Life on the Leash

by Victoria Schade

  Cora watched Eli interacting with Chanel, and it was clear that he was a dog person. He had a way with Chanel that the little dog couldn’t seem to get enough of. He sat down on the ground and she immediately crawled into his lap and rolled onto her back for more belly rubs.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but why are you home at two on a Friday?” Cora asked. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, it’s just my typical ‘big brother to the rescue’ gig. My sister is moving this weekend and she’s totally helpless, so I took the afternoon off to assist. You know, lifting heavy things, holding doors, project managing. It’s kind of my lot in life.” He shrugged and looked down at his phone. “I should get going.”

  Cora sighed. “I’m dreading going back in, but we’ve been out here for ten minutes already.”

  “I’ll escort you guys. Like a warden taking the prisoners to death row.” He stood up and gestured dramatically toward the door.

  Eli studied Cora as she walked his way. “Hey, this”—he waved his fingers near his cheeks—“looks really good. Your face, I mean. You look . . . like, fancy. Sorry, am I allowed to say that? Was that rude?”

  Cora had forgotten that she was still wearing Darnell’s handiwork. She blushed. “Oh, thanks. I never wear makeup, but my friends did a little makeover on me this morning.”

  “Well, it looks nice. I mean, you always look nice, the few times I’ve seen you. Like a . . . Disney princess or something. Really, like, natural.” He was fumbling, gesturing with his hands to try to convey what words couldn’t.

  “Seriously? A Disney princess? Which one?” It was the most creative compliment she’d ever received.

  “Umm, I think that one with the really long hair.” He snapped his fingers trying to recall the name.

  “Rapunzel. How do you know the Disney princesses?”

  He shrugged again. “Three sisters. I put in my time as both Prince Eric and the Beast.”

  Chanel put on the brakes the moment they got to the double doors, as if she couldn’t bear to go back inside.

  “She is not having it.” Cora took a step forward and tried to encourage Chanel to follow by making kissy noises, but she refused to move.

  Eli gently picked up the trembling dog and spoke softly to her. “You poor thing. I’m sorry things are so rough for you. Maybe you can come visit me sometime? I live right down the hall, so come knock on my door anytime.” Chanel climbed up Eli’s chest and nuzzled her face in his neck. “Wow, she stinks.”

  They got off the elevator and stood close so Cora could untangle Chanel from Eli. He looked sweet cradling the bedraggled dog who was already in love with him.

  “Ow, ow, little dog! She’s digging her claws into my shoulder!”

  “She doesn’t want you to let go! Oh my God, this is killing me!” Cora whispered, just in case Beth Ann was standing near her door and could hear them. When she took Chanel from Eli’s arms, the dog air-swam in an attempt to get back to him. “She really likes you!”

  “I really like her, too. I might have to steal her.”

  “Shhhh!” Cora widened her eyes and jutted her head toward Beth Ann’s door.

  He grimaced and nodded. “Okay, I’m going to go now!” He spoke loudly and overenunciated, as if trying to reach the people in the cheap seats.

  “Nice talking to you, see you later,” Cora answered with a similar fake cadence. They smiled at each other, whispered “Bye,” and went their separate ways.

  Cora knocked on Beth Ann’s door and opened it at the same time. “Knock, knock! We’re back.” She followed the sound of the TV and found Beth Ann standing in the center of the pitch-black room looking down at her iPad. Chanel didn’t go over to greet her, instead choosing to sit next to Cora.

  Beth Ann didn’t look up. “Oh, hey. I’m just ordering some stuff I need from Bergdorf’s. I’ll be done in a sec.”

  “Sure, um. I’ll just unpack my things so we can get started.”

  “Actually,” Beth answered, still looking down at her device, “I need to talk to you about training.”

  Cora’s stomach dropped. What had changed in the past fifteen minutes? Was she getting fired? “Okay. What’s up?”

  “I don’t want to use treats to train Chanel. She’s going to get too fat. If you can do it without treats, we can keep going, but if not, maybe we should just stop now.”

  Cora had heard the complaint from a few clients over the years but had always managed to convince them of the need for treats during the early stages of training. Beth Ann had seemed fine using them during the few minutes they had worked together at their abbreviated first session.

  “Um. What if we use really tiny pieces? You don’t have to use treats for every repetition for the rest of Chanel’s life, just during the foundation steps.”

  “Nope. No treats,” she answered dully.

  Cora felt her flush rising but she didn’t want to anger Beth Ann and lose the opportunity to try to help Chanel. “Does she like to play? Is she toy driven? Maybe we could use balls or tug toys so that we’re not using as many treats?”

  Beth Ann finally pried herself away from her tablet and stared at Cora. “How would I know if she’s ‘toy driven’? That’s your job.”

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place; Beth Ann had never played with Chanel. Cora knew to tread lightly. Normally she couldn’t tolerate a client as unpredictable as Beth Ann, but she was determined to make life better for Chanel.

  “You know what? Maybe it’s best if I head out today, and then we can regroup and really get started at our next session? I get the feeling that you’re not a hundred percent good to go right now, so let’s just call it a day and then we can try again next week. I’ll bring a bunch of different toy options, and we can try some play training together.”

  “Um-hm.” Beth Ann was once again immersed in her device, scrolling rapidly.

  “Great. I’ll text you the day before to confirm. Oh, and I wanted to let you know that I trimmed her nails.”

  “Okay?” Beth Ann shrugged her shoulders and shook her head as if she had no idea why Cora was telling her.

  “Well, she was awesome about it. I mean, it was easy, so you should have no problem keeping up with it. I can show you how next time.”

  She shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you next week. Holler if you have any questions.” Beth Ann didn’t answer, so Cora picked up her bag and walked to the door. Chanel walked right next to her, as if the two of them were leaving together.

  Cora leaned down to pet Chanel and quietly comfort her. “Ma puce. I’ll be back next week, okay?”

  She opened the door, and the little dog darted out and headed for the elevator. When Cora caught up with her, Chanel put her head down and cowered, as if admitting defeat. It broke her heart to see the little dog’s spark go out.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she picked the dog up and walked her back to Beth Ann’s door. “Your life is going to change, I promise.”

  EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  Cora and Maggie, each outfitted in sweats and equipped with full glasses of wine and nervous stomachs, sat in front of Cora’s computer on the kitchen table. Winnie and Vanessa had canceled on the alcohol-fueled Doggie Dictator live stream hate-watch, both opting out just a few hours before they were due to meet at Cora’s.

  “It’s starting, it’s starting,” Cora said as she pointed to the screen. Fritz was curled up on top of her feet beneath the table.

  “This is going to be a shitshow,” Maggie said. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch it. This could be you instead of him, you know.”

  “If I were on a show, it wouldn’t be like this,” Cora said, staring at the screen.

  Ershovich’s theme song came on, pulsing with jarring chords that were meant to evoke a feeling of danger and suspense, as if he were training lions and not man’s best friend.

  “This music gives me PTSD,” Cora said.

  The c
amera scanned the crowd, flashing by the smiling upturned faces that craned to see the man of the hour.

  “Look at that lady’s hair—that looks like Winnie from the back,” Maggie said, pointing to the screen.

  “Isn’t this the theater where Lincoln was shot?” Cora asked. “Maybe it is Winnie and she has a plan?”

  “No, that was Ford’s Theater, and don’t even joke about it.”

  Ershovich, in a tight black button-down shirt and slim-fitting black pants, strode out with his hands in the air, drinking in the crowd’s adulation.

  “I hate that he’s sort of hot,” Maggie said, taking a slug of wine without removing her eyes from the screen.

  Cora nodded. “It would be so much easier to take him down if he looked like a toad.”

  The crowd quieted and Boris began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Doggie Dictator!” The applause swelled until Boris quieted them again. “Tonight I have some miracle transformations to share with you. I’m going to show you a dog that was so vicious, so out of control, that her entire family was afraid of her.”

  The audience collectively sucked in their breath.

  Ershovich nodded his head in agreement. “This dog was a menace, and in truth should have been put down. But after I worked with her . . . well, why don’t we all see what I was able to do?” He gestured to the jumbo screen behind him as it began playing the setup footage.

  The story unfolded like every episode. Interviews with the attractive family intercut with clips of the dog looking scary and displaying the “dangerous” behavior. The dog, Sadie, was an amiable-looking mixed-breed brindle rescue dog that was perfectly behaved until she was approached while eating. The clip showed several interactions where the parents and teenage children walked toward her food bowl, which caused her to freeze, growl, then bare her teeth.

  “Oh, this is textbook resource guarding,” Cora said. “Very predictable buildup, very clear signaling. No small kids in the house to trip up the training process. Give this family to me, I’ll show them how to deal with it.”

  “He thinks this dog should be put to sleep? That’s insane.”

  The clip cut to Boris explaining that Sadie thought that she was head of the household, and her reason for guarding was because she hadn’t submitted to her owners. Cora hissed at the screen.

  “Your dog has zero respect for authority,” he said to Sadie’s people sternly. “It’s really no wonder that she acts like this. All shelter dogs are broken in some way, many irreparably.” He gestured to Sadie with a barely concealed look of disgust on his face. “And she looks like she has pit in her. Of course she’s aggressive.”

  Maggie turned to look at Cora, braced for her predictable outburst.

  Cora jumped out of her chair, startling Fritz. “What did he just say? Is he serious? Rescue dogs are broken? And pits are inherently aggressive?”

  Adrenaline coursed through her body, making her hands tremble. Getting people to adopt rescue dogs was tough enough, and now shelters would have to refute people spewing Ershovich’s lies. Given his reach, the comment would be a crippling blow for rescue organizations, particularly those that worked with pits.

  The clip ended and cut back to Boris on the stage. “Want to know how I fixed her?”

  The crowd roared, and the camera swooped over their heads, capturing the excitement. Someone held up a predictable handmade BORIS IS FOR US sign.

  “Stay with me, we’ll be right back after the break,” Boris said, bowing with his hands clasped in front of him, as if he were a holy man entering a temple.

  His theme music swelled, and the camera panned back to shots of the ecstatic audience. An overweight woman in a floral top flashed a sign that said TRAIN MY DOG, PLEASE! Men pumped their fists at the camera, making tough guy faces. The camera paused as a woman and her friend stood up to reveal a two-part sign.

  Cora blanched. “Oh . . . my . . . God . . .”

  “It’s it’s it’s,” Maggie stuttered.

  Vanessa’s sparkly heart-covered sign said BORIS WILL U . . . She smiled and danced for the camera in a jaw-dropping hot pink minidress, keeping it engaged as Winnie stood up next to her and unfurled her sign.

  STOP ABUSING DOGS?!

  The camera hovered on them as if the camera operator couldn’t believe what he was seeing and had to reread it to make sure. Vanessa threw down her sign and pointed to Winnie, who stood holding her sign over her head with an angry expression on her face. Still the camera remained on them. Vanessa gave the finger and mouthed “Fuck you!” right into the camera and the feed went dark.

  Maggie downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp. “Holy shit, C! Your girls are gangsters!”

  “It’s unbelievable! The best thing I’ve ever seen in my life! They’re not going to make it onto the show, but someone’s going to leak it, I guarantee it.” Cora grabbed her phone and pulled up Twitter.

  Sure enough, it was already gaining traction. People were supporting the anti-Ershovich message.

  Maggie left the room to get another bottle of wine. Cora massaged Fritz’s shoulders and stared off into space, trying to make sense of the electric surge that was coursing through her. She’d felt powerless to stand up to Ershovich’s bullshit for long enough. Now she had an amazing opportunity, an e-mail that had appeared in her inbox for a reason. A long shot by any estimation, but a chance just the same. A way to help the helpless in the biggest, loudest, most public way possible.

  People seemed ready to hear an alternative, and she was finally ready to answer.

  Cora leaned down and whispered in Fritz’s ear, “Il doit être arrêté. It’s time to overthrow the dictator.” Then she sent a text to Wade.

  NINETEEN

  * * *

  Wade mobilized the moment Cora said she was ready, setting up the audition photo session in his home studio for the following day, before she could change her mind. Though Wade and Rachel were eager to help package her for her submission, getting a professional-looking photo of Cora and Fritz was proving to be more difficult than anticipated.

  “Okay, act like this isn’t painful,” Rachel joked. She rested her expensive-looking camera on her hip and twisted her long black hair into a bun with the other hand.

  “Is my face that awful?” Cora asked. She knew that her smile usually looked strained in photos.

  “I’m kidding! But you do look veddy serious, and I think it’s affecting Fritz. He seems a little stressed.”

  Cora looked down at her dog, who was draped across her lap. “Oh, I think it’s your camera. Most dogs freak out at traditional cameras because it’s weird to dogs when people hide their faces behind that thing. Plus, that high-pitched whine from your flash is probably a little scary for him.”

  “Is that why Daisy runs away every time I try to get a good photo of her? Makes sense.” Rachel scrolled through the images. “In every shot so far, either you look a little off or Fritz looks a little off. See?” She handed Cora her camera and showed her how to flip through the first photos.

  Cora scanned the images. Maggie had picked the Liberty floral button-down, casual blazer, and boyfriend jeans, so she knew her outfit was on point, but there was no ignoring her dazed expression in every photo. “Yikes, you’re right. I need to lighten up a bit, huh?” Cora had wide eyes and a frozen fake smile in each photo, and Fritz was either looking up at Cora for direction or at the camera with his ears back. He was yawning in many of the photos, a universal signal for canine stress. They both looked uncomfortable.

  “What should we do?” Rachel asked.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Wade piped up from his desk in the corner. “Let’s get Daisy in the shot, too. Would Fritz be okay with that?”

  “Would you be okay with that?” Rachel asked Cora.

  “That might be cute! Two big dogs and me? I’ll look like the hound master.”

  “Well, if that’s the vibe you’re going for, let me get our neighbor’s French bulldog, Lucy, in the picture, too. Want to
give it a try?”

  “Sure, it’ll be absolutely ridiculous. Let’s have them all play in the yard for a few minutes before we try to get them to settle down for a photo, though.”

  Wade ran to his neighbor’s house to fetch Lucy, then met Rachel, Cora, and the dogs in their backyard. Daisy and Lucy had been friends since the Cohens brought Daisy home as a roly-poly puppy, and they still romped together despite their size difference.

  After fifteen minutes of hard-core play, the people hustled the panting dogs into the editing room. Cora put Fritz in a down-stay on the backdrop, then lined Daisy up a few feet away and put her in a down-stay as well.

  “Check out my good dog!” Wade exclaimed as Daisy held her stay. “See, we are practicing!”

  Cora didn’t want to push her luck trying to get a trifecta of stays, so she picked up the brindle Frenchie and gingerly walked between the two resting dogs. She sat between them cross-legged with Lucy standing on her lap.

  “Aww, I like how this looks,” Rachel exclaimed. “Here we go!”

  The quick playdate in the yard took the edge off the dogs’ energy levels, so they posed without protest, each with a wide panting grin. Rachel snapped photo after photo while Cora laughed and petted the dogs surrounding her.

  “I can’t get them to look at me at the same time. One of them is always looking away,” Rachel said as she flipped through the photos on her camera. “So close, though!”

  “Make a funny noise,” Cora suggested. “Like a little squeak or bark. That usually works to get them to look and give a head tilt.”

  Rachel made a crying sound like a lost puppy, and all three dogs froze and looked at her with curious expressions on their faces. She tried a kitten-like “meow” and each dog cocked its head in a universal “huh?” look.

  “There it is! The money shot!” Rachel exclaimed as she snapped away. “This is great.” She continued making strange sounds, each one eliciting a new and adorable expression on the canine models’ faces, and finally Cora could relax and enjoy the process.