Agent to the Stars by John Scalzi (read me like a book .TXT) 📕

if you like what you see, I think we can work out an exclusive contract for your casting company. Work for you?”

“Hell, yes, Carl,” Bowen said. “Have them come up today around one. We’ll put the dog through the paces and I’ll get back to you by tomorrow morning. You know where my ranch is?”

“Valencia, if I’m not mistaken,” Carl said.

“Right you are,” Bowen said. “take the Magic Mountain exit, go left, and head into the hills for five miles. Can’t miss it. We’ll be looking forward to seeing them.” Carl and Bowen did their goodbye pleasantries and hung up.

“Yukon Territory? Whitehorse?” I said.

Carl smiled broadly. “I’d like to see anyone check up on that whopper,” he said.

*****

Al Bowen met us in the driveway of his ranch, clearly eager to meet Joshua. That is, until he saw him.

“This is the dog?” Bowen said, after we made our introductions. It was clear that he didn’t think Joshua was any great prize. But the same could be said of him; Al Bowen was one of those guys who looked like he had spent far too much of his life being a roadie for the Grateful Dead.

“That’s him,” I said. “He’s really more intelligent than he looks.”

“I hope so,” Bowen said, and knelt down. “He’s not a biter, is he?”

“Not that I know of,” I said.

Bowen held out his hand to let Joshua sniff him. Joshua declined. Bowen took hold of Joshua’s snout and took at look at his gums, then felt down Joshua’s body.

“How old is this dog?” He finally asked.

“Eight years, I think,” I said.

Bowen snorted. “He’s twice that if he’s a year, Tom,” he said, straightening up. “I have to tell you, if Carl hadn’t vouched for this animal, I’d turn you around right now. Come on, let’s go this way.” He led us past the ranch house, into the back.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” I said.

“Thanks,” Bowen said. “It’s nothing big, just a couple thousand acres. Family land, you know. Been in the family since the 1800s. Thought I might have to sell it in the 70s, but then I got my vet degree and started doing this. Pays the bills. Got quite a menagerie here — dogs, cats, pigs, horses, even some llamas. We had a herd of cattle we’d rent out for stampede scenes, but there’s not much call for that recently. Had to turn most of them into cat food.” We stopped at an enclosed yard that looked like an obstacle course.

“What is this?”

“Well, this is a training track,” Bowen said. “If we want to have an animal do something complicated, like run through a house and open a window, we’ll sort of create that here and run them through it until it gets hardwired into their brains. I figure that dog of yours has a repertoire of tricks. Tell me what they are, and we’ll set up the track and run him through a couple.”

“That’s not the way he was trained,” I said.

Bowen looked at me like I was a bad peyote flashback. “What do you mean?” he said.

“Well, as I understand it, he’s sort of trained the other way. Set up the track the way you want it, and tell him what to do, and he’ll do it.” I was making all this up, and this sounded reasonable to me.

But apparently it didn’t sound that way to Bowen. “Look, Tom,” he said. “I don’t know what fool chase Carl has you running, or if you’ve pulled a fast one on Carl. But every dog has to be trained for specific tasks. I love and respect dogs, but even the smartest ones can’t just be told to do something brand new and then do it. That’s just not the way their brains work.”

“Mr. Bowen, before you say it can’t be done, why don’t we try it first?” I said. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

Bowen looked irritated, and then he laughed. “Fine, then,” he said. “Give me a minute to prepare the track.” He went into the enclosed area and began moving things around.

“‘Is he a biter’,” Joshua said, under his breath. “I almost nipped off his nose, just for that one.”

“Behave yourself, Joshua,” I said. “You think you can handle this?”

“Deep in my bowels of my intellect, I have the knowledge necessary to pilot an interstellar spacecraft,” Joshua said. “I think I should be sufficiently competent to walk and jump.”

“No need to get testy,” I said.

“Sorry,” Joshua said. “Personally, I think I’m a fine dog. Remind me to pee on this guy’s shoes before we go.”

Bowen came back to our side of the enclosure and opened it to let us through.

“Let me walk you through this,” he said.

“You can just tell me,” I said. “That should be fine.”

Bowen smirked. “All right, then. Here’s what I want. I want your dog to leap over that plastic fence over there, come back around this way to this” — he motioned to a window with a shade on it — “and grab the blind string in his mouth to open the blind. Finally, I want him to go all the way back there” — He pointed to what looked like a kid’s playhouse — “there’s a doorbell button on the right side of the door that he should be able to press. Have him press it, turn around, sit, and bark back at us.”

“Is that all?” I said.

“Son,” Bowen said. “It would take the better part of a year for a dog to learn something this complicated. If your dog can get just one of these things on the first try, he qualifies as the smartest dog in the history of dogs.”

“Joshua,” I snapped my fingers as if to make him heel. He sauntered over and sat, looking at me. I pointed to the plastic fence.

“Jump!” I said. I then moved my arm over to the blind.

“Pull!” I said. I then moved my arm over to the playhouse doorbell.

“Press!” I said. I then made a spinning motion with my hand, and mimed my hand sitting.

“Bark!” I said.

Joshua shot me a look that clearly said, give me a fucking break.

“Go!” I said. He sprinted off.

“Mary mother of God in a lobster bib,” Al Bowen said, roughly twenty seconds later.

“I thought he was a little sloppy about the blinds,” I said. They were, in fact, slightly crooked.

“Listen,” Bowen said. “I’ve got a Mighty Dog commercial scheduled here for the day after tomorrow. Tell me you can make it.”

“Sure,” I said.

“We start shooting at 10:30,” Bowen said. “Try to be here by 7. This is smartest dog I’ve ever seen in my life, but he’s still going to need a lot of grooming work.” He shook his head and walked away.

Joshua walked up. “Well?” he said.

“You’re going to be in a Mighty Dog commercial,” I said.

“Well, all right, then,” Joshua said. “I would hate to be associated with anything that wasn’t 100% pure beef, you know.”