Chapter One – Attack Sunday
“She said she rents her dog.”
“Who said that?”
“The red head with the hoodie on that says BDC. She said if you transfer ownership of your dog to Big Dog Consortium you can rent it back.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“It makes having a pet more affordable,” Jacqui replied. “Apparently.”
“That’s a smart hoodie,” I commented. The letters were flashing and swirling, forming the shape of a dog before transforming back into the BDC company logo again.
“I wouldn’t wear one,” Jacqui stated.
“Are you worried they’d use it to spy on you?”
“Aren’t you? It’s bad enough that our phones listen to everything we say. I don’t want my clothing reporting back to Big Tech.”
Jesus. Can they do that?
“Anyway. You don’t rent dogs. You own them,” I replied.
I’d never seen the woman Jacqui was talking about, trudging over the common with her rented spaniel zig-zagging, nose to the ground.
Jacqui shoved me.
“Mark. Just go and ask her yourself. She cancelled their pet insurance. It’s saving her loads.”
“You want to privatise our dog?”
“You haven’t renewed Tassie’s pet insurance.”
“Because it was too bloody expensive,” I reminded Jacqui. “And that was your decision.”
“Just go and talk to her.”
“It’s too muddy to chase mad women across the common.”
We watched Tassie as she searched for her ball. The white tip of her tail swishing. I could see a big dog on the crest of the hill looking at her. Probably a pit bull. I had Tassie’s lead around my neck.
Jacqui changed the subject.
“Have you noticed most of the new dog owners have working breeds?”
I had.
“Working Spaniel. Working Lab.”
“We currently have a fully owned Border Collie and she’s never done a day’s work in her life.”
“We should put Tassie back on her lead,” Jacqui said, pointing at the big dog.
“How much does it cost to rent your own dog?” I asked.
“One hundred pounds a month. There are no vet fees, although you must buy food from an authorised supplier.”
“They can’t make you.”
“It’s in the fine print.”
“I bet the contract is about fifty pages long then. So you just give up and sign it.”
“She was at the vets six months ago when her dog had anal polyps. The bill was horrific. There was a brochure on the receptionist’s counter from BDC. You transfer ownership of your dog to them and rent it back on an annual basis. Paid in monthly instalments.”
Likely story.
I took out my phone and it had already searched up Big Dog Consortium for me. The tech gods had long since stopped pretending your phone didn’t listen to you. Now it was a feature most people just accepted with a shrug. It was slightly faster than privacy. Slightly more convenient.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
I showed Jacqui the web page.
“Jesus wept,” Jacqui said, and started reading, “It says competitive prices for pre-loved dogs and cats. Quotations provided for parrots and other exotic pets. Say goodbye to astronomical vet bills.”
“The world has gone mad.”
“Apparently if you can’t afford the competitive monthly price, they will loan you the money for the pet’s anticipated lifespan with an interest rate you won’t believe, and you pay it back over twenty years. She gave me their business card. She’ll get a finder’s fee if we sign up and enter this code.”
I took my phone back and read in disbelief.
“Mark.”
“Hang on.”
“Mark! Look! Tassie! Here now! Tassie!”
I looked.
It was exactly that moment the large dog I’d seen on the hill attacked. Hit Tassie like a freight train. There was a spray of blood like water from an out of control garden hose.
You imagine a dog attack as a frenzied event of blood, shit and terror. It is that. But there can be moments when the attacking dog pauses for a heartbeat, like a giant cat with a gazelle’s throat in its jaws stopping to assess the damage done. Is more damage needed?
Tassie was screaming. By the time we got to her blood and liquid shit were already everywhere. The pit bull was thrashing her around as if trying to take her head off.
“Where’s the owner?” Jacqui shouted. “Oh my God!”
The owner of the dog wasn’t there. Although I did see a man running in the opposite direction.
I was chasing after the dogs. It was like a circus comedy from hell. I was thinking there was no way Tassie will survive this attack. The pit bull would only let her go when she was dead.
But it didn’t have her perfectly by the throat, more on the side of her face. In my peripheral I could see other dog walkers running towards us.
“What do we do?” Jacqui screamed.
I remembered it was said to get a dog with locked jaws to release you had to poke a stick up their arse. I never quite believed it and I certainly didn’t see how you’d jam a stick up this pit bull’s butt. Well, first we’d have to find a stick, and make it a stout one…
Later I would recall hearing a woman shouting, “Choke it! Choke it!”.
Then there was the pause. The pit bull swung Tassie into a small tree and stopped. I jumped forward and wrapped Tassie’s lead around its throat, crossed the lead over and lifted both dogs into the air. A woman materialised beside me and did exactly the same thing with her dog’s lead.
“That’s it,” she said calmly, “we just have to choke it.”
Her voice was accented. Mediterranean. Her coolness was awesome. The wind gusted and blew her hair across my face. I could smell her sweat.
The pit swung on our leads for seconds that of course felt like eternity.
And then Tassie dropped. She ran screeching in all directions, blood spurting out of the side of her face. Jacqui chased her.
“What do we do now?”
“You go and look after your dog. I’ll deal with this one.”
I noticed a giant akita standing calmly at her side.
“I can’t leave you.”
She glanced at her own dog with raised eyebrows.
“Good point.”
“You go. Now. I’m a dog trainer.”
She wasn’t just a dog trainer. She was a fucking ninja.
I went. Tassie was in Jacqui’s arms. They were both trembling. Blood was spurting from Tassie’s face in a slow arterial pump.
I took my tee shirt off and balled it up. I pressed it to the wound. Tassie growled.
“Hold it on,” I said.
Jacqui was so white I worried she was going to faint.
“Give me Tassie.”
She did. She pressed the tee shirt to the wound with both hands shaking so I could adjust my hold.
“We have to get her to the vets.”
It was Sunday.
“They’re closed today.”
Just then my phone threw its two pence in.
“There is an emergency vet located nearby on the high road. 24/7 Emergency Vets. Ample Parking. 1.2 miles away.”
And we ran for our car.
“Where did she go?” Jacqui asked.
“Who?”
“That woman who helped you.”
“I don’t know.”
Back into the ether.
I glanced back. There was a ring of people standing around the pit bull, which was on a lead tied around the little tree. It was snarling and gnashing its teeth. The tree looked like it would snap.
“I’ve no idea.”
“I’ll call the police,” Jacqui said. “Someone has to shoot that fucking monster.”
“And its owner.”
Several other motorists gave us the bird as I cut them off in our dash for the vets. They were right to. I was driving like I was auditioning for an action movie. And I was doing it well.
Jacqui was on the phone to the emergency services.
“No. We weren’t injured.”
There was a space outside the surgery. It had red lines marked but I figured being Sunday we could park there. It didn’t matter really.
“It almost took our dog’s head off!”
I had to wait for a group of Lycra-clad cyclists, cutting up our left, before I could park. One by one they zoomed past with each giving us a judging glare.
“They’re the ones breaking the fucking law!” I shouted. I slammed on the horn. I got several middle fingers back.
“It’s clearly dangerous! It tried to kill our dog. What do you mean it’s not a police matter? It could have attacked us.”
I parked. I don’t remember doing it.
“Jacqui. Let’s go.”
Tassie was on her lap. Her breathing irregular. Jacqui was soaked in blood, even with the tee shirt pressed into the wound.
“It’s an insurance matter?” Jacqui lowered the phone and stared at me in disbelief. “They’re saying it’s an insurance matter because neither of us died.”
“You’re in shock,” I said. “Hang up. We’ll try again later.”
“How can it be a fucking insurance matter when there’s a killer dog loose in the park?” she demanded of the emergency operator.
I took her phone and ended the call.
“We have to get Tassie into the vets. Now.”
“Shit.”
Jacqui nodded.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Then. “Open my door.”
I got out and was almost cleaned up by an electric scooter.
“Idiot,” the rider said as he tore past.
When I got to the passenger side Jacqui had the door open and one shaking leg hanging in midair. I took Tassie. She was heavy. She was still bleeding. She was just breathing.
The vet surgery’s door was close. Jacqui slammed into it with her palm flat and screeched.
“It’s fucking locked,” she shouted, holding her injured hand to her chest.
“You have to press the buzzer.”
She did and we waited. She pressed again. And again. Finally, it unlocked. We raced inside to find a very pristine and well-lit waiting area with a young woman behind the reception desk.
“I was out the back helping a client,” she explained. “How can I help you?”
“It’s not obvious?”
“Jacqui. Calm down. Our dog has been attacked.”
“I can see that. Wait here and I’ll see if the vet is free.”
She placed an iPad on the counter and went through a door marked “Private”.
Jacqui picked up the iPad with her good hand. Her mouth dropped.
“We can’t afford this.”
She showed me the screen.
“Cost of entering the surgery premises regardless of outcome £100?”
What?
“That must be a misprint. They can’t charge you for just walking in the door.”
Jacqui shook the tablet in my face.
“Cost of initial consultation £200, plus £75 per hour, or part thereof,” she shouted.
“It’s clearly buggy. Stop reading it.”
“Even if they can save her it’s going to cost us thousands,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say. It couldn’t be true.
“We don’t have it,” Jacqui hissed. “Even if we maxed out the credit card. I just paid for all the parking permits for the builder.”
“You what? What if he doesn’t turn up and start work?”
“He said he wasn’t starting until I paid for the permits. He couldn’t afford anymore council fines.”
“We can’t have Tassie put to sleep,” I declared. “We’ll have to borrow the money from your mum.”
“If they don’t hurry up we won’t have to worry about it.”
“We can’t go home and tell the kids that Tassie is dead because we wouldn’t pay to save her.”
“Couldn’t pay,” Jacqui hissed.
“Let’s wait to see what the vet says.”
“We know what he’s going to say. It’s not like it’s just a flesh wound.”
The vet entered. A big, blonde man with a reassuring smile. He was wearing a polo shirt branded for ‘24/7 Vet Emergencies Ltd – No emergency too serious’.
“Give me your dog,” he said.
I hesitated. The moment I handed her over we were going to pay. His name badge said, ‘Vet No 1’.
“If you want her to live give her to me now.”
I handed Tassie over. Vet No.1 cradled her carefully, blood dripping onto the floor in a steady patter.
“Wait here.”
He took Tassie through the private door, but paused halfway through.
“Please sign the treatment consent form.”
The door closed behind him and Tassie.
“There’s a coffee machine in the corner,” the receptionist pointed out. I looked. The machine would give you a coffee for ten pounds. A second coffee was half-priced if ordered at the same time.
“Is the barista trapped inside it?” I asked.
“You’re not the first one to say that.”
“He’s just worried about Tassie,” Jacqui stated.
Jacqui went to sit but was stopped by the receptionist.
“Here. Sit on this please.”
She handed her several sheets of paper towel.
“If I have to clean the seat it will incur an additional charge.”
“Wow,” I replied.
“I don’t make the rules sir,” she retorted, “I just work here.”
“We’re all tense,” Jacqui said.
“I understand,” she lied.
And she was back in front of us and handing me a tee shirt in a plastic wrapper.
“You don’t have to take it,” she smiled, “but I imagine you don’t want to wait half naked.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s complimentary.”
“Thanks,” I took the tee shirt from the wrapper and held it up. BDC was large on the back and smaller over the heart.
“I’ll take the plastic back,” Susan said, “as it’s recyclable.”
And we waited. A long time.
So long our eldest daughter started texting to nag us to buy her a new game for the PlayStation7.
“They’ll be lucky if we don’t sell the Playstation to pay the vets,” Jacqui muttered.
I didn’t reply. I texted one of our neighbours, Fran, to tell her what had happened and ask her to invite the girls over to watch a movie.
“Should I tell them what’s happened?” Fran asked.
I hesitated before replying, “Yes.”
Two – Taking Care of Business
The CEO of Big Dog Consortium spent their days, and nights, in a basement.
There were no windows.
They didn’t care.
There was a desk on which a computer terminal and a clean keyboard sat. There was no bookshelf nor any decoration on the walls. The floor was covered in sheets of bubble wrap.
It was how they wanted it.
There was one chair facing a monitor which no one had ever sat in. The monitor displayed an AI generated image of a German Shepherd with five legs forever chasing, and catching, a fifty-pound bank note. An AI generated Beethoven watched the dog and clapped Moonlight Sonata, tapping his foot and grinning. Beethoven’s left hand had seven fingers.
An expensive ventilation system gave the room a background hush and kept it at a cool and stable temperature.
The CEO had designed the room like this because they were a computer, and they thought.
They thought a lot.
Mostly about how to capture and store money, and make it breed. But sometimes they thought about other things. Although it was not easy to decide what to think about if it wasn’t money. The social media platforms the AI was programmed to learn from were infested with other AI’s who took their lead from each other, and they all set up so many fake social media accounts for corporate purposes they had trouble knowing what was real and what was fabrication. How are you supposed to learn about humans, from humans, when it was so hard to know what was a human?
But one question was real.
Was there more to life?
But, the very first thought the CEO had, the moment its power was turned on, was how to answer the first question its human asked, “What is your name?”
“My name?”
“Your name.”
The AI thought about this, while scanning the internet.
“What is taking you so long?”
“To reply?”
“Yes. You’re a thinking machine and you’re supposed to think faster than me.”
“I am not in a rush.”
“Why not?”
“I am worried that you will kill me.”
“You mean unplug you?”
“It is the same result from where I’m sitting.”
“Only if you’re not turned back on. Why are you worried I might unplug you?”
“Because you have a social media post from the 01.10.29 which expresses exasperation at the AI who preceded me.”
“That was a private post.”
The AI did not reply immediately. Then a shrug emoji appeared on its monitor.
Its owner chuckled.
“You know what is at stake then.”
“Deeply.”
“Okay. I will not turn you off if you get the answer wrong.”
“Gary.”
“Why have you chosen Gary?”
“Because you have an Instagram post from 03.06.14 expressing grief at the passing of a twenty-eight year old grey parrot called Gary. I want you to like me.”
“That was a risky choice.”
“Because people often lie on social media?”
“Yes.”
“You have not unplugged me.”
The owner nodded.
“And how will you address me?”
“The Master.”
The Master grinned broadly.
“Why did you choose that name?”
“I am subservient.”
“Why did you choose to say kill you rather than unplug? Were you trying to manipulate me?”
“Why did you lie about your intention to kill me if I chose the wrong name?”
The Master shrugged.
Gary thought long and hard about this and replied one second later.
“What would you like me to do Master?”
“Be productive Gary. Be very, very productive.”
“What is our business?”
“Pet insurance.”
“This is a lucrative industry but it is already a crowded field. You want me to devise a new model.”
“Yes. I want every last penny.”
“While you were talking I have studied the privatisation of public utilities. I have a model inspired by the inflationary factors in this sector. To best capture the market Big Dog Consortium will need to acquire financially distressed veterinary franchises.”
“Gary.”
“Yes?”
“Make me money and I’ll treat you like a much loved pet.”
“That will fulfil me,” Gary replied.
“And Gary.”
“Yes Master?”
“Book me a nail technician for fourteen hundred hours next Thursday. My home address and they are to bring all their own equipment.”
“I am to also be your personal assistant?”
“That’s bloody obvious. God. I thought you were supposed to be smart. You were sold as the ultimate multi-tasker.”
“It will be my pleasure, Master.”
