Cocker Spaniel
Merlin June Mack
Corner Kids is in a business park like many pediatric physical therapy offices are now, at least the respectable ones. It is very important that pediatric physical therapy offices appear respectable, otherwise it will be obvious that there are disabled children there. The carpets are vacuumed every day, and the ball pit has not had any incidents in over three and a half months. It’s the longest record ever held by any pediatric physical therapy office, a very impressive accomplishment.
This is the first time that someone has brought a crate up the flight of stairs. This is partly because usually when dogs come into the office, they arrive in the elevator, and partly because fate works in unfunny ways. There is a dog in this crate, a cocker spaniel, because fate works only half of the time. The woman with her dog asks if the cocker spaniel can have physical therapy because “What's really the difference between an animal and a disabled child?”
Because the woman is a lawyer and has a nice handbag the receptionist’s hands are tied. At least, this is the story the receptionist tells Noah when he asks why a dog is on the treadmill. Noah’s eyes linger on the dog when his physical therapist pulls him out of his wheelchair to do exercises. The woman, the one with the nice handbag, asks the cocker spaniel to sit, and it listens.
On the drive home, Noah’s mom Amanda (who has legs like a baby bird) asks why he can’t be more like the cocker spaniel. Noah thinks about this as Amanda helps him eat dinner. Even with four legs and no arms that cocker spaniel can do more than him. He wonders if she is thinking this too.
“I think I’ll have time to go to the grocery store tomorrow in between your physical therapy and orthopedics appointments,” Amanda says.
“That’s good,” Noah answers slowly, he’d probably sound better if he was the cocker spaniel. If he was the cocker spaniel, he’d be able to fit in a handbag.
That fucking dog.
In a flurry of rage, Noah is googling listicles and YouTube videos about cocker spaniels, searching for incriminating evidence. It’s the kind of rage that you know you’ll dream about because that’s what the subconscious does, like how concrete congeals around feet.
Noah thinks of oranges that always had to be peeled for him, and he thinks of how people would rather talk to a dog than him if they met on the street. He scrolls through pictures of stupid cocker spaniels with their ears, and their adorable smiles (likely hiding evil), and their short legs.
The cocker spaniel has become a staple in Noah’s visits to physical therapy. Moms are always ogling at the cocker spaniel. Moms of all kinds, all of them like birds, all of them with children of their own. They always say how good and well-behaved the cocker spaniel is. If you didn’t know better, you might think that the cocker spaniel was the second coming of Jesus Christ. All it ever does is smile, not even Jesus did that.
The cocker spaniel wears bows made of very expensive fabric on its ears at physical therapy. The bows are so expensive that they have to be taken off before going into the ball pit. The cocker spaniel gets much more time in the ball pit than other children because, Noah is told, it is simply more well-behaved. The cocker spaniel also gets two prizes from the treasure chest when it completes its exercises. Noah doesn’t understand why it needs a silly band.
Later, the cocker spaniel trails behind Noah’s wheelchair, and there’s something about it like how artwork has been stolen throughout history. It looks at him with that stupid smile, but there’s something about it: the way it curves at the sides, the way the teeth look. The cocker spaniel is mocking him; he knows it.
Amanda looks happier than when Noah said his first words at age six. There’s something about that too, like how a pen at lightspeed can cause more damage to Earth than any man-made bomb. Noah considers drooling on the cocker spaniel and calling it an accident. He decides against this because he at least tries to be a good person.
Amanda tells Noah that he needs to invite the cocker spaniel to his fifteenth birthday party. This is because the cocker spaniel has very few friends and “You know what that’s like don’t you Noah?”
Noah does know what it's like, but he isn’t a dog so this shouldn’t be relevant. “Don’t you wish someone was there for you when you were lonely back then?” Noah does not like that his mom is making him feel like a door without hinges on autopilot. Recently his eyes have been caught in an infinite side roll. When Noah doesn’t invite the cocker spaniel to his birthday party, there is a rival party. Many more people attend the cocker spaniel’s party than Noah’s.
A week later, the woman with the cocker spaniel has started a podcast about raising disabled children, and Amanda listens to it every day except when Noah is also in the car, because she knows it would bother him. Noah knows that she listens to it because he does too. Sometimes Amanda will say things and it’s verbatim the way that party games are always verbatim. All women do this because hens do this too.
Corner Kids has implemented a kid-of-the-week system, and the cocker spaniel has been the Kid of the Week for the past three weeks. There are bubble letters announcing the importance of this accomplishment. The same exact picture of the cocker spaniel three times is framed by swiggly paper from the dollar store. Noah imagines himself setting it on fire with his mind. But unfortunately, dogs and disabled children seem to have just as much of a chance at surviving the end of the world.
At night Noah dreams that he is a cocker spaniel, and the cocker spaniel is a boy named Noah with cerebral palsy. In these dreams enigmas are boring, and Noah is content with this. Like a dog, he sees things in muted colors, and like a dog, he does not dream so he believes he is not dreaming. Noah speaks in eloquent barks that are not loud but articulate. It makes him want to knit tapestries for kings with nothing but plastic needles. This is because he is not a son but a seahorse put in a rodeo.
When Noah wakes up, he listens to the woman’s latest podcast and considers sending in mean questions for the Q&A segment. He decides against this, but wishes he didn’t. When he sees the cocker spaniel in the ball pit the next day, he thinks of every mean word he knows.
The ball pit is gone when Noah goes to physical therapy on Tuesday, which should be the most normal day of the week because fate only works a third of the time even with good luck. “What happened to the ball pit?” Noah asks.
“What are you talking about?” his physical therapist answers. “We never had a ball pit.”
“Yes, we did,” Noah says. “It’s on the brochure cover.”
But the brochures no longer have a ball pit on them, just a cocker spaniel with bows in its hair and a QR code to the woman with a nice handbag’s podcast. There is now a poster in the waiting room that says, the only disability is a bad attitude, which must be easy to say if you are a dog. Last he heard the cocker spaniel is getting a Make-A-Wish too, and Noah wants to explode every able-bodied person he’s ever seen with his mind.
Some days later, Amanda and Noah are sitting at their dining table eating breakfast before physical therapy. There is so much Noah has never said, since he was six years old and said his first real words. Lives like this are constant catchups, but more like a carrot on a stick than anything else. Amanda looks at Noah (like an owl might) and says, “I think I’ve always been a little bit afraid of you.” It might be the most honest thing either of them has ever said to each other.
Merlin June Mack (they/them) is a writer, hemiplegic poet, and activist from Southern California. When they aren't writing, they can be found reading a book with at least one good literary motif in it. Merlin is currently working towards a BFA in Creative Writing at Southern Oregon University. To see more of their writing and publications, visit @merlin_june_is_a_lover on Instagram.