Dogs Arf Us

Day One:

I never wanted to work at Dogs Arf Us. In fact, before my first shift, I’d never even seen a dog up close. But the rent was due, and the only place hiring was this sketchy-looking pet store where all the employees wore shirts that read, “We Don’t Sell Dogs, We Are Dogs.” I figured it was a joke.

It wasn’t a joke.

My manager, Todd, had the enthusiasm of a golden retriever on espresso. “You’ll love it here, Craig!” he barked—literally barked—as he handed me my employee badge. “Welcome to the pack!”

I was starting to get a bad feeling.

The moment my shift started, I realized something was seriously wrong. The employees didn’t sell dog food, they ate it. Todd strolled past, munching on a Milk-Bone. Becky from accounting had a rawhide chew sticking out of her purse. Some guy named Phil was actively trying to chase his own tail.

I was about to call corporate when Todd clapped me on the back. “Craig, buddy! You ready for your transformation?”

“. . . My what?”

“The initiation! You can’t work here without being one of us.”

Before I could run, two guys in Dalmatian-print grabbed my arms and dragged me to the back room where Todd now stood with a pair of dog ears and a tail. “Now,” he said, “what kind of dog are you?”

“I’m more of a . . . cat person,” I tried.

Todd gasped. Phil whimpered. Someone in the corner growled.

Becky shook her head. “We can’t have a cat person in Dogs Arf Us.”

Todd crossed his arms. “Craig, either you join the pack, or you’re out.”

I considered my options. On the one hand, this was clearly a workplace violation of several labor laws. On the other hand . . . I really needed rent money.

“. . . Fine.”

Todd beamed and slapped a pair of puppy ears on my head. “Welcome to the family, Craig the Beagle!”

“Wait, I never said I was—”

“BEAGLE! BEAGLE! BEAGLE!” the employees chanted.

Day Two:

I woke up to my alarm barking at me.

Not literally. I hadn’t been that brainwashed yet. But I had accidentally set my ringtone to a dog bark, and instead of hitting snooze, I reflexively rolled over and let out a sleepy, “Who’s a good boy?” before realizing what I was doing.

It was day two at Dogs Arf Us, and I was already losing it.

When I arrived at work, Todd greeted me at the door by wagging an invisible tail. “Craig! My favorite Beagle!”

“I’m your only Beagle.”

“Exactly!” He grinned. “Ready for today’s training?”

I was not.

Todd led me to the back, where Phil (who I had recently learned was a “purebred” Husky) was aggressively trying to catch the red dot from a laser pointer.

“Phil, focus,” Todd said.

Phil snapped up and growled. “Sorry. Instinct.”

Todd cleared his throat and turned to me. “Craig, we have an important job for you today. You’re on squirrel patrol.”

I blinked. “What.”

Todd placed a walkie-talkie in my hands. “We have an ongoing battle with the squirrels in the parking lot. They’re always trying to get in and out and steal the treats. Your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

He gestured out the window, where I saw a particularly fat squirrel sitting on the hood of my car, staring directly at me like we had unfinished business.

“This is ridiculous,” I said.

“SQUIRREL PATROL IS A SACRED DUTY, BEAGLE!” Phil howled.

Todd clapped his hands. “Alright, team! Let’s get to work! Remember, Craig—bark if you see anything suspicious.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself. Rent. Rent. That’s why I was here. Not to bark at squirrels.

Probably.

I sighed, walked outside, and met the squirrel’s tiny, judgmental gaze.

He chittered.

I squinted.

This was going to be a long shift.

Day Three:

I woke to my neighbor’s actual dog barking and nearly barked back. That’s when I knew. I had to quit.

It wasn’t just the fact that I’d spent an entire shift growling at squirrels. Or that I caught myself wagging an imaginary tail when Todd praised me for my “enthusiasm.” No, it was because last night, as I lay in bed, I caught myself reading the back of a bag of kibble and thinking, You know, this doesn’t sound that bad.

It was over. Dogs Arf Us had broken me.

So I marched into work, ready to hand in my resignation.

“Craig! Good news! Today’s your first walk!”

“My first what?”

“Your walk, buddy! Every new pack member gets taken for a test walk around the store! Standard procedure.”

I stared at the leash in his hands, then at the store full of unbothered employees. Phil was rolling on the floor like a husky on a fresh carpet. Becky was sniffing a new shipment of tennis balls. A cashier was sitting obediently by the register, waiting for their next command.

They had all accepted it.

I had not.

“Todd,” I said carefully, “I quit.”

He froze. “What?”

“I’m done. I’m not a Beagle. I’m a guy who needed rent money, and now that I’ve spent three days working here, I’ve decided that nothing, nothing, is worth what I’ve endured.”

Todd’s lip quivered. “But . . . But Craig, we were going to give you your first flea collar today.”

“I’M A HUMAN, TODD.”

“Are you?”

I turned on my heel and walked out before I could physically feel my soul leaving my body. Behind me, I heard Phil let out a long, mournful howl. Becky whimpered. Someone knocked over a bag of kibble in shock. I didn’t look back.

And that was the last time I ever set paw, I mean foot, in Dogs Arf Us.

Would I do it again? Not even if my life depended on it.

But sometimes, late at night, when the world is quiet and the moon is full, I swear I can still hear Todd’s voice.

“Who’s a good boy, Craig?”