When I became a therapy dog…

“I thought Labradors are the best therapy animals “, I said as I stirred a cup of tea that I had made for my visitor; one that I did not quite enjoy a visit from. Not because he wasn’t easy on the eye, it was because every single time he walked through the threshold of my door, he carried bad, terrible, unsavoury and in this case, positively damning news.

“Labradors are on the brink of extinction, Thanks to another breed of cannibalistic canines, who deemed Labradors, a delicacy.” He spat out, and if looks could kill, they would’ve; but thanks to my completely oblivious attention span, I was busy trying to throw a badminton racquet at my seven year old, who had suddenly decided it would be fun to slide down the railing and not take the steps.

“Mom, where’s my Loreal ultra soft moisturising tick and flea shampoo?” Screamed my fourteen years old daughter, from her room.

“It is in your bathroom, right next to your fur conditioner, that cost me my monthly salary and the perfume, that made me want to give up my first born.” I shouted back as I sipped my tea.

“Can you come and give it to me, please?” She said.

I swear to God, if I hadn’t turned almost vegan a year ago, I would’ve eaten my own progeny. Forget Labradors, nothing tastes better than chewing your own flesh and blood.

“No, Erica. Go look for it in your own goddamned room, the one you are shouting from.” I shouted back and turned to my visitor. I gave him an apologetic smile, and considered if he would taste like strawberries on burger, if I ate him right now.

“Natasha…” He said. “As I told you when I came in, Dan, your ex-husband has bailed on your child support payment and I know money is tight. It will only be twelve hours a week, I’m sure you can manage this along with your night duty at the airport sniffing for narcotics.”

I bit my lip. Therapy dog…werewolves were not meant to be therapy dogs. We were meant to run naked, wild, and free and eat anything we encounter. I cursed Dan for going AWOL. For disappearing just so he wouldn’t have to pay child support.

I nodded reluctantly. Even though I might occasionally consider eating my lawyer, I did appreciate him coming in and offering a job at the old age home where he volunteers. Yet bile rose inside me at the thought of working as a therapy dog.

“When do I start?” I asked.

“How about today?” He said.

___________________________________________

Two hours later, I was dressed in a fitting floral top and a short A-line skirt. I needed to be careful to ensure the clothes I wore would cover all the necessary parts even after I had turned.

A pleasant faced nurse walked up to me dragging a shrivelled, old woman, who looked like she was ready to hit the bucket, but after knitting a sweater for all her grandkids.

“Ms. Natasha Piers?” The Nurse asked me.

“Yes.” I flicked my hair and looked down upon that petite, prim nurse. I might be a therapy dog twelve hours a week, but that doesn’t mean I will take the belly rubs lying down.

“This is your ward, Ms. Bessie.” She cleared her throat and pointed at the fossil of a fossil, standing next to her.

“You will be working with her until…until…”

“Until I hit the bucket…” The old woman finished her sentence in a voice raspy enough to be a whisper.

“Any hoo…” The nurse smiled bright, her recently whitened pearly whites stretching from one end to another, yet not reaching her eyes. Hell, her smile did not even reach her cheekbones.

Bessie and I groaned together, kindred spirits and all. We recognised bullshit when we saw it. In fact fake cheerfulness often made me hungry; I felt like putting my claws on her mouth and ripping her head into two pieces, then start with her lips.

I bet the fake bitch did not have an absconding husband, who was late on child support. 

“Don’t mind this grinning whore, she doesn’t have to have five orderlies watching her as she pees.” Whispered Bessie.

“Nurse…” She continued. “Where is my Tiger?”

“Tiger is my therapy dog, he is a Labrador.” Bessie looked at me and whispered.

“Umm… Bessie, Tiger was…uh…he was assigned to another client.” The Nurse spat out, what was clearly a lie.

“Whatever…these whores keep taking my dogs away.” Bessie announced and pushed the nurse away.

“So…” She turned at me. “Did you get me another dog?”

“I am the dog, Bessie.” I said softly.

“Speak up, girl. My hearing is not what it used to be.” She shouted.

“Bessie…” The nurse decided to help me and shouted out loud, in front of almost all the members of the old age home, much to my annoyance.

“Ms. Piers said ‘SHE IS THE DOG'”.

“What! She is one of those werewolves?” Bessie stared at me again.

“Did you eat my Tiger?” She asked.

“No Bessie, I only eat veggies and chicken.” I said.

“Oh, you’re practically a vegan?” Bessie grunted, disgust oozing out of her words. “Show me now.”

“Show you what?” I asked

“Show me, how you turn?” Bessie spoke, loudly. And as she said that, I could see a slow gathering of old men and women forming around me. Slowly walking close to us, adjusting their spectacles, nudging each other around, and grinning a toothless smile.

They were like a pack of zombies come to witness the demise of werewolf pride.

“Come on…” Bessie said. “Don’t be shy girl.”

Just as Bessie finished the sentence, all those toothless, ventilator ridden, rotten humans started hooting.

Even the Nurse looked at me with a crazed smile on her lips.

“You are the first therapy werewolf in our old age home. I have never seen one turn.” She said.

I ground my teeth, and promised myself my first agenda after breaking out of my almost veganism, would be to set this Nurse free in a jungle and then hunt her down, as I rip her limbs one by one.

And then I would come back to this place and make sure each one of these senior citizens got an early death.

But before I did that, I vowed to find my MIA ex-husband and whichever floosie he’d been holed up with. I will then hold them hostage; make Dan watch while I remove one organ after another, of the floosie, until he coughed up child support for another ten decades.

My fury stiffened my limbs and I, awkwardly, got down on all fours, and looked up. Hoping someone anyone would stop this monstrosity.

When all I saw were spectacled faces and hanging lumps of skin, I looked up to the sky and howled. It was a cry, cry to the moon. Why me?

Claws broke out of my skin and fur grew out of my hair follicles. My eyes widened in blue orbs and feet stretched in to paws.

In a matter of seconds I had transformed into a white furry wolf with cornflower blue eyes. I heard Bessie stroke my fur and say, “Good dog.”

My last thought as I walked into the home was that we shouldn’t have eaten the Labradors.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “When I became a therapy dog…

Share your feedback

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s