Excerpt
From Dog & Pony Show:
People say the needles of a dog are a boy's best friend, and I believe them.
I mean, the nozzles are okay, too, and I shiver with delight when they unfold from my dog Wazoo's gleaming carapace. I love when they spray the green gas that makes me work harder, or the purple gas that makes the daydreams come.
But the needles are the most magic part of the dog. Just ask anyone.
One minute, I'm collapsed on the concrete floor of my bin, exhausted from another triple shift of Playtime. The next minute, ol' Wazoo is scuttling over to me on his six spiny black legs, barking sweetly.
K-klak klik buzzzz klak klik.
Right away, as tired as I am, I'm smiling again. I can't help it. My pup always takes good care of me.
As his glossy black face gazes down at me, shiny silver needles poke out from the hundreds of facets in his big, bulbous eyes. When he leans closer, they jab into my nose, and I smell his voice in my mind, singing a story of very strong perfume like the scent given off by rotting flesh. Can there be anything more soothing to a ten-year-old boy like me, living with the perfect dog in the paradise of Beastbless, in the parish of Menagerie?
Among dog lovers, this is what we call a good nose-lick. And it is enough, all alone, to make life worth living.
#
Do you know how lucky I am to have a dog at all? Or a dog as great as Wazoo? My same-aged friend, Incompleta, would do anything to have Wazoo or any dog like him.
This morning, she reminds me again. "Are you sure you don't want to trade your dog for my breakfast, Beneathy?"
"Thanks, but I already have breakfast." From across the gray table where we eat alongside dozens of fellow Playtimers, I hold up my bowl of delicious red morning clay, sweetened with a garnish of baby chicks. As adorable as they are delicious, the chicks' tiny black bodies scurry around on eight spindly legs, trying to avoid my white plastic spoon.
"I have another idea." She reaches back over her right shoulder, and two long, rust-colored antennae brush her hand. "We could trade my pet for your pet." The body of a young kitten flows over her shoulder, hundreds of tiny legs flickering under its segmented scarlet shell. The body just keeps coming, wrapping around her three times like a gleaming stole.
"Lovebite is adorable." I reach over to pet the kitten's smooth head, laughing as it snaps at me with its jagged pincers.
Incompleta puts her hand under the kitten's mouth, which disgorges a glob of lumpy green ooze. "Just listen to her purr."
"I hear it," I tell her, and I do. Screee snap shrreee snap screeee. "What a beautiful sound," I say, though I still believe there's nothing as sweet as the bark of a dog. "Are you serious about trading her? Why would you ever give her up?"
"Because dogs are just the best." Her freckled face reddens as she stares at Wazoo, who then scuttles down off my back and under the table. Lovebite's tail scrolls around Incompleta's head, little legs fluttering through her short red hair. "And yours is the best ever."
She's right about that. Smiling, I reach under the table to feel Wazoo's bristly proboscis quivering, making my fingertips sticky. I wouldn't know what to do if I ever lost him; I can hardly remember what life was like before I got him.
"So will you trade him for my kitty?" asks Incompleta.
"No way." I smile as Wazoo hops and barks, bumping the underside of the table. K-klak klik buzzzz klak klik.
Incompleta sighs. "I wouldn't, either. Especially with the dog shortage going on."
"There's a shortage?" I spoon scuttling baby chicks and red clay into my mouth and chew.
"That's right." As Incompleta eats the lumpy green ooze, her darling Lovebite rears its head up and jabs a clear spike into the soft spot on top of her skull, sipping pink fluid from her head. I'm a little jealous; as great as dogs are, a cat can still be pretty cute when it's bonding with its owner. "And you better keep a close eye on your dog if you don't want to end up at the Pet Pageant empty-handed."