The Other Side of the Leash

The Other Side of the Leash

By Allen Anderson

Jake Persable thought he had been to the red brick three-story University building once before, but nothing looked familiar, and whatever vague, foggy memory he carried seemed to be dissolving with every step. He had no recollection of being on this floor, much less in this office, yet the receptionist greeted him with a wide, toothy smile and said, "Welcome back, Mr. Persable."

Alone in Dr. Wager's office, Jake settled into a soft, well-cushioned easy chair, inhaled slowly, and let his eyes rest on the sunlight streaming through the massive window that consumed nearly the entire exterior wall.

It was a pleasant view, at first. The gentle warmth of the sun on his face, a well-kept park filled with a mix of tall and medium-sized trees swaying in a light breeze, gave him a measure of comfort he badly needed.

He thought that just maybe the world he had woken up in that morning was not as frightening and strange as it had initially seemed.

But he had woken up to things being different. Little things at first, like furniture slightly out of place, lamps wearing shades he did not recognize, and the grey of his apartment walls carrying a distinctly bluer tone than the night before. The biggest shock, however, came when he walked into the living room and found a gigantic framed print of dogs sitting around a table playing cards hanging above the couch. Jake would never have allowed something like that in his personal space, especially in such a loud, gaudy frame. His first thought was that someone had put it there as a joke while he slept. His second thought was that he was still sleeping.

He had felt unsteady, a little dizzy, and quietly wondered if this was what it felt like when a person began to lose their grip on things. The lamp was wrong, too large and sitting on a table that had not been there the night before. And where exactly had that table come from?

He needed to focus, so Jake did what he always did before speaking with anyone about anything important: he ran through his mental preparation. This ritual mattered to him. He wanted to stick to data-driven facts when he spoke with his therapist, not rambling, frightened talk that would make him sound unstable. Though, sitting in this unfamiliar office, he could not quite shake the question of whether he had actually been here before and simply forgotten.

The University offered a broad range of mental health services for its students, and those services had been available for a long time. The counselors were trained to help graduate students navigate all manner of difficulties. Jake hoped Dr. Wager would be receptive to a measured, organized account of what had been happening.

Practicing quietly in his head, Jake ran through his opening. "Doctor Wager, I am currently working on my Master's in veterinary science. It is challenging but rewarding. Working nights for additional income adds pressure, but I am determined to finish, find a position as a vet, and build a good life doing work I love."

As he rehearsed, his gaze drifted back to the park below, and he noticed movement. A great deal of movement. He heard barking. He leaned slightly forward and studied the grounds. Dogs moved along the paths with a kind of easy confidence, some sitting on benches in small groups, heads tilted toward one another as though deep in conversation. A pair of cats occupied a stone ledge near the fountain, watching the foot traffic with the particular detached authority that cats tend to project. There were humans too, scattered among them, all moving together through the park in a way that seemed entirely unremarkable to everyone except Jake, who pressed two fingers to his temple and looked away.

He passed it off as his eyes playing tricks. Dogs on park benches. Cats supervising the fountain. Ridiculous.

He heard the outer door open and close, followed by heavy footsteps crossing toward the office. Jake had no memory of meeting Dr. Wager before, yet somehow he already knew things about the man. He was head of the department. Students spoke highly of his lectures. He had devoted his career to advancing veterinary medicine into the well-respected field it had become. Jake had made the appointment online, and the confirmation email had noted, almost cheerfully, how fortunate he was to get in so quickly.

The footsteps suggested a heavyset fellow. Jake watched the interior office door as it swung slowly open. Dr. Wager entered, glancing down at a folded newspaper tucked under one arm. When he looked up and saw Jake, he stopped and his expression shifted to one of genuine surprise.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Persable. There has been a mistake."

Jake, who had been completely motionless since the door opened, somehow found his voice.

"You're a dog," he said, slightly louder than he intended.

Dr. Wager set his newspaper on the desk with unhurried calm. "Canine is the more appropriate term. The word dog carries a somewhat derogatory connotation." He settled into his chair and removed a pair of oversized reading glasses. "You are a human."

Jake processed this. "Are you Dr. Wager?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"Are you a St. Bernard?"

Dr. Wager, wearing a dark blue suit and a light checkered tie, folded his large paws together on the surface of the oak desk and fixed his gaze on Jake with the kind of patient steadiness that good therapists cultivate over years of practice. A thin line of drool gathered at the corner of his mouth. His eyes drifted briefly toward the window, and he murmured, almost to himself, "Squirrel," before returning his full attention to the man across from him.

"Mr. Persable," he said, "you must understand this is a clerical error. My practice serves canine graduate students exclusively, not humans."

Jake glanced out the window one more time. In the park below, casually dressed dogs were unclipping leashes from their humans, who scattered happily across the grass. Near the fountain, one of the cats from the stone ledge had climbed down and appeared to be mediating some sort of disagreement between a terrier and a young man in a yellow jacket. Everyone looked perfectly content. No one looked confused except Jake.

"I think I am losing my mind," Jake said, turning back to the St. Bernard. "Help me. Please."

Dr. Wager studied him for a long moment with deep, soulful brown eyes. Then, in a voice that was remarkably gentle for someone his size, he said, "All right, Mr. Persable. We have an hour. When you are comfortable, tell me what has been happening." He paused. "Mr. Persable is rather formal. What name would you prefer?"

Jake exhaled for what felt like the first time all morning. "Jake."

Dr. Wager offered something that, on a St. Bernard's face, could generously be described as a smile. "You may call me Rover."