Alexandra Otto

Last But Not Leashed

Featured, Winter 2021

Max reporting for duty.

Former CIA dog. Eight years.

German Shepherd.

Alias: Good Boy.

Bill (my human) and I run this joint with our Chihuahua apprentice, Snow-Pee. On the surface, House Of Showdogs (H.O.S.) is your run-of-the-mill dog grooming service and pet spa. We do haircuts, baths, nail clippings, and teeth brushing. We’re a finer establishment than that shoddy Cat Palace down the road. We even offer occasional promotions for different critters: snake exfoliation to stimulate shedding and facials for bloated pufferfish. My low point was painting the toenails of one diva of a gerbil named Frederich.

It’s a great front.

Mutts, under the surface, we’ve got the real H.O.S.: the greatest Human Obedience School the world has ever known. Okay, let’s face it. We’re spies. Where did all the tennis balls go? Wrong flea powder? Mysterious itch down there? Humans aren’t following the walk schedule? Need us to make that neutering appointment disappear from the vet’s schedule? We do all that and more.

So when Shasta the Labradoodle led her owner Amy in, it was business as usual.

At first, that is.

“Good morning, Amy and Shasta!” Bill knelt to stroke Shasta’s neck. “Which service would you like today?”

Amy smiled at Bill and read through the grooming menu. “Number 12, please.”

“Full grooming, sure,” said Bill from the reception desk.

“Number thirteen,” Shasta barked at me quietly.

My ears perked up as if I had heard a bouncing ball in the distance. Our spa menu only had twelve offerings. Number thirteen was Dog Code for requesting human surveillance.

“No need to whisper,” I barked back to Shasta. “They don’t understand us.”

“Oh, how cute!” said Amy. “I wonder what they’re saying!”

Point proven.

“So what do you need surveillance for?” I barked.

“We’re running low on snacks,” Shasta barked.

“Easy fix,” I barked. “Organic? Gluten-free? Vegan?”

“That’s not all.” Shasta shook her head. “I think. . . Amy’s cheating on me! With a cat!” Shasta howled and slumped on the floor.

This was serious. I needed to investigate.

I hopped onto the glass counter, leaning toward Amy and wagging my tail.

“Aww,” Amy reached out to pet me. I sniffed her hand furiously for evidence. I smelled a Game of Thrones DVD (final season — terrible choice), one coconut bath bomb, and there it was, mutts: a cat. Siamese, I think. I rubbed up against her arm, collecting a fur sample for analysis.

I had what I needed.

“Right this way,” said Bill, leading Amy and Shasta toward the bathhouse.

“Snow-Pee, help me with this new Spyware,” I barked. But my Chihuahua apprentice was nowhere to be seen. “Snow-Pee?”

I couldn’t worry about him now. I would have to get Shasta the surveillance equipment myself. When Amy and Shasta emerged from the bathhouse, I pointed to the bowl on the reception counter and howled.

“Oh, our thank-you gift!” said Bill. “Max helps me remember to give these out. A dog treat for Shasta, and a special licorice for you!”

Amy handed Shasta the treat and popped the licorice in her own mouth. But this was no ordinary licorice. Our special licorice makes humans receptive to suggestion. Ancient medicine. How do I obtain it? I know a guy who knows a guy. That’s all I can say.

Amy was already taking out her wallet to pay for the grooming. I had to work fast.

I leapt toward our sales rack and spotted my secret weapon: The Cat Cam Collar Set. Disguised as a regular flea collar and matching bracelet, this baby was actually a Russian import from the dark web, designed with secret alarms and a hidden camera.

I went into Cute Dog Operative Mode. I sat and pointed squarely at the Cat Cam Collar, making eye contact with Amy while channeling my inner canine to make puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, how cute! Look, a new collar!” Amy said, rummaging through the sparkly packages. “With a bracelet for me! Do you like that one, Shasta?”

Shasta wagged her tail furiously.

“Let’s take it. Can we add that onto the bill?” Amy put the collar on Shasta and slipped the surveillance bracelet on her wrist before paying and heading out the door.

Like taking kibbles from a pup. Soon they’d be home, and I could get all the intel I needed.

“Lunch, Max! I’m gonna go for a quick jog. Be right back!” Bill flipped the sign to “closed” and left.

Time to gather evidence.

I retreated to the back room where Bill kept the TV. I chased my tail for a while, giving them enough time to get home, and finally adjusted the station to see what the Cat Cam Bracelet revealed.

On screen I saw Amy with a cup of coffee, working at her computer with Shasta by her side. Shasta laid down and took a nap in her dog bed. Amy quietly went to the back door, then opened it and started jogging down the street. But then — what was this?

Amy jogged straight toward the Cat Palace! The bell on the door jingled as she let herself in.

“Hi again! I’ve decided to adopt that cat I’ve been visiting. I’m ready to make a forever home!” Amy said to the woman behind the counter. A cat — a Siamese — purred against Amy’s feet.

Damn, I’m good.

The woman behind the counter smiled. “Snow-Pee thought these would be good for business,” said the receptionist, offering Amy a licorice. Our licorice. Amy popped it in her mouth. A scruffy Chihuahua appeared on the screen beside the receptionist. My scruffy Chihuahua.

Snow-Pee.

My apprentice. My betrayer.

I was so distraught I almost peed on the rug.

Amy grabbed the counter. “Whoa, I just got a little dizzy.”

As if on cue, cats swarmed upon Amy and purred at her heels.

“Oh! Maybe I can take more cats! And I just got a great idea! Do you have a new couch that these nice kitties can tear up? I think they would like that!”

Snow-Pee was a double agent, smuggling our licorice to the Cat Palace! That’s why he went missing earlier.

I ran out the doggy door. I had to stop this before the cats invaded Shasta’s world.

Luckily for me, I still had K9 contacts on the force. I pressed my paw to my walkie-talkie. “911. Cat Palace. They’re distributing a suspicious substance. Over and out,” I barked.

When I arrived at the Cat Palace, the narcotics unit was already there. The officer on the scene radioed his chief.

“We received an anonymous tip about narcotics-laden candy at Cat Palace. We’ve already found high doses of some kind of sedative.. A child could have gotten hold of that. ” The officer looked around in disgust. “Animals.”

The woman behind the counter was cuffed while Amy filled out a report. Animal Patrol hauled Snow-Pee into the shelter van, surrounded by the cats. From the street corner, I growled at my nemesis.

“Why, Snow-Pee?” I barked. “How could you betray us like this?”

Snow-Pee didn’t answer me. He just settled himself in among the cats. As he lifted his front legs to stretch, I caught a glimpse of a new black leather collar on him with the words “Feline Furever.” There was my answer.

Due to his small stature, Snow-Pee must have self-identified as a cat.

Where was I going to find a new apprentice? Shasta came over and wagged her tail. “Looks like you just got an opening. I’m now trained in pet spyware. Need a hand?” With that cutie Shasta as my new apprentice, we were back in business.

And that, mutts, is how I turned a cat-astrophe into a dog-gone victory.