Tail wagging for conversation

He brushed the long black oval ears from his eyes as he leaned down examining the bottom shelf of books. He was in the non-fiction section, feverishly going in and out of the aisles. Each time he walked out into the common area he garnered the attention of the people who were otherwise buried in their books. He was dressed in a dalmatian onesie, complete with a hood and ears and a tail. He was unbothered by the attention he received, instead he was fully focused on finding whatever he was looking for.

He emerged from his search, a proud smile spanning across his face, his big, dark eyes twinkling. He made his way to one of the wooden tables in the common area, as his tail swung back and forth behind him. There were one or two people at each of the tables and none of them were nose down in their books anymore. He plopped down in one of the seats, a purple backpack sat on the seat next to him. After rummaging through the backpack for a few minutes, he placed a dinner plate sized stainless-steel bowl onto the table, a plastic water bottle and a wire-bound notebook.

“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat after. “Does anyone have an extra pencil or pen I can use?”

Almost in unison, everyone put their heads down to read or pretend to read. Except one person, a 20-something young woman. Her chair scuffed as she pushed herself away from the table to stand up. She walked from her table at the back of the common area to the front where the man sat. She placed a pen on the table in front of him, said nothing and made her way back to her seat. Everyone watched her, some more discreetly than others.

“Thanks,” he said loudly and nodded in her direction. He then opened his water bottle and poured its contents into the stainless steel bowl, now situated on the table in front of his backpack. His book was open and propped upright on the table in front of him. In big bold letters, the cover read “The principals of Organic Chemistry,” across a navy blue background. He raised his arms in the air, stretching them out before burying his head behind the book.

He had the full attention of the people across the common area, except for the girl who lent him the pencil, she was focused on her work. A man and a woman at the table next to him were leaned across it quietly speaking to each other. They glanced his way then back at one another before sitting back in their seats. “Fine, whatever,” the woman said loudly as she flipped her long brown hair behind her shoulder. They were older, maybe in their upper 30s or early 40s.

“Shh, do you mind?” the dalmatian man said, facing their direction. The woman’s pale skin turned pink from embarrassment and the man put his hand over his face, mortified by the experience. He was still facing their direction, seemingly waiting for something else. “Really? Come on man,” he said, irritated. All eyes were on him, people looking for books nearby and those sitting in the common area all had their eyes on him, distracted from their tasks.

Pushing his chair back, he stood up with his right hand wrapped around his black tail and cleared his throat. He proceeded to bark, repetitive and quick and with a deep voice. “Ruff, ruff, ruff,” he belted out and started walking around the room. He walked up to each table and barked, then he walked through each aisle, his barks fading in and out as he progressed up and down the rows of books.

“Shh,” a deep male voice interrupted. “It’s enough. We’re all going to just sit here and watch this, pretending this is okay?” An older man emerged from one of the non-fiction aisles. His gray brows were furrowed and his lips pursed; he was evidently unhappy. The man slid his hands into his jean pockets and pushed his chest out, his flannel expanding outward.

The dalmatian skittishly made his way back to his table and, leaning over the stainless steel water bowl, he started to drink from it. Just like a dog, his tongue licked the water, making a splashing noise.

“Oh, no way,” the old man moved forward towards him. “This is uncivilized and we’re in a library. Get out of here. Get your bowl and get the hell out of here.”

The dalmatian stopped drinking and looked around, briefly making eye contact with the older man. The man stood just two feet from the dalmatian, his hands on his hips, like a dad waiting for his son to do what he’s asked. The dalmatian was evidently nervous as he started to collect his things and put them in his bookbag, including the water bowl full of water. Throwing his backpack over one shoulder, water dripped from the bottom as he scurried backward before turning around and running towards the exit.

The older man and everyone else in the area returned to what they were doing, almost as if nothing happened at all. “Excuse me,” another male voice broke the silence. With all the commotion, no one noticed the three big, young men who walked in and were now standing at the table of the girl who lent the pencil. They were in their twenties and burly, like football players or loggers. She put her pen in the center of her open book and closed it, her face didn’t hide her displeasure with the all the interruptions.

“Well, what is it?” she asked, her elbows on the table and her hands propped up under her chin. “I am trying to study for my finite math exam and I came to this library because its off campus and I figured I wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” one of the men said to her. “I just need to know if the dog was here. And, if he did what he was supposed to do.”

“Oh yeah, what was that? He just ran out of here,” she said, her eyes scanning all three of the men.

“Well, see, we’re from Sigma Phi and he’s one of our pledges,” the same man said. “Here are the directions we gave him. We need to know if he followed them.” He handed her a folded up piece of yellow paper.

“No surprise you’re frat guys,” she said sarcastically as she unfolded the paper.

“Wear one of the animal costumes to a business in a different town. Bring water and a bowl to drink it from but you can only drink it if someone talks to you. And, you can’t tell anyone that you need them to talk to you. If no one talks to you, make your animal’s noise until they do.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, her blond bob bouncing as she expressed her irritation. “Yes, he followed those rules. And yes, you are ridiculous.” She reopened her book and went back to studying. The men nodded and walked out of the common area, towards the exit.

“Well now I’ve seen everything,” an old, female voice said from one of aisles. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground followed. The older man moved quickly from the front of the aisle he was browsing and headed towards the voice.

On the ground lay the librarian, an elderly frail woman, in her upper 80s. Her crystal blue eyes were wide open and her hand clutched a book, pinning it against her long flowery dress. The older man leaned down, putting his head on her heart first then grabbing her free wrist and checking for a pulse. “She’s gone,” he sighed. “Someone call 9-1-1.” Still leaning over he cocked his head and looked at the book she was holding. Dark orange cursive letters at the top of the white book read, “Furries: an emerging subculture.”