=1=
Arthur taught his dog a new trick.  Well, it wasn't really a new trick, other dogs had long been doing it, but it was new to this dog.  He's pretty sure that when people say, "I taught an old dog a new trick." they're not saying that the trick is new to everyone, it's not an original trick, it's just new to that dog.  He's pretty sure.  He might check with Larry, over at the library, just to make sure though.  It makes sense to check on things when you're not sure.  Don't go headlong into something if  you're not sure of it. What sense does that make?

The trick, and really though, the dog isn't that old, maybe three, four years.  The trick is that Emma, his bounding German Shepard with an overbite that would shame most mammals, can sit-and-stay.  Emma hadn't learned this from her previous owner, whoever that was, and Arthur hadn't had the chance to teach her in the couple of months that they'd been together.  Arthur liked to take walks, and Emma was fond of them as well, but they had differing opinions on what 'going on a walk' meant.  To Emma, just the mention going on a walk was reason enough to jump up and down (although, you know, she never actually jumped down, she just fell down, gravity took care of that part.  In fact, few people or animals ever jump down after they've jumped up.  Once you get up there, if you're planning on staying, like on box or something, you tend to just hang out there for a while, and if you do get down, you're more likely to climb down.)  To Arthur, going on a walk was a time to relax, or it had been, before he got this dog.

So the trick, the sit-and-stay, that worked well for both of them.  Emma would run up ahead, bounding all over the place and chasing after chipmunks and woodchucks and children, and all Arthur had to do was shout the command word (which turned out to be "SIT!"), and Emma would lay down (she never did get the 'sit' thing, but that wasn't really something to be concerned about, was it?).  Arthur would take the time while Emma was 'sitting' to make up the distance between them and then get about ten yards in front of her before giving her the command word, "go".  She closed the gap in moments, running at the man at full speed.  Arthur was worried for the first few days, worried that he'd be run down by over one hundred pounds of flesh and fur, but Emma would always step aside before she actually ran into him.

The dog didn't make much sense in his life, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.  'The time' was four months ago, when he was watching an amazingly beautiful chocolate lab running through the park with an equally beautiful Italian woman.  She was half his age, or maybe less, and it made him feel pretty terrible for looking at her like he was, but he figured that there was no harm in looking.  He figured, "Hey, maybe if I have a dog, we might someday run around in this park together."  He didn't really believe it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  He got Emma six days later, and took her to the park just about every day.

Today was a good day at the park, plenty of chipmunks, not too many children, and there was enough on Arthur's mind to keep him busy.  "Things to do," he started off, speaking to himself in the sing-song that he reserved for making lists.  "Get groceries, including more food for Emma." he paused, wondering if he should try rhyming each line, decided against it because he couldn't think of a good rhyme for 'Emma', and went on, "Hang the curtains, they've been sitting in the closet since last Septembah." He laughed to himself, having come up with a close rhyme as he made his way through the thought.  His mind fit with rhymes, they offered a pattern to pieces in chaos.  Nothing made things easier to remember, and easier to fit together, than finding a rhyme for them.

"Fix the garage door.  Take the aluminum cans to the store.  Find a new time for dinner with my father.  Buy new socks, and underwear, oh bother."  He went on like this for nearly seven minutes straight, and that's a long time, when you actually sit and stop doing so many things for seven minutes.  Give it a try, watch the clock for seven minutes. Think, just think, for seven minutes.  He was rhyming the whole time, even distracted every now and then by Emma, running over to him with a newfound stick in her mouth.  "What a dog, maybe next time I'll buy a frog."

The walk ended, Emma and Arthur made their way home in Arthur's 1999 Volkswagen Passat, a sensible car that made Arthur feel like he knew a thing or two about how to purchase a good vehicle.  He had put his time in researching the cars that were available, and when a Passat showed up in the dealer's "Good Used Cars" lot, he was quick to bring it home.  It replaced his 1986 Chevy Blazer, which created more problems than it had ever solved in its existence.  The Passat was everything that the Blazer was not, fuel efficient versus the Blazer's 15 miles per gallon, silver with chrome against the Blazer's dull red finish, and it was a European car, the Blazer was built in Alabama.  Alabama makes music, like Lynard Skynard, not automobiles.

The drove through town, in order to stop in and pick up something to drink, as he'd forgotten to put ice in the cooler that he keeps in the trunk, so the water was warm.  "Rushing out of the house again," he shook his head, "I need to get a better alarm clock."  More alarms, that's what Arthur needs, more things to tell him that something needs to be done, and it needs to be done now.  Work, work, run, run, do, do.  The convenience store wasn't laid out in the way that most stores are, and it frustrated Arthur a bit.  "The Coca-Cola should be over here." he said to no one as he checked out the window to make sure that Emma wasn't eating the headrests.  Oh the headrests, where would Arthur put his head if Emma decided to eat them?  He brought his cola to the register, paid the $1.29 plus deposit on his Value Miles credit card, and left the store, counting the newspaper racks by the door as he went by.

Swearing at himself, he poured half of the contents of  his plastic cola bottle into a metal dog dish.  Surely if the sugary-brown water that he was drinking was good enough for him, it was good enough for his dog.  There were worse things for him, and his dog.  He could have purchased some beer, or maybe windshield washer solution, that would be a tricky situation.  This, however, was only a sticky situation.  Emma lapped up the cola quickly, spilling only a little on the center console.  The Passat had seen worse, but Arthur still wasn't pleased. "Why didn't you buy water for the dog?  Was your mind in a fog?"

=2=
Dr. Carver opened the door to the observation room, the red glow of the hallway lights splashing onto video recording equipment left in bags by the doorway. "It's the pizza."

"The pizza?" questioned Dr. Carver's assistant, Mark Dorue, as he flipped the switch to change the main display.  The monitor went black for a moment, but came to life again with a view of the front doors of the building that they were working in.  There was no movement, just two steel doors with large windows letting the sun in.

"Yes, the pizza, the guy that delivered the pizza, apparently no one told the new receptionist that we don't order pizza here.  She gave him directions." Dr. Carver's voice didn't try to hide the fact that he was angry.

Mark just shook his head.  He'd been working with Dr. Carver for a year and a half, and he still wasn't sure what they were and weren't supposed to do.  Security was tight, especially after a random stranger stopped by to ask if he could use their bathroom ("It's an emergency of grand proportions." he said) and found a memo on that someone had left on top of the toilet paper dispenser.  Life was hard for new arrivals, and Mark felt bad for the receptionist.

"I did, however, come out of the deal with a pizza."  Dr. Carver laughed as he took a step into the room, his right hand holding a cardboard pizza box.  The scent quickly made it's way around the room, and Mark's instant hunger reminded him that he'd missed lunch.  He'd been busy in the lab, freezing tissue samples for later examination, and he'd run out of time.

Dr. Carver stepped past the video equipment, and pulled a rolling chair over to the long table behind his assistant.  He set the pizza box on the table, opened it up, and then put his index finger on his forehead.  Mark figured that Dr. Carver thought that this pose made him look exactly like a scientist should, but to Mark it always looked like Dr. Carver was pointing an imaginary pistol at his receding hairline.

Mark knew what Dr. Carver was thinking, "We used the last of the plates last Wednesday, for the cupcakes." The cupcakes had been Mark's idea initially, but he never expected anyone to go along with it.  He really wasn't expecting to see his boss come in with cupcakes the next day, with multi-colored confections sprinkled on top.  It's strange, what a man will do to earn the respect of those that work for him.  Dr. Carver, not wanting to go to another room to find plates, took out his pocket knife and cut two square sections from the top of the pizza box and handed one to Mark after slapping two pieces of pizza on the brown side.

"This'll make the rest of the day go by quicker, thanks." Mark said as he lifted one of the slices to his mouth.  The time that he's been working for Dr. Carver has been weird, but these past two days have been even stranger.  He didn't expect the cupcakes, and he certainly didn't expect to be sitting with Dr. Carver, who probably hadn't been in college in over 40 years, and eating pizza like they were at a fraternity house.