Dog Eat Dog

by Jake Marcionette

  Lesley quickly escorted us out. While changing into my hazmat suit and putting on the required rubber gloves, reality finally hit me. No wonder everyone hated being in operations. It was disgusting!

  “Hey, Michael . . . thanks, man. But you didn’t have to do that,” I said.

  “Sure I did. That’s what best friends do,” said Michael as he adjusted his chemical-splash-proof goggles.

  “Does this mean you’re quitting the A team, too?” I asked, half kidding.

  “Not a chance.” Michael laughed.

  Ms. Cane might have just won that battle, but she started a war with the wrong kid.

  In my world of AWESOMENESS, I don’t simply accept unjust situations. I fight hard against them like a zombie-apocalypse survivalist. Nobody’s going to eat my brains!

  So, with no other alternative, I decided to do what I do best: Get even. Ms. Cane was about to find out that if you push too many kids around on the playground, sooner or later one of them is going to give you a black eye.

  Michael and I made it through the morning, barely. At lunchtime, we stepped out of our protective coveralls and raced to the library for a top secret strategy meeting.

  With Ms. Cane out on grooming appointments the rest of the day, the former Boss of Buzz and former CE-YO of Fur Cuttery, Inc., agreed it was time to blow up the Death Star. And there was only one way to do it.

  Michael took to Twitter and Yelp, and I was responsible for wrecking FCI’s credibility on Facebook and Angie’s List. Soon, social media would be flooded with awful reports and “customer” complaints about the company we both helped build.

  Walking out of school that afternoon, we were both confident Fur Cuttery, Inc., was doomed. Soon, Ms. Cane would be the crazy clown of the grooming world.

  I still didn’t know why she fired me. And that REALLY bugged me. On the bus ride home I kept thinking about possible reasons, but none made sense. I had to find out.

  Could it be Alexis’s mind-trick manipulation? Or was it Ms. Cane herself . . . overcome by her hatred of my AWESOMENESS? Or a combination of both?

  My best shot at finding the truth would be that night at home.

  I got to the dinner table a few minutes early to secure the best seat. Mom was just coming in from work, and Dad was feverishly laying out the trimmings for his world- famous tacos. He used bison meat, which was an Alexis favorite. She was obsessed with lean proteins and building muscle mass.

  Not telling anyone about my “reassignment,” I kept my parents busy with predinner small talk. Seeing Alexis’s first reaction to me talking calmly was critical. She’d expect to see me complaining and ranting, and her facial expression would give her away.

  With the aroma of fried bison wafting through the house, Alexis could hardly contain her excitement. I heard her bounding down the stairs.

  “OH YEEAHH! Grass-fed goodness!” shouted Alexis.

  Barreling into the kitchen, her first stop was the stove. After quickly shoving a spoonful of bison meat into her mouth, Alexis walked into the dining room. Immediately, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Boo-YAH! There he is! My little broom boy!” screamed Alexis, spitting out meat all over the table.

  “Alexis! Please. Cover your mouth. You are a lady!” shrieked Mom.

  “Mom! Don’t go anywhere. You have to hear this!” laughed Alexis. “Dad! Where’s Dad? Get in here! You are not going to believe what happened. Jake got some AWESOME real-world experience today at school!”

  “What’s the big deal? Is Jake the new CEO?” asked Dad, crossing his fingers in anticipation.

  “Yeah right! Not quite!” cackled my big sister.

  “What’s she talking about, Jake?” asked Mom.

  “Go ahead, Jakey, break their little hearts!” insisted Alexis.

  As I explained what happened, seeing my parents’ disappointed faces fueled my inner rage.

  “She didn’t give you any reason?” asked Mom. “She just fired you?”

  “Ms. Cane said something about kids not taking the business seriously. And some junk about ‘committing one hundred ten percent’ and the ‘pursuit of excellence,’” I said as I turned to stare at my sister.

  “Yeah! That’s NEXT LEVEL stuff right there! Pump them up, Ms. Cane-O! Love it!” yelled Alexis.

  “Alexis. You spend a lot of time with Ms. Cane. Did she say anything to you about Jake?” asked Dad.

  “Me?” asked Alexis, quickly changing her tone to a higher-pitched, innocent voice of disbelief.

  “Yes, YOU! Do you know why Jake was fired?” asked Dad again.

  “Hold on. I had nothing to do with it,” insisted Alexis. “Don’t blame me. He’s an annoying know-it-all, and I’m sure everyone is sick of his nonstop—”

  My dad raised his hand in the air and motioned for her to stop. Being on her best behavior and hoping to someday get another shot at sleepovers, Alexis shut it down.

  “I’m not blaming you. All I’m asking is whether you know why?” asked Dad directly.

  “I don’t know exactly why. All I know is Ms. Cane has been spending a lot of time meeting with the dad of that little dork who carries the briefcase,” said Alexis.

  Aha! It was DW III. I wonder why Ms. Cane was meeting with Mr. Winston?

  Grabbing two tacos and heaping lump of refried beans, I excused myself. Sniffling and faking tears, I told my mom I needed to be alone. Of course she understood.

  Soon enough, thanks to my good pals Google and Bing, I found out everything there was to know about DW III’s dad, Mr. Winston. Apparently, that guy was really rich. He made kazillions by starting Internet companies back in the nineties. Nowadays he liked to help entrepreneurs grow their businesses.

  I wonder how much it cost to buy DW III’s freedom from the cleaning crew? Whatever the amount, it was a bad investment.

  We didn’t think there would be an overnight victory in our war against Ms. Cane. So Michael and I sucked it up as best we could for the rest of the week. Morning cleanups were the worst. It was like swimming in a sea of fur and disgustingness.

  Our relief came in the form of a long holiday weekend. With no school on Monday, we doubled our attack on FCI with even more awful reviews, crazy posts, and outrageous tweets. Our cyber offensive was raging, and I was certain Ms. Cane had no idea what was happening.

  Walking into school Tuesday morning, I looked forward to seeing Ms. Cane slumped over her desk and weeping uncontrollably.

  DW III would be holding a box of tissues and offering tender “there, there”s. Or, better yet, our class would be a scene of out-of-control chaos, with a crazed Ms. Cane chasing DW III around the room with a broom. That’s right, smush him like a bug, Ms. C.!

  Super psyched, I walked even faster down the hall. I hoped I hadn’t missed any of the WWE-style action.

  Unfortunately, there was no sweet revenge that morning. Everything looked heartbreakingly normal.

  Three steps into class, Lesley was all over me to get the truck ready. Ms. Cane had a 9:00 a.m. wash, trim, and clip, and she didn’t want to be late. Huh?!

  Looking over at Lesley’s dry-erase board, the day was packed with appointments. We were actually busier than normal. We hadn’t put a dent into the Fur Cuttery, Inc., moneymaking machine.

  My AWESOMENESS was directly responsible for creating an indestructible alien cyborg business that was now controlled by the evil Ms. Cane. And she grew stronger by the day.

  After hours of stuffing green garbage bags full of mildewy pet cuttings, Michael and I needed fresh air and nourishment. Depressed and exhausted, we stumbled into the cafeteria. I was never happier to smell our school’s highly questionable cheeseburger, macaroni, and taco platter.

  “I can’t take this much longer,” said Michael as we sat down together at lunch. “I stink of dog, and even after I shower I still smell like a kennel
.”

  Throwing her brown-bagged lunch down on the table, Lesley Kim joined us looking equally depressed.

  “I know what you guys are doing,” said Lesley.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Really? You don’t think I watch what’s going on online? Twitter? Facebook? All the ridiculous reviews? It can only be you two morons,” said Lesley.

  “They don’t sound real to you?” asked Michael.

  “Duuude! What are you doing?” I said, shaking my head at Michael and wishing he’d shut his mouth.

  “Don’t worry, Jake. Your secret cyber assault is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone,” assured Lesley. “But it will never work. The old people love us.”

  DW III interrupted our conversation. “Lesley! What ARE you doing? You’re the Queen of Clean—the boss of operations! Act like it! You don’t sit and eat with the help.” DW III laughed. “Now come on and join me over at the management table.”

  “Management? That’s hilarious. If your daddy has to pay for you to be on the management team, are you really management?” I asked.

  “You’re such a funny guy, Jake. I could listen to your jokes all day. But I can’t, because in about ten minutes you have to go mop out the truck and sterilize some clippers. Good times!” said DW III.

  As DW III sauntered away, Lesley leaned in close to me and Michael. She looked intense.

  “Listen, what I’m about to tell you is HUGE! Tomorrow, we’re doing a group groom for the Westminster White Hairs with Westies. There are ten dogs, and each is getting the head-to-paw treatment,” said Lesley. “The leader of the group, Mr. Jefferies, loves to talk to Ms. Cane, so I know Alexis will be alone in the truck grooming by herself.”

  “So? Why is that ‘HUGE’?!” I asked, still completely confused by whispering Lesley.

  “It’s important because Mr. Jefferies is a FREAK about his precious Sir Lancelot’s appearance,” said Lesley. “That dog is famous. He’s the cute little white dog you see in all the Cesar dog food commercials.”

  “You lost me, Lesley,” I said. “What does that have to do with us?”

  “Well, if you two really want to destroy FCI, you’ll be interested to know that when Alexis is grooming, she follows the client instructions exactly as they appear on the appointment ticket,” explained Lesley, frantically looking around as she spoke. “Basically, Alexis will groom a dog any way the confirmation ticket tells her to. And when I say any way, I mean AN-Y-WAY,” said a giddy Lesley.

  A wide-eyed Michael sat straight up, crossed his arms, and started grinning ear to ear.

  “You didn’t lose me,” said Michael, leaning across the table and high-fiving the Queen of Clean. “And you still email the appointment tickets to Alexis?”

  “YES, I do. And come to think of it, my computer is on right now with my email account WIDE open. Silly me!” said Lesley. “Can you guys do me a HUGE favor and go close my email for me. I was just about to fill out tomorrow’s grooming instructions for Sir Lancelot.”

  AHA! Finally, I understood.

  “I just can’t take Alexis anymore,” said Lesley. “I think it’s time for Sir Lancelot’s makeover. Perfect snow-white fur is so BORING. I heard he really wants to look like Ms. Cane.”

  “What a coincidence, I heard the same thing.”

  Like I always say, Go big, or go home! With regards to Sir Lancelot’s new appointment ticket we emailed to Alexis . . . we went beyond BIG.

  If everything went according to plan, the Westminster White Hairs with Westies would soon be looking for a new mobile pet groomer.

  But since the Westie group groom wasn’t until early afternoon, I’d have to wait until Alexis got home that night to see if Sir Lancelot liked his new “custom” look.

  Michael and I didn’t talk much on the bus ride home that day. We especially didn’t talk about you-know-what. Too risky. You never knew who’s listening. When my stop came, I grabbed my backpack, fist-bumped Michael, and said I’d text him later.

  Turning into my driveway, I suddenly heard the faint rumble of a diesel-powered engine. In the distance, I could see a van approaching, going WAY too fast for my neighborhood.

  In an instant, I recognized the all-too-familiar paw logo and the crazy pink-haired driver behind the wheel.

  Slamming on the brakes in front of my house, the van’s side door quickly swung open and Alexis leaped to the safety of our front lawn. Gunning the engine, Ms. Cane took off, not even bothering to check if Alexis had closed the door. She hadn’t.

  Within seconds of Ms. Cane turning left at the top of my street—with a whole bunch of grooming supplies flying out of the side—another truck flew by us in hot pursuit. It had one of those satellite dishes on the roof and ACTION NEWS painted on the side.

  Still laughing hysterically, Alexis finally calmed down enough to tell me the whole story. As it turned out, Sir Lancelot did indeed get his makeover. But it wasn’t Alexis who gave it to him.

  Evidently, the Westie grooming thing was a giant doggie party in celebration of Sir Lancelot’s new commercial. Mr. Jefferies invited all his Westie owner buddies, their dogs, AND a local TV station to cover the event. In Westminster, Sir Lancelot was pretty big deal.

  But as soon as Ms. Cane saw the reporters and cameramen, she tried to make the whole thing about her and Fur Cuttery, Inc. Kicking Alexis out of the van, Ms. Cane insisted on grooming Sir Lancelot herself and promised the crowd a new-and-improved superstar.

  After about thirty minutes locked inside the grooming van, Ms. Cane texted Alexis and instructed her to gather the whole party around the van for Sir Lancelot’s big reveal.

  With cameras rolling, Ms. Cane triumphantly threw open the door and marched out carrying Sir Lancelot high above her head just like that crazy baboon Rafiki held Simba in The Lion King.

  Maybe the pressure of the situation fried her brain, but for whatever reason, Ms. Cane followed our fake grooming appointment ticket right down to the neon-green nail polish.

  After the partygoers let out a collective GASP and after they called paramedics to revive Mr. Jefferies, a local TV reporter started getting into Ms. Cane’s face and asking LOTS of questions.

  Alexis couldn’t remember if any punches were thrown, but she said they barely escaped the angry crowd.

  Not until after dinner, when we all sat down and watched the local news, did everyone get a better understanding of exactly what went down.

  “Coming up next, a Channel Nine exclusive—SEVERE groomer misconduct leaves a local canine celebrity vandalized and his owner looking for answers. We have the shocking video! Stay tuned!”

  O . . . M . . . G!!!

  My dad didn’t say anything. Calmly reaching for the remote, he pushed the RECORD button. Mom kept repeating, “Oh, I’m sure it’s not THAT bad.” But unfortunately for Ms. Cane . . . it was.

  Yes, the outrageous grooming job she did on Sir Lancelot was damaging. And yes, the high-definition close-up of a weeping and fainting Mr. Jefferies didn’t help matters, either. But, in the end, it was Ms. Cane’s winning personality that was the star of the show.

  HEATED EXCHANGE BETWEEN MS. CANE AND TV REPORTER:

  Reporter: Who are you and what did you do to Sir Lancelot?

  Ms. Cane: My name is Annabel Cane, owner of Fur Cuttery, Inc. At FCI, your paws are our pleasure.

  Reporter: Really! Then why is everyone here so upset by what you did to Sir Lancelot? You know the owner is crying? I believe they are calling the police as we speak?

  Ms. Cane: Crying? They must be tears of joy! Just look at that little rascal. He’s a freakin’ rock star. That’s how we roll at Fur Cuttery, Inc.

  Reporter: You might be rollin’ into a lawsuit real soon.

  Ms. Cane: ~grabbling the microphone~ Look, buddy, I don’t go to your job and tell you how to look pretty in front of a cam
era. So don’t you tell me how to groom my clients. That’s a customized cut, and you’ll only find that at Fur Cuttery, Inc.

  ~The reporter and Ms. Cane struggle over the mic and eventually fall to the ground. Chaos ensues with Ms. Cane running and leaping into her van and speeding away.~

  “Oh my!” said Dad, turning off the TV. “Kids, after what I just saw I think it’s best if the both of you have no further contact with Ms. Cane or anything to do with Fur Cuttery, Inc.”

  “Really? How am I going to do that? She’s my teacher. I’ll see her tomorrow morning. Should I skip school?” I asked.

  “I think you’ll be okay, Jake. Something tells me you’re going to have a substitute tomorrow,” said Mom.

  I’m sure Mom already had an update from BFF Principal McCracken.

  With my parents in the other room, Alexis jumped out of her seat and threw me down on the couch. Pinning me with her knees on my shoulders, Alexis lowered her face inches away from mine.

  “You and your stupid friend thought you could trick me into turning Sir Lancelot into some freak dog?” accused Alexis.

  “No! What are talking about? Ow! Get off me, you fat load!” I pleaded.

  “Truth time, Jakey. It had to be you. Lesley doesn’t have the guts to do it herself. That only leaves you and Wild Boy,” said Alexis. “And since both of you are now hair janitors, I’m positive you worked together.”

  “Okay . . . okay . . . it was us. So what?” I said.

  “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” asked Alexis.

  “I was kind of hoping you were,” I said.

  With that, Alexis dug her knees deeper into my shoulders.

  “WHOOAA! Come on, get off!” I pleaded.

  Letting me go and rolling onto the floor, Alexis looked happy. I had to ask the obvious question.

  “But if you knew it was fake, why didn’t you stop Ms. Cane?” I asked.