouts as I pulled into the employee parking lot.

  There wasn’t another car in sight which meant I was the first one at work. I probably should have called 911, but here’s the truth. I’m not a weak Were. I don’t reveal how strong I am to people. Plus, even though I haven’t changed in years, the capacity to do so was still there. I also work out. I do cardio, strength training, and kickboxing, none of which I brag about or reveal to my coworkers.

  Ignorance about me can be blissful.

  I thought I could handle whatever was happening in the clinic, which might have been pure stupidity on my part. My hands were shaking so much when I tried to insert the key card that I had to do it twice. Maybe that was a case of my mind trying to tell me that I wasn’t Super Furry.

  “Help! For God sake, help!”

  I recognized his voice before I got to the kennels.

  Joey the dog was curled up in the large cage, his legs up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees.

  Holy crap.

  Joey the dog really was Joey Palmer.

  “Let me out of here, Torrance!”

  The lock wasn’t that difficult. He could have figured it out if he hadn’t panicked. All I did was press down on the thumb latch and then lift up the hasp, releasing the door. He rolled out of the cage and onto the floor.

  A moment later he was on all fours and sending me a fulminating look as if it was my fault.

  “How long have you been yourself?” I asked. “When did you change back? And how? For that matter, how did you become a dog?”

  It took him a minute or two to make it to his feet. He bent over, his palms on his knees, breathing deeply.

  “Ask questions much?”

  “Are you going to answer any of them?” I asked.

  I leaned back against an empty cage and studied him.

  When we change, it’s kind of like the Incredible Hulk except he got to keep his pants on. We don’t. When you go from human to Were, you ruin your clothes. There’s none of this keeping your bra around your neck or maintaining your dignity with ultra loose boxers. You’re naked. You’re naked as a wolf and you’re naked when you change back.

  At least Joey didn’t give me the hands over penis, knees together stance. We’d seen each other naked almost from the time we were children.

  “Got a blanket?” he asked. “It’s a little chilly in here.”

  Dr. Peterson wasn’t due in today since he only worked three days a week. Tall and stork like, he was one of my favorite co-workers. He was also closest in build to Joey.

  I went into his office, to the credenza beneath all his diplomas. Fred Peterson was a gazelle. Not literally, the man just like to run. Because of that, he always kept a change of clothes in the bottom drawer. I grabbed the jeans and the sweatshirt top and returned to the kennel, but not before scribbling a note of apology.

  Had an emergency and borrowed your clothes.

  I would come up with some explanation by the time he came to work. Right now I had to get Joey out of here before Alice showed up.

  “You’re going to have to go commando,” I said, tossing the clothes to Joey. “Go get in the car,” I added, handing him my keys. “If anyone pulls into the parking lot, get on the floor.”

  Ten minutes later Deb showed up, as weepy as my sister yesterday.

  “You’ll never be able to have any more babies,” she said to Cleo.

  “And you won’t have to worry about finding good homes for them, either,” I reminded her.

  She didn’t, as I half expected, change her mind about the operation. Instead she sat in the waiting room and I heard her muffled sobs periodically.

  Cleo did better than her owner. After gouging me a few times, she’d settled down under the anesthesia.

  “I want to keep her here for a little while,” I said when the operation was done. “Why don’t you go home and we’ll call you when she’s ready to be picked up.”

  By this time, the clinic was humming and fully staffed.

  Deb decided to stay for the few hours it took and I didn’t try to change her mind. Instead, I changed out of my scrubs and beat it out of there, joining Joey in my car in the parking lot.

  I pulled off on the side of the road about a mile from the clinic and looked at Joey.

  “What, how, where, why, when, and who?” I said. “Talk to me.”

  He didn’t say a word. In fact, he wouldn’t even look at me. Instead, he stared out the passenger window.

  “Tell me what, exactly, you did.”

  I wasn't under any delusions that Joey was alone in whatever he had done. Joey was one of those people who just had to have a buddy along for just about everything. The only exception might be sex, but since I’d never taken advantage of Joey's offer, I couldn't even be sure that was true. For all I knew, he had somebody in the background egging him on.

  “Come on, Joey.”

  “Why should I tell you?” He turned and faced me. “It’s none of your business.”

  Well, that stung, but he was right. Partially.

  “It became my business when you were picked up as a stray, Joey. I can just imagine what would have happened if anyone else had found you in that cage. Are you going to tell me?”

  “No,” he said.

  I figured I had at least three
options: I could report the whole mess to my father. As head of the Council he should know about a Were turning into a dog. I could forget everything that had happened in the last day or so, tell Joey to get out of my car, and let him lope home. Or, I could do the one thing that was potentially dangerous: take him to his brother.

  Confession time: I really didn’t want to contact my father. I may be the most liberated female in my clan, but I wasn’t a fool. My father was all fury and white hair when he was pissed and this whole Joey situation was not going to please him.

  I didn’t know what Joey had done, but I would bet it was something really stupid. I couldn’t guarantee Joey’s safety if my father was enraged. If something happened to Joey in my father’s presence, then that would only start some sort of passive-aggressive Were war. The Palmers would be submissive as hell to my father’s face, but they plan revenge behind his back. Then, my brother Austin would get involved and the whole thing would blow up.

  Nope, I was definitely not going to take Joey to see my father.

  Nor was I all that keen about letting him out of my car which was why I’d already hit the child locks. Something had happened, something monumental that I needed to understand. I’d never heard of a Were turning into another animal.

  The only choice was to take Joey home, to the one place I was in the most danger. I was going to see Craig Palmer, the once love of my life. Or maybe he was just the lust of my life. All I know was that I lost my virginity to him and possibly my mind. For two years I was his puppy on a leash. Me, Torrance Boyd, Furry princess.

  I put the car into gear and headed north.

  My libido, blinking in the sudden light, got all squirrelly and squeaky. I mentally slapped it around for a minute until it got some sense. Okay, so just thinking about Craig made my pelt itch, if you’ll pardon the expression.

  I am not foolish by nature, which was why I lectured myself sternly the whole way.

  Chapter Six

  I was a spoiled, entitled, brat

  Joey had been quiet ever since I pulled out of McDonald’s. I treated him to breakfast since he didn’t have any money with him. In addition he was nearly naked and also shoeless.

  He’d gobbled up his Egg McMuffin and was now drinking his coffee in surly silence.

  I hadn’t gotten very much sleep and I’m never hungry when that happens. Instead, my stomach rebels against the idea of coffee or anything else.

  “I’m not going to go away,” I said. “How does a Were change into a dog?”

  He just sent me a look.

  I really didn’t want attitude, not after the morning I had. The back of my left hand was bandaged. And I had two Band-Aids on my ring finger and the little finger of my right hand.

  “You might as well tell me,” I said. “I’m like a terrier. I don’t let something go.”

  It wouldn’t take them long, either of the Palmer brothers, to figure out I’d changed. I was no longer Craig’s little doormat. Nor was I like most female Weres. Make that the three Palmer brothers. Duncan sounded like somebody who needed a slap upside the head, too.

  “Have you been hanging around witches?” I asked.

  He turned and gave me another look as though I was the one who’d changed into a dog.

  Joey had one of those plain and nondescript faces. His nose was a little bulbous and his cheekbones weren’t well defined, not like Craig’s. He looked like a million other average guys. You’d probably loan your sweater to a guy like Joey, but you’d be a fool to let him near your sister.

  “Witchcraft? Nah, it wasn’t witchcraft.”

  “Then what the hell was it?”

  I was losing my patience when I saw the huge sign for Luna Lodge. I slowed down, turned on the signal, and tried to swallow as anticipation/fear/anger swept through me.

  I didn’t want to see Craig Palmer. I didn’t want to be around him. I didn’t want to smell him, especially on a full moon day.

  Going thirty-six months without changing wasn’t a big deal, not when I took one of the new anti-psychotic drugs. Waxinine didn’t interfere with the Were metabolism. The side effects were not to be ignored, however. The longer you’re on Waxinine, the softer your bones became. Most Weres took Waxinine only periodically, avoiding the long term use that could also lead to liver and kidney damage.

  Still, I was glad I’d been taking it, especially when The Hunt was tonight and Craig was here. He was, when I thought about him — which was only rarely, really — a SAD. SAD: Significant Addicting Distraction. I hadn’t seen him since I’d moved back to San Antonio. In the last three months I’d avoided any Were gatherings on the off chance that he might attend.

  “You didn’t have to bring me home,” Joey said, back to being surly. “I could’ve called for a ride.”

  “I’m not going to see Craig just for you,” I said.

  I was beyond being polite to him. I’d done things for Joey I’d never done for another human being.

  I’d stolen clothes for the idiot. I was going to have to come up with a really good story for Fred. He was a sweet and gentle man who fancied himself a sort of contemporary Rhett Butler. Maybe I could play Scarlett or even Melanie, helpless without being sly. Maybe I could allude to some kind of menstruating crisis. That would clamp down on any of his curiosity. Of course, it would probably mean that he’d never want to wear his own clothes again.

  This lying thing was complicated. I’d done more of it in the last two days that I’d done in months. I wondered how many more lies I was going to have to tell when I was talking to Craig. For that matter, how many lies was he going to tell me?

  At least Joey refused to say anything.

  I wish I could say that my first impression of Luna Lodge was very blasé, that I took in the sights and merely nodded with ennui, a kind of sophisticated boredom that said oh yes, I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen it all.

  Instead, I’m sure I gaped. I know that I amused the hell out of Joey. I was awestruck.

  The main three-story building was sprawling and massive, constructed to look as though it had been built out of roughhewn logs, acres and acres of logs. Wings jutted off on each side of the building, the one to the right leading down to the river bank and a series of docks where a number of new looking bass boats were moored. The wing to the left stretched upward as if pointing to the hill beyond covered in evergreens.

  I pulled into the portico and when I opened the car door, a green vested employee rushed up to me and held out a ticket.

  "I really don't want valet parking," I said. "I'm only here to see Craig Palmer and I won't be very long.”

  "Everyone gets valet parking, ma'am.”

  “You might as well give in," Joey said from beside me. “They won't let you out of the car until you take the damn ticket.”

  Craig’s motto was: service above all else. That little bit of information had been shared by my mother who always looked at me intently when mentioning Craig.

  In the last three years, when I was living in Austin, she visited me at least once a month. I think her outings to see me were the only times she ever left the house. She came bearing culinary gifts from Caroline and gossip of all sorts.

  Female Weres love to gossip. It’s the only way they have of communicating what goes on in the clans. They don’t email. They don’t use Facebook or Instagram. They don’t take pictures of everything and post them. Woe unto the female who shames her mate publicly. It was safer just to share stories verbally.

  “You know he’s not married,” my mother always said on every visit. “I don’t think he’s gotten over you yet.”

  She would smile brightly at me, hope sparkling in her eyes.

  “I’m not interested, Mom.”

  The hope still sparkled, however.

  “It’s crowded,” I said as we made our way to the lobby.

  “It's a full moon day and every guest who's here is a Were.”

  I entered the main lobby with its cathedral like arched ceiling. The beams were carve
d like totems and painted with primary colors. Emerald couches and beige chairs were sprinkled throughout the lobby. The floor to ceiling windows revealed the Guadalupe River.

  The Guadalupe was a tempestuous river, one with an attitude. In places, it was only a trickle, barely a creek. In others, it was a frothy, raging bitch that could overturn any kayak or raft. Craig had built the lodge halfway between the river’s temper tantrum and its demure side, allowing for a variety of water sports.

  The doves added to the ambiance. We had white-wing and mourning doves in record numbers this year. I wasn’t anti-hunting, per se, but I had a problem with shooting pretty little birds. I knew Weres who enjoyed venison and prepared it after their hunts. I didn’t know that many hunters who were into baked or fricasseed dove. It seemed to me — a non hunter — that you could get as much satisfaction from shooting a clay pigeon and you’d leave the birds alone.

  A beautiful woman with long black hair and darker skin greeted us. I repeated that I needed to see Craig.

  She smiled at Joey then back at me. “If you’ll have a seat, Dr. Boyd, I’ll let Craig know you’re here.”

  I watched as she crossed the lobby, the tight black pencil skirt accentuating every curve.

  Most Weres were Caucasians, even though there were a sprinkling of other races among us. We look darker than most Caucasians, but that's because of the pelt issue. When we change, the process was done astronomically fast, especially as measured against evolution. One moment we’re human; the next we’re on all fours. Our skin pores enlarge to allow the hair to escape from the pouches located below the epidermis.

  I sat on one of the couches with Joey beside me.

  “How does she know who I am?” I asked.

  “Everybody knows who you are.”

  I turned to look at him. “How?”

  “Craig has a super secret notebook of all Weres. The important employees are required to study it.”