“Exactly. Wagging more to the right indicates positive emotions, like happiness or excitement. Wagging more to the left suggests anxiety or uncertainty.” He points at Daisy, whose tail is currently a blur of wagging. “See? She’s thrilled. But if you notice any of them doing more of a left-leaning wag, something in the environment is making them uncomfortable.”
I watch Daisy’s tail for a moment, trying to detect directional bias in what appears to be a helicopter rotor. “I’m going to be honest, her tail is moving so fast I can barely see it, let alone determine its political leanings.”
Archie laughs. “You’ll get better at it. Eventually, it becomes instinctive.”
I find myself reassessing Archie Mansley as he leans down to check Daisy’s paw, turning it gently in his hand and murmuring something to her that makes her tail wag even harder.
When you meet someone who works as a children’s entertainer named Captain Giggles, you make certain assumptions. You don’t expect them to casually referenceolfactory receptor counts or explain the neurological basis of tail-wagging asymmetry.
He’s not what I expected. I’m not entirely sure what he is yet.
But I’m intrigued enough to try to figure it out.
Which is not what I should be thinking in regard to Vaughn Mansley’s brother.
This whole thing is an exercise in damage control. Nothing else.
“Right.” I gather the leads, trying to arrange them as Archie instructed. “Muffin on the right, Douglas in the middle, Daisy on the left.”
“Perfect. You’ve got this.” Archie gives me a thumbs-up that feels approximately sixty percent genuine.
I’m oddly reluctant to leave him. Which is ridiculous. The man is sitting on a park bench. I can literally see him from most of the walking path. And yet.
“I’ll call you if anything goes wrong,” I say.
“Please do. I expect this will be better than anything on Netflix.” He settles back on the bench like he’s claiming a front-row seat, and despite myself, I almost smile.
I take about ten steps before Douglas stops dead to sniff a particularly fascinating patch of grass. I wait. I let him sniff. I’m being a good dog walker. This is fine.
Then Daisy squats, and my blood runs cold.
I knew this was coming. I’ve been dreading it since Archie handed me the little bag dispenser as I left the apartment with a cheerful “You’ll need these!” But knowing something is coming doesn’t make you ready for it.
The bag crinkles as I extract it from the dispenser. The smell is…present. Very present. I crouch to deal with the situation, breathing through my mouth.
And when I straighten, prize in hand, I catch Archie watching from his bench with an expression of pure delight. “The first oneis always the hardest. And that was an elegant technique! Very minimal gagging!”
I refuse to dignify that with a response.
Instead, I locate a trash can and dispose of the evidence, then sanitize my hands so thoroughly I might have removed the top layer of skin.
When I glance back at Archie, he’s grinning broadly, and despite the smell still lingering in my nostrils and the fact that the dogs are already pulling me toward the next sniffing opportunity, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward.
The next ten minutes pass without incident as I settle into the walk. Douglas sniffs. Daisy bounces. Muffin maintains her surveillance of the perimeter. I’m finding a rhythm, pausing for sniffing, a gentle tug when Daisy gets too enthusiastic, a steady pace for Douglas. This isn’t so bad. This is almost…manageable.
Then I see a woman approaching with a German Shepherd. It’s the kind of dog that looks like it could eat Muffin as a light snack and still have room for Douglas as the main course.
The German Shepherd is perfectly well-behaved as it walks calmly at its owner’s side, barely glancing our way. But it appears Muffin doesn’t care about good behavior. Muffin cares about establishing dominance. And apparently, in Muffin’s mind, size is irrelevant when you have the heart of a warrior.
She plants her feet and begins to growl, a low, rumbling sound that seems physically impossible for something that weighs barely more than my laptop to create.
I don’t need to look at which way Muffin’s tail is wagging to figure out she’s not happy.
And that’s when Daisy spots the jogger with a golden retriever. The golden retriever is bounding beside its owner with the carefree joy of a creature who has never experienced an anxious thought in its life.
Daisy wants to meet this dog. Daisy needs to meet this dog. Daisy has decided that this golden retriever is her soulmate, and nothing—not leads, not commands, not the laws of physics—will keep them apart.
She bolts.
