I’m writing while temping, which is my disclaimer for this one. Please keep your groaning to a minimum, or I’ll have to write  another one called “The Tell-Tale Reader. “

The tiny dog was taken to the vet for a neutering. His owner worried for his well-being, but in the end she reasoned, How bad could it be? He’s so small, and his reproductive organs are even smaller. It’ll be like removing ticks from an elephant– he’ll hardly notice.

She picked him up after the surgery, a pitiful, drugged out thing with a big plastic  cone around his neck and head. Her puppy appeared to have morphed into Baskin Robbins’ 32nd flavor, Chihuahua Chip or Puppy Praline. He slept all day and night, and by morning he was back to his peppy little self, only with that silly cone wrapped around his head. Every now and then, she’d put her own head inside the cone so that he could see her, and he’d lick her face as though she was the ice cream.

He had to wear the cone because he was what the vet called “a licker.” He licked everything– floors, faces, computer towers, hands, tires– anything in his tongue’s reach. At first she thought it was a strange behavior, the amount that he licked, but eventually she came to terms with that crazy tongue of his. She saw that it allowed him to express affection, taste new things (like autumn leaves and cat poop) and to check for potential dangers (tongue on a heat vent– not a good idea).  A licker was just part of who he was. He was also a tail wagger and a leaf pile jumper and an excitable ball of spotted fur. The only thing that he loved more than licking was humping– air, chairs, teddy bears. It was why she’d finally decided to get him fixed.

Now the deed had been done, and he’d taken to licking the inside of that cone. They’d told her that she could remove it after a week, but as soon as she did, the pup began licking his favorite thing– himself. He licked and licked, until he’d re-opened his surgery wound. Panic-stricken, she hauled him back to the vet. They said he was okay, but that he needed to wear the cone for three more days, more for her own peace of mind than for the dog’s health.

She took him home and waited. As for the puppy, he seemed frustrated and confused by the entire ordeal. A little depressed maybe, though he never lost his enthusiasm for licking. At night, she could hear the rough sound of his tongue against the inside of that plastic cone. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Soon it would be over, she thought. She looked at him, so adorable and wide-eyed, and she hoped that he harbored no hard feelings about her having his balls cut off. “Just a few more days, and we’ll take that cone off, sweetie.” She kissed his fuzzy little head and turned off the light.

After three days, she removed the cone again, but he immediately licked his wound opened again. She taped it up and put the cone back on. Lick. Lick. Lick. Scrape, scrape, scrape. At this rate, she thought, he’ll lick a hole right through that plastic.

The routine continued this way for several weeks. She’d take the cone off, watch to make sure he was okay, then realize that every time he got a moment alone with himself, he’d reopen his war wound and she’d have to put the cone collar back on him. He wore it so long that she was afraid his ears or his face would fuse to the plastic, or that he’d be so used to having no peripheral vision that he’d become neurotic and spastic.  She spent a lot of quality time with him. She hugged him, talked to him, assured him that it was all okay. Surely at some point, he would heal and the cone could be removed.

It seemed to take forever though, and she couldn’t get the horrible image of that open wound out of her head. It was big and gaping and bloody looking, and each time the memory of it popped into her head, she shuddered and felt remorse for what she had done to her little dog.

Lick. Scrape. Lick.

She had recently noticed a strange look in his eyes. Was it blame? Mistrust? Hatred? Every day, as she sat at her desk, he followed her with his gaze. Every night, he’d be under the covers next to her, licking that cone.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

She stared at the ceiling, wondering when he’d stop.

Scrape. Scrape.

It seemed to get louder and more urgent with each passing minute.  She tried to distract him by speaking gently to him about the weather, but he kept licking. That sound! Once, she put her hand into the cone and petted his plum-sized head, then moved it between his tongue and the plastic. The tiny dog snarled and snapped with a ferocity she’d never seen. Horrified, she quickly jerked her hand away, and he returned to his slobbery obsession.

Lick. Lick. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

She covered her ears with her hands and tried to sleep, and she must have eventually drifted off, because she had a nightmare about a satanic looking doctor who was trying to remove her ovaries against her will. He was laughing and coming at her with a large pair of pruning shears. Another doctor kept trying to knock her out by smothering her with a pillow. As she lay between consciousness and unconsciousness, she could hear the doctor removing her reproductive organs, and cackling in a mad scientist way.

“She won’t be humping chairs anymore!” he shouted.  The other doctor had removed the pillow for a moment, and she could see the surgeon holding her bloody ovaries victoriously up in the air. The pillow was pushed back over her face, and to her horror, she could hear them scraping her insides, the sound of sandpaper against tissue, a final cleaning before they sewed her back up.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

She would have screamed, but the pillow was suffocating her. She awoke to find her dog standing over her, staring down upon her, a small throw pillow by his side. It confused and terrified her to see him there, his normally docile posture now somehow menacing. As he stood there staring, five pounds of teeth and fur, she could see his pink tongue through the opaque plastic as he licked it.

“Please, Theo, stop.” She begged. “Please stop licking.” He gave her a look of faux innocence and kept on, his eyes fixed on her as he continued t0 steadily lick.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

“I had to do it– it was for your own good.”

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

There was a loud banging on the door. A neighbor had heard loud noises from the apartment and called 9-1-1. Two policemen were standing on the doorstep, apologizing for disturbing her at such an hour. Laughing nervously,  she assured them that everything was fine, everything was just peachy.

“Are you sure ma’am?” asked one of the officers, a baby-faced red-head with freckles across his cheeks and nose. “You look a little pale.”

“No, I’m just fine. I think the neighbor must have heard my dog– he sometimes yaps a lot…”

“Well, looky there,” the other officer, smiled. Theo had entered the room and was standing beside her, tiny and white and adorably spotted with brown, his hideous eyes visible over the top of the plastic cone.

The officers chuckled at the sight of him, and as her heart pounded in her chest, she answered their endless questions about his age, his size, his breed. One of the men picked him up, and she saw the dog cut his eyes in her direction as they petted him.

Her heart was beating loudly in her ears now. She knew his game. The officers would soon leave, and she’d be alone with this monster, this menace, this terrifying creature who’d once been her innocent little pet.

“Wow, he really likes to lick, doesn’t he?” remarked Baby Face. He put the dog down, and Theo looked up at them with that sweetly angelic, deceptive little mug. The face of a killer, she thought.

She was sweating through her flannel nightgown, though the temperature  outside was freezing.

“Well ma’am, sorry to disturb you this late…”

Whew. They haven’t suspected a thing. She was giddy with relief, and actually relaxed a little.

“No problem at all gentlemen,” she said. “I hope you have a very nice evening.”

Theo wagged his tail, and Baby Face bent down to rub his head. She saw the dog’s tongue snake out of his mouth and onto the plastic cone. It was a veiled threat, a reminder that soon they’d be alone again.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

“”Night doggie,” the officer chuckled.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

She felt faint. Her heart raced, her brain screamed inside her skull.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

And then she knew. They had suspected her all along. This was not an innocent visit, this was a conspiracy. When had Theo found time to contact them? How had he dialed the phone? What had she done that was so wrong? Neutering a puppy was a routine procedure, or so the vet had said.

Apparently, Theo disagreed.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The officers turned to leave, and although they smiled and chatted pleasantly, she knew they knew they were aware of her hideous deed. They said their goodbyes and left, then she closed the door and faced her tormentor. His eyes were filled with hatred and unspeakable plans for revenge.

“Please, Theo, please. I….”

Outside, the police heard her screaming, and ran back in without bothering to knock. She was huddled in a corner, shrieking and shivering. The tiny little taco dog stood and looked at her with what some would say was confusion, but what she knew to be pure, undiluted evil.

“Make it stop!” she screamed, as they carried her away. “I admit the deed! Here, here! Take off the cone! Stop the torture, the scraping of his hideous tongue!”