ABC shorts: Nicking the Dog…
[A.B. was watching the world go to hell from his little home in Donegal, so he needed a distraction and wrote this story. We both thought it might be a distraction for you too.]
Nicking the Dog
Copyright 2020, A. B. Carolan
Alan McCormick’s dog-sitting duties included walking old Prince and scooping up his poop when the dog cleared his tubes. Alan once had a dog who died, and his ailing mother didn’t want another one—his father had done most of the dog-walking—so Alan thought that the job was his best chance to be with man’s best friend…and make a few euros to invite Cathy out. He was becoming more interested in girls than dogs, although dogs didn’t seem to be much less capricious with their affections. Cathy didn’t seem to pay as much attention to what side of town boys came from, though, or how much money they had, but he still needed to improve his financial situation.
Prince was a bit nearsighted but still became distracted by squirrels, birds, and butterflies. It was no surprise when he started to strain at the leash and bark at the rustles in the hedgerow. The leash broke and off he went, through the bush and to the other side. Alan couldn’t do that—in his area, hedgerows were as effective as fences—so he had to go to the end and around to the other side. There was no sign of Prince.
That became an odyssey as he began searching the neighborhood of mostly abandoned houses. At one that looked more ready for demolition than the others, he heard barking. He climbed the steps, carefully avoiding the broken boards, and knocked. More barking. Alan knocked again.
He peered inside and saw Prince with the remainder of his leash tied to the stair bannister just off the entrance foyer. Someone nicked my dog! he thought. There was no way Prince could tie himself up.
He tried the door. The knob turned freely, so it wasn’t locked. If he hadn’t wanted to recover the dog, he’d never enter such a spooky place. But he did. What would the dog’s owner say if Alan knew where the dog had run off to and didn’t try to save him?
He opened the door wide, stepped through a few cobwebs, and went to Prince. The dog stopped barking and wagged his tail. Alan and Prince were tight. Or maybe the dog just likes kids? Any kid?
He’d just seen the strange-looking little kid standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
He was shorter than Alan and looked more like a little old man with a big head. Not a leprechaun. They’re not so ugly. He had big eyes, floppy cheeks, and pink, wrinkled skin. Alan could see a lot of that because this kid, if he was a kid, only wore something like a nappie.
“Did you nick my dog?”
“We like dogs. Yours is nice.”
The voice sounded like the synthesized computer voices from the games on Alan’s laptop, which was on its last legs. Alan’s mother couldn’t buy him a new one of those either.
“We? There are more of you?”
“Currently our nest is borrowing this house to use as our base.”
“Nest? Base?” A frisson went down Alan’s spine. “Who are you?”
“You wouldn’t understand, but we mean no harm to you or the dog. We can be friends. That will help us in our studies.”
Alan thought a moment. “You’re ETs, aren’t you? What are you doing here? Are you spying on us as you plan to invade Earth?” He was thinking of several computer games with that theme.
The electronic chuckle sounded a bit like something from a horror movie similar to the ones he used to watch on the telly with his father.
“No, we’re just studying you.” The long arms with their small hands spread wide as if to indicate a vast expanse. “Your world. We study primitive civilizations that are just starting to explore their solar systems.”
“To determine whether to destroy us if we’re going to cause trouble?”
“No. We’d never do that. We use other means to contain you. Needs must if the situation is very dangerous, just for our self-protection, mind you. We prefer not use them.”
“Are we in danger? What have your studies concluded?”
“No conclusions yet. Your many wars aren’t helping your chances, though. And frankly your leadership classes leave something to be desired.”
Alan petted Prince. “But you like the dog. He likes you too. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Maybe,” said the ET. “But you genetically engineer your pets to be subservient.”
“Engineer? We don’t engineer our pets.”
“You do. Think about it. What do you call them? GMOs? ‘Genetically Modified Organisms,’ I believe. That’s something new for us.”
“But you’re super scientists. You must see pets all the time. And don’t you want to turn us into your sevants?”
“We study the behavior of intelligent species, but not to make them subservient. Wanting to control minds and subjugate them is morally reprehensible.”
“You talk funny.”
“And your leaders try to control your minds through talk, not to have pets but to exploit you. I believe you call it propaganda and spin. We call it lying. Your behavior is the strangest we’ve ever encountered, which is why we study you so much. It amazes us that you’ve survived this long.”
“I have to go now. Can I take Prince home?”
“If you two come back and visit us. We’ve enjoyed our little conversation. The young on this planet are generally more interesting to talk to than the adults. And we like Prince.”
Hearing that, Prince wagged his tail. “We’ll stop in twice a day,” Alan said. “I have to walk him, you know.”
The eerie laugh echoed in the house yet again. “And he thinks he has to walk you. The bioengineering goes both ways. You will be welcome here, Alan.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
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