The Kennel

      Night had always been incapable of saturating this city.  It had survived gang bosses, political movements, and even times of war: the slow regression of the sun could be conquered as well.  Opportunity brought buildings and buildings brought artificial light.  When the city had exhausted its sprawl into surrounding areas, local leaders built the city upwards with an almighty, industrial heave.  Where skyscrapers had been before, new ones were attached onto them, and the sky came to be concrete and shimmering glass.  However, disease and infestation still roamed the alleyways.  The country was the only reasonable place to make a living.   

      “I always feel so uncomfortable coming here,” the husband said to his wife. 

      “Yes, I know, I know; thank you for being understanding.”  The couple nestled into each other, the wife resting on her husband’s shoulder and sighing herself to sleep.  He stared out of the bus’ window, watching hills and roads rush past in astounding blurs.  Upon finding the body midway through the morning, she almost collapsed in shock.  Grief was still possible, even away from the city.
         
        “This is our stop,” he said as he rubbed her hands.
         
        “Mph, are you sure the kennel is on 26th Street?  It looks awfully dirty,” she wondered with some apprehension.
         
        “I’m positive.  Come on, the bus won’t hold up here forever.”
         
        They shuffled out of the bus and tipped the burly driver at the front.

        The smell of rotten food and decay rose up to meet them.  Sulfurous sewers hissed steam columns that hid the pedestrians closest to the street.  The noise was not loud but rather unbearably constant; in the fray the kennel sat amongst delicatessens and cleaners.  Its edifice was well-maintained and understated, as much as a kennel could be.  The building itself was exceedingly tall, occupying several more stories than seemed necessary; it served the largest section of the city.
         
      A secretary greeted them as they entered.  Pleasant, gentle music slid down olive colored walls; the interior was surprisingly professional.
         
      “Hello, we’re so glad you made it down here.  We’re extremely sorry for your loss,” the secretary said.
         
        “Thank you,” they responded. 
         
        “I know that nothing can replace a longtime pet, but we really do have such a large, good selection for you to choose from.  If I may ask, how did he die?” 
         
        “It was a she.  My wife woke up early as usual and was going to feed Rosie and take her for a walk in the hills.” 
         
        “I kept calling her name, but I didn’t hear anything.  I woke up my husband, and we went looking for her around our fields.  We searched,” she wiped a tear away, “for fifteen minutes until we found her.  She got tangled in our fence….and the fence cut her so much that she bled to death right on the spot.” 
         
        “I am so very sorry,” the secretary demurred.
         
      All three of them heard a distant door open; meager yips and barks followed until the door shut again.  The head of the kennel walked towards them.  She was matronly in every aspect except for her hands, which were almost purplish with bumpy scars and bite marks.
         “Greetings, thank you for coming.  Shall we get underway?” 
         Wiping the last of her tears away, the wife nodded.
         
      The kennel extended far into the building and allowed enough space for them to walk shoulder to shoulder down the hall.  Small information slips were hung outside of every cage and occasional clatters rang out only to perish into silence.  The matron walked with a small electronic device in her hand, a complete database of all the animals.
         
      “Do you have any preferences or will you be fairly open?” she asked. 
The husband shook his head.

      “You have such a big selection…it’s hard to believe that there are so many homeless animals out there,” he said.  “And usually these kinds of places smell horrible, but it’s not too bad here.”

      The matron smiled at this flattery with polite, knowing condescension.
“We do take pride in our professionalism.  We have found that if we perform our
job correctly, one can attain a quiet dignity.  It behooves us and society to remove wild animals from the streets, but it is our solemn duty to make them suitable for life in a home.  We have only endured one blemish during our thirty-one years in animal handling: one of our catchers was out on a job when he had cornered a possibly rabid male.  The employee got the security loop around his neck, but it didn’t stop the animal from severely biting him on the leg.  Our worker leveled a blow on its head that killed it outright.  It is unfortunate that this had to be done in daylight in front of a school, but he feared for his safety.  The whole thing should have been a non-issue, but a school mother threatened to sue us for emotional distress caused to her daughter.  Our only choice left was to dismiss him; he was a good soul, and I did not enjoy firing him.  I’m sure you read about it in the newspaper.”   
“I was going to ask about that, I appreciate your honesty,” said the wife.

      The matron assented.
“Let’s continue, shall we?  Now as you may know,” the matron said while gesturing to a female, “they are as different and distinct as you or I.  Some are noted for their speed with strong musculature in the hind legs while others can be quite intelligent, making them very responsive to learning tricks.  Others, like your own perhaps, are noted for their generally happy demeanor, rushing up to you after you come home from work.  We sometimes come upon wild, dangerous ones (as it was in the case I mentioned) and these are put down in as humane a way as possible.  It is our policy to spay and neuter because we are already dealing with a limited amount of cages.”

      They proceeded down the hallway, studying each animal they went past.
     
      “I’m surprised they’re so quiet,” the husband exclaimed.
     
      “They usually know that obedience and good behavior is the key to being taken in by a family.  As I mentioned earlier, we perform an adequate amount of training to bring them up to our standard.  We typically find them starving and undernourished on the streets so improper behavior is to be expected,” the matron explained.
The wife spoke.
        “How is this one?”
        “Yes, this male is more or less dumb.  It has poor response times, similar to a five second delay.  When we found him, he had bruises and cuts indicative of an abusive former owner.”
The wife grimaced and moved along.
       
      “Oh my, look at this-look at the beautiful golden hair and cute wet nose.”
The couple was becoming animated, their faces relaxing and beaming at the adorable, slobbering variety before them.
       
      “You’re right, sweetie, but you have to come over here.  Look at these eyes, what incredibly deep eyes.  I want to get her, she has to be ours.  Can you imagine lying down on the couch with her after a big meal?  It must be heaven!”
       
        “Are you sure that this…” he wondered.
       
        “Absolutely.  Unless she’s got many problems; does she?”  She glanced earnestly at the matron, who was busily checking her electronic files.
       
        “No, I was correct about her: she’s fairly young and is a mutt.  In my experience, mutts are much more prone to obedience than not.  You most likely won’t need to purchase a shock collar.  Shall I take her out for you?”

      “Yes please,” the husband responded. 

      “Sit!  Stay.  Good….good….now come.”

      “She is wonderful.  So well behaved,” the wife cooed as she scratched her new love behind the ears.

        “Does she have a name?” the husband asked the matron.

        “If she did, it does not register anymore so you will be able to name her whatever you wish.”

        They walked down the blinking fluorescent hallway back to the lobby; three sets of steps could be heard walking in unison while the pitter-pattering of the fourth trailed behind.  Upon hearing the noise, the secretary met them energetically.

        “She is totally the one I would have picked.  You made an excellent decision, congratulations.”

        The husband paid at the desk while his wife cradled the pet like a new born, covering it in kisses and kind rubbing.

        “Are we ready to go,” he said. 

        “Thank you so much for everything.  You were both amazingly helpful; I think we’ll have a great time out of the city, won’t we,” she said rhetorically.

      “Goodbye, goodbye,” the employees answered while waving.

        At the bus stop, vagrants yelled at themselves in corners; the only trees around had their bark sheared and seared by acidic pollutants.  The couple could only smile, though.

      “Are you happy with our choice,” the wife asked.

      “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters.  Now,” he said as he squatted down to the animal, “what about you?  What kind of things do you like?  What will you eat?”

      “I would just like some human food, please, sir.”

      The wife nodded and reflected.

      “I think we still have some of that on our farm, but we can always stop and get some more at a pet store along the way.” 

      The small girl bowed her head and wiped her moist mouth.  They boarded the bus and headed back out to the country, a place where grief was still possible.