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Investigative Activism: The Case of the Portending Behemoth

By Shalion (2013)

"First Ever International lawsuit Under UN Animal Abuse Charter Filed against Animal Research Lab in Munich, Germany"

By Melissa Johanna, ILDAF

MUNICH GERMANY - The first-ever lawsuit against an animal research lab under new UN statute against animal cruelty and unfair competition laws was filed here in early January in a complaint with the Bavaria Superior Court of Munich County against Munich Biotechnology, Inc., for violating International animal cruelty and unfair competition laws by failing to properly care for their animals according to numerous Animal Plant and Health Inspection Service (APHIS) inspections.

The International nonprofit Legal Defense of Animals Fund (ILDAF) filed the suit on behalf of Stop Animal Exploitation Now (SAEN). SAEN is committed to ending animal abuse in laboratories around the world. An extraordinary effort from SAEN and ILDAF's team of investigatory reporters has been required to publicize Munich Biotech's illegal activities in order to protect the animals.

Munich Biotech, a for profit Austrian corporation that has been long regarded as the world authority in the fields of developmental biology and experimental genetics, operates a 150 acre research facility on the outskirts of Munich, Germany where it confines 5,000 dogs and 3,000 chimpanzees among other animals.

ILDAF investigations have documented multiple violations over the past six years at Munich Biotech, and have repeatedly cited the corporation for unlawful neglect of dogs. To reduce costs, dogs have been found terribly emaciated and malnourished and many were discovered with untreated skin conditions and painful respiratory ailments. Earlier this year, ILDAF filed a complaint against Munich Biotech for 20 violations of the UN statute against Animal abuse, and the company could face a 600,000 € penalty.

In response to the investigations, Munich Biotech has released almost a thousand of its mistreated animals into the custody of ILDAF employees. If you are interested in adopting one of these dogs, please contact the ILDAF rescue office at 011 44 20 2055 5379 in London, England.

Three years after the article was written, it remained stuck to the refrigerator, faded yellow now but it never ceased to draw Sven's eye when he walked by it. And it wasn't because it was stuck to the refrigerator as Melissa frequently accused. Sven looked at it a moment, feeling the flood of nightmares lurking below the surface of his mind, took a breath and turned away from it.

Padding into the small apartment living room, Sven saw Melissa sitting on the sofa watching BBC world news. Wood planks creaked in complaint to Sven's weight as he walked in, but he paid no heed, instead clambering up onto the empty space on the sofa and unceremoniously tossing his head into Melissa's warm lap. Melissa barely reacted to the large dog's entrance and once he'd settled, she obliged him with a hand between his ears and petted him softly down his thick neck.

Sven glanced at the television. He'd been napping in his bedroom and what Mike Embley was now saying about American overreaches in Pakistan went barely registered. "What are you researching today, Misses?" he said in clear, but warped English. The shape of his mouth prevented any attempt to enunciate the language properly, but even so a faint german accent carried through or so Melissa told him.

"Anything interesting." said Melissa to the black labrador currently masquerading poorly as a lapdog. "And I do wish you'd stop calling me that. It's not as though we are married."

Sven chortled and pushed his head deeper into Melissa's fingers. "We might as well be." The labrador did not have to mention how his existence as an intelligent, genetically manipulated dog complicated his life somewhat. "Were else do I have to go?"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic." said Melissa and she rose, pushing Sven's glossy black head away gently. She moved into the kitchen and began making herself a cup of tea from the electric kettle. She quickly returned and sat on the arm of the recliner, surrendering the sofa to Sven's bulk. "That helpless puppy dog talk wore off two years ago."

Sven lifted his head from his stretching and looked at Melissa, cocking his head and canting his ears just so. "You cannot say that you don't find this irresistibly cute."

Melissa laughed. "Cute? You're much too old to be cute anymore. Now that new Golden Retriever on Redfern road I've seen out walking..."

"She is a tramp and a whore!" growled Sven, black dander rising. Memories of past introductions and subsequent rejections stung the great hound. Melissa chuckled and set her tea aside, coming up to plant a kiss on Sven's forehead.

"I'm only teasing. You're the only man I need in my life." said the woman who'd adopted the Labrador after the darkest days of his life. Sven said nothing and only relaxed into her grip. How he wished the words were true.

Melissa spent another half an hour flipping through news channels. It was a slim hope of finding something interesting to latch on to. The news on television these days was fast, dirty and shallow as damp on concrete and it was not the stories themselves that Melissa was looking for but the stories between the stories reported. What were they leaving out? Where might an investigative reporter be needed?

Sven did his best to follow along, but Melissa honestly had more talent for this sort of task. Idly, he wondered why Melissa was looking at all. After breaking the story in Munich Melissa had achieved an unknown level of fame and been given a weekly column. It paid enough to live comfortably, but still, every so often she got these urges to go back to investigation. It didn't help that Sven had proven so useful an accomplice to the last several missions. A certain unsettled worry blossomed in Sven's considerable tummy, feeling sure that they were soon to go abroad again and into uncertain conditions. All Sven wanted was comfort. Comfort and his books and music of course.

Melissa switched off the flatscreen with a violent swipe of the remote control. She washed her cup in the sink and as Sven was rising, poked her head back into the living room. "How do you feel about a walk?"

Sven had actually been thinking about putting on his headset and listening to a little Bach or perhaps Led Zeppelin. He stretched and yawned. "Right now?" he asked, hoping.

But his hopes were dashed as Melissa got her coat. "I want to get a newspaper."

Sven walked around behind Melissa to where she now stood in the tiny foyer, just an alcove between the front door of the apartment and the living room. "You can get a newspaper on the tablet you know." Said the dog, but knowing that she wouldn't listen.

"Call me old fashioned, but I want to hold something in my hand. And maybe I'll catch on to some of the local gossip." said the reporter, now slipping into her sensible boots.

"Old fashioned." said Sven, sitting and cocking his head up at the woman. She paid him no heed and instead began opening the door. It wasn't raining, but the concrete was still dark with damp. "You know, your feet don't have to get wet and cold when you go out." said the Labrador.

"Oh, stop complaining. You could use a walk." said Melissa, revealing her insidious real reason to bring Sven along. But the Labrador did not intend to bring up the losing argument now so he meekly trundled along behind Melissa and pulled the door closed by the rope hanging from the handle.

About a mile up the road from the apartment, Sven was huffing along behind his 'owner.' His furry flanks wobbled and the tank of his belly bounced as he stepped on the wet stone of the sidewalk. He was undeniably obese, and in fact weighed quite a lot more than Melissa herself at just under 200 lbs. The thing was that he liked it that way and despite the fact that he'd confessed his preferences to Melissa over three months ago, she simply assumed he was going through a phase of some kind or was simply too lazy to exercise. "You'll feel better if you lose some weight, Sven." She'd only tell him. And his argument that he wouldn't be feeling so bad if she didn't force him to exercise only fell on conveniently deaf ears.

Sven wasn't sure why he enjoyed the round curves of his distended body, the way the flesh filled out and softened him and the feeling of the extra fatty softness on him when he was sitting down or relaxing. He supposed it had to do with living with off and on starvation for the first two years of his life, with fighting for the meager mouthfuls thrown out to the hordes of hungry, bright eyed dogs and with not being certain he would be alive next month when his belly caved in and hunger was like a shade of death sitting beside him, waiting for his strength and his will to fade away into nothing. That perhaps accounted for the feeling of security the extra flesh was beholden to, but it did not account for Sven's secret fantasies of still more bulk swaddling him.

Not that he was particularly enjoying his extra fluffiness right now as it bounced around him in the give of his loose Labrador skin. Puffing, Sven had no choice but to keep pace with Melissa. If he fell too far behind, the appearance would be odd and he might be mistaken for a stray despite the bright red collar he wore (at least he was told it was red, to him it appeared only black). The fact that he wasn't on a leash was sometimes mentioned to Melissa off handedly, but in this neighborhood hardly anyone took offense. Sven was of course a model canine citizen.

Sven was panting by the time they reached the coffee shop and trying to shake off a growing cramp in this left thigh. He sat down promptly underneath an umbrella and table. It was dry at least, but the cement was still cold against his tummy where it rested against it when he sat.

"Feeling the burn yet, Sven?" asked Melissa peering down at him in his little private hell.

Sven gaped open mouthed, but he managed, "Just... go get... your newspaper." He had little to fear for people reacting to his speech. The way the language was deformed in his mouth and throat, most people did not even recognize his yodeling whine for English when they heard it.

Melissa didn't respond. Partly because it was still strange to have a full conversation with a dog and no one needed attention drawn to Sven's manner of speech. But mostly, the dog suspected it was because Melissa didn't like seeing evidence that her friend was out of shape. Despite all the way she'd come in recognizing him as a person rather than a dog, she seemed to still take personal responsibility for his fitness as if he were a trained beast and expected to perform in some way.

But as she went inside the shop and Sven sat recovering outside in the blessedly chill air, he couldn't feel very upset at her for doing this to him, despite the increasing frequency of these sorts of walks and the increasing milage of the destinations Melissa set. In the shop everyone she knew was going to remind her of her beloved 'sausage-dog' and however benign or well intentioned the comment, every one struck her either an over-indulgent owner or even a neglectful and irresponsible one.

Sven kept an eye on Melissa through the shop's broad glass. It wasn't too crowded, but there were a couple clusters of Britons chatting while sipping their steaming brew. The reporter bought her newspaper and a cup, but these were mostly pretense. She was here to mine the people, not the paper. When the Labrador had calmed down enough not to provoke a scene, he heaved himself up, straightened the hair on the back of his neck against a chair leg and crept stealthily in through the open door.

Humans tend to think that they are pretty observant creatures, but Sven has found that this is not usually the case. Sure, a dog coming in through the front door of a shop might be noticed if no one else is about, but once you through in a few people, especially people all talking with one another and no body notices movement at about thigh level. Even a 200 lb Labrador can become invisible pretty easily. That is unless the side of your gut happens to bang against someone's shin.

The man started, but Sven ducked quickly around the side of the counter. Scrambling, he reached Melissa's side and sat his plump rump down at her feet, breathing quickly through his nose. She was engaged in conversation, but she acknowledged Sven's presence with a hand gently grasping his right ear.

In the next pause, she said, "Sven, have you been causing trouble?"

The Labrador shook his head exaggeratedly for the benefit of the group.

"That is a marvelous canine you have there, Ms. Johanna." said an elderly gentleman with a rich white mustache. "Is this one of the rescued german dogs?"

Melissa answered in the affirmative and began to recite the tale of her inspection of the facility, which was largely a lone effort on her part as Munich Biotech's reputation in the sciences at the time was unprecedented, my discovery and adoption. She flipped over the ear she was holding to reveal the tattoo that remained from my days of hunger and confinement. "#89-9002" read the number in green ink which I'd only ever seen in a mirror. I didn't mind the display because I took the opportunity to sniff the man's pant leg, performing my own chemical analysis on his skin and clothing. Tobacco, grass and street water for the most part, and under that oily residue of skin odor, unique to every human or dog that I'd ever known. Maybe a bit more oily than usual, but I supposed that might have been simply due to old age.

A hand was lowered onto my head that wasn't Melissa's. A strong urge to fling his head back or bite struck Sven, but he controlled himself, showing no outward reaction. "What an amazing beast, if I may say so to have survived such hardship." His hand went lower, playing with the dog's thick neck folds, "And if I may say so, his constitution seems not at all affected now by previous meanness."

Melissa tittered, "That is very nice of you to say, Mr. Haysmith. Sven has an excellent 'constitution.'" Sven could hear the quotations in her voice, "I've never had any problems with him during his recovery. All he needed was some love and decent kindness."

Mr. Haysmith tugged at his jacket collars and shared a knowing smile with Melissa. "I used to have a Labrador during my service days and he had a rambunctious appetite as well. My secret was garlic and I've always sworn by it. Just add a bit to his food and that'll slow him down and let him fill up normally."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." said Melissa who, knowing Sven's rapacity for italian food, would know better than to attempt any such thing on him.

The shop was torn through with a sudden uproar from the little crowd near the television. Four men were jumping up and hollering while the announcer on screen described a game winning goal of the football match between Brazil and Ireland. Immediately the coffee shop owner began protesting that this establishment was not a pub.

Melissa, never one to ignore any potential source for a lead wandered over. Sven looked up at Haysmith who gave me a departing thump on my shoulder along with a smile and went to follow her.

The four men were not true hooligans, but their excitement and energy nearly matched one. "I can't believe it worked!" one man was saying over and over again.

"Gentlemen." Melissa said in a friendly way as she walked in among them, "I'm surprised to see you rooting for the Brazilians this morning."

"We normally don't" said the first man. "In fact we usually root for the Hungarians." Sven looked up and did note by the slight variances in facial features that they were indeed out-of-towners.

"But we got a tip that the Brazilians would win today and we all put down 200 quid on Brazil."

"Two to one baby! Brazil's top mid fielder is out with a bum knee, but they still won." said the third man who looked like his coffee this morning had more than coffee in it.

Melissa's eyebrows lifted dangerously. 'Jeez, now she's interested.' Thought Sven with some horror. Sports were utterly non interesting to the canine. "And what sort of tip did you guys have, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Top secret baby." said the third man leaning in. I put myself between the man and Melissa, not making a sound but my croup did flow over her toes when I sat. Melissa often referred to Sven as her unbidden chaperon, well he wasn't about to argue when the definition was sound.

However another person spoke from the gathering crowd, the men were noisy and Melissa was something of a local celebrity. "Are you guys talking about the prediction made by that samoan dog?"

Melissa turned her head sharply and extracted the toes of her shoes out from under the intruding flab of the black dog. "What samoan dog?"

The man backed up a step, either unwilling or surprised to be questioned. He shook his coat with one hand while saying to the floor, "Well, you know that internet thing. The dog that predicts the future."

Melissa knew better than to press a reluctant source. She turned to the most sober of the four original men. "Is that true?" She asked with a practiced tone, not accusing, merely curious.

The man hesitated for a moment, perhaps wondering at the legality of betting on advice from a psychic canine. Then he admitted, "Actually, that's right. Someone asked the dog last week who would win the championships today and it said Brazil. They post all the predictions on the website."

Melissa grinned, "That sounds just like that octopus thing from the 2000's."

"That's right, except that this samoan dog has a much better track record for predictions so far."

Melissa turned, now seeing Haysmith joining the group. She cocked her head and the elderly man continued, "They consider the beast to be divinely inspired."

One of the men laughed, "Is that what they're calling it? I've seen the video of the thing picking the winner. Dog makes poor Sven here look like a stick!"

"Hm?" inquired Melissa, clearly at a loss.

The man clarified, "That samoan dog is enormous. It can't even walk, they've fattened it so much. Poor devil."

Melissa furrowed her eyebrows, "If it's so large then how can it predict the future?"

Haysmith answered, "They place two bowls of food in front of the dog. The one it finishes first is assumed to be the choice that will come true." As Melissa was still digesting this, he added, "It is my understanding that the dog's size is regarded as part of the divine inspiration."

"Huh, I never would have thought." said Melissa, then she turned back to Haysmith. "Do you have the website? I'd like to check this out for myself."

"Of course." said the man and ripped off a piece of napkin to jot down the code.

One long and arduous trip back to the apartment left Sven sprawled out on the living room floor and Melissa all but diving for her computer. Anything remotely animal abuse related set her dander up and Sven didn't expect to hear anything from her for at least the next hour. At the very least, this piece of gossip had prevented Melissa from selecting any other destinations which would have extended the walk perhaps beyond the portly Labrador's limits.

Sven found himself awaking from a light doze two hours later. He rose, legs burning and stretched. After lapping some much needed water from his pleasant filtration fountain bowl, he wandered into Melissa's study. She was still hunched over the screen of her computer. Sven blinked. Then he said, "Are you still looking at that Samoan dog thing?"

"Yes." said Melissa vaguely.

Sven waited, but no reply came, more fear quivered up his broad back. It was always like this with her, right before. "Is there a lot of information on the dog?" Sven tried again.

"No, there isn't." said Melissa and the turned in her chair to face Sven. The Labrador straightened up a bit as she went on, "I've been verifying the predictions posted on the website and cross referencing them to try to find out if any of them were post dated."

"Is it fake?" asked Sven.

"As far as I can tell no, it's all true, these predictions. And with a 92% accuracy on 52 predictions no less." Melissa turned partially and swept her hand at the computer, "In fact, it looks like there's something of a cult following surrounding this dog. They've built a temple for it and it all seems very hush hush, at least when it comes to anything they don't post themselves on the website."

Sven snorted, "Have the Americans recognized this cult as a religion?"

"No, and that's what's odd about it. It's almost like they are receiving inside help to keep any information from leaking out about their group. The only information I've been able to track down is on the social media sites. No tax info, no business charter, nothing public, except their website."

Sven cocked his head, "How many views is it getting?"

"Two million a day, if their ticker is at all accurate, but they may be puffing up their numbers." said Melissa and took to rubbing her chin with two delicate fingers.

"And the dog?" asked Sven, touching the woman's knee with his nose.

Melissa exhaled, "Doesn't exist before the predictions started. I've checked the videos. There's no doubt that the dog is being forcibly fed. Look."

Melissa invited Sven to set his forepaws on her lap and look up at the screen. She let out a breath as he put his weight on her and looked at a truly astounding looking dog.

The mastiff was not the fattest dog Sven had ever seen. On a previous abuse case, he'd had the misfortune to discover a 500 lb great dane who'd been trapped all its life in the basement of some drunk's house in eastern France. The poor dane had been left to stew in about an inch of its own improperly drained waste while whole bags of food were opened up and thrown down to it every week. The dane had been living like that for almost 10 years, it'd been 14 years old.

However, the mastiff on the screen now was nearly as huge and was the cleanest, youngest case of such epic obesity Sven had ever seen either in life or the internet during one of his frequent searches. The signs around the video advertised the dog's weight as 600 lbs, but that was purely exaggeration. In his expert opinion, the dog could not have weighed more than 480 lb. but that was a still a princely sum. The dog rested on what appeared to be an altered skateboard of some kind. Obviously the animal could not support its own weight, but the wheels made it possible for it to scoot around a little. But more frequently, a handler would appear and shove the dog towards the waiting bowls for the prediction.

From the nose to the base of the neck, the dog was a mass of black and then tan wrinkles. Sven could hardly tell where its head ended and the neck began, if it could even be called a neck when the girth flowed so smoothly into the torso. Fat ballooned around sunken limbs so that only the paws were visible dangling for the most part like vestigial organs. The great belly was pressed flat against the board and swelled out into wide flanks which over matched the hips by a wide degree. The hind-legs hung limply over the swell of belly meat supporting the hindquarters. Obviously the dog received a lot of maintenance to sport such a clean and - relatively - heathy appearance.

Sven slid off of Melissa somewhat reluctantly, but he'd already noted the website so he could browse it later at his leisure. "Think it's abuse?" Sven asked her instead.

"Definitely." said Melissa with dangerous enthusiasm. "They say that the mastiff ate his way to that size naturally, but that's just bullshit. Either the dog has an untreated medical condition or they are doping it with appetite stimulants or worse."

Sven reached up his head to look at the screen again, "Says there that they've done tests. No drugs."

"More bullshit." Melissa declared, ready to begin ranting at the drop of a hat now. "Naturally they'll only do drug tests they know the dog can pass. They know that any evidence that this is not some sort of divine inspiration and their whole con collapses."

Twisting his head, Sven was just able to scratch his ear past the thickness of his midsection. "I don't see how they make any money by sending out free predictions."

Melissa raised a finger, "But that's just it. They give out the predictions for free, but if you want to ask a question, that costs money. It costs even more money to make a private reading. You know they are making a killing off of people signing up for stock market predictions and the like. It's a huge scam and they are doing it at the expense of this poor dog they've inflated just so the native people would take it more seriously."

Sven closed his eyes, thinking about what it might be like having all that extra flab clinging to himself under his black coat. "Maybe he likes it like that."

Melissa turned back from the computer, "Maybe what?"

Sven spoke as clearly as he could, "Maybe the dog likes it. Did you think of that?"

Melissa scoffed. "Of course he doesn't like it. You saw the video. How would you like to be as big as that and can't even walk?"

The dog cleared his throat and looked at her directly.

She threw up her hands. "This is serious, Sven! I know you don't care for exercise, but for all we know, they are holding down this dog after each video so it can't move and pumping it full of food at odd hours.

Sven licked his chops, fantasies coming again unbidden. However, all he said was, "I hope you aren't considering investigating this yourself."

Melissa crossed her arms. "And if I was?"

He growled softly, "You know this isn't important enough to be worth your trouble. Our trouble. Going to the other side of the planet to badger a man about his fat mastiff. There's worse people out there doing worse things to more dogs."

Melissa was silent for a long moment, then she lowered her face and looked across the study. The Labrador followed her eyes as they eventually landed on a small memento on the bookshelf, a too-small dirtied plastic dog collar bearing the numbers: 89-9002. "One dog being abused is too many. Where would you be if I believed otherwise." she intoned.

It hurt Sven that she would stoop to such lows as to hold that over him, but he could not in good faith reply to that. The dog walked out of her study and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with his teeth on the hanging rope.

Inside, Sven walked up the steps to his bed and lifted the headset in his mouth. He laid down on his back and carefully manipulated the apparatus into place with his clumsy paws. He pulled up the hanging MP3 player by the cord and with some trial and error, worked the touchscreen with his nose. Rock and Roll obliterated the outside world for a time.

Sven saw but did not hear Melissa step into his room an indeterminate amount of time later. She sat on her knees before his bed and carefully removed the blasting headset and set it back on the bed stand. He did not resist her.

She spoke softly, "I'm not going to say that I understand completely what it's like being you." He regarded her softly, "But I get that you like the way things are now. I've had to fight you more and more each time we've gone on an expedition." She turned her head, obviously gathering strength, then returned, placing a hand on the black Labrador. "You like the stability. A lot of people do, but I'm not one of those people, Sven. I feel... cooped up in here. I feel like a useless cog in a giant machine, but when I'm out there, on the edge, I feel like I can make a difference." She let go of another breath, "When I'm out there, it's the only time I really feel alive. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Her fingers pressed more deeply into him. Oh, how he wished she would take him into her arms. "Yes." Sven breathed. "I do understand."

Melissa rose and collected herself. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to, Sven. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want you to come. I've always needed you, ever since you came home to me. I'm half the journalist without you."

She turned to go, but found the dog already at her feet, tail wagging slowly back and forth. "My place is with you. I have no other."

Melissa grinned sadly down at the dog and rested a hand on his neck, then she walked ahead, intending to make some phone calls.

Melissa naturally had little trouble convincing her editor to let her cover the story. She had her reputation behind her and the sensation of the future predicting, fattened samoan dog was becoming viral internationally at a rapid pace. "This is an internet burst piece, Sven." she said to Lab as she packed her bags, unknowingly reusing some of the words her editor had spoken to her. "It could all be over and done with in as little as a few weeks, so we have to leave tonight."

Sven was resting his forelegs on the bed, watching Melissa do the packing. Naturally he couldn't help. "If it's over in a few weeks, that'll mean we can return all the sooner." he remarked.

Melissa ignored Sven's comment, but she did say. "I really don't think it's going to be that bad this time, Sven. Besides..." she dug around in her closet and extracted a little used yellow bikini. "We're going to Hawaii. People kill to go to Hawaii."

Sven watched her move around the room evenly. "People don't have to wear fur coats to Hawaii."

Melissa sniffed and ignored the dog, packing down one suitcase and starting on a second, adding a few more of Sven's things to this one, including a couple books, his MP3 player and a much abused rawhide. "I got regular commission for you as an assistant." She said cursorily. Most of the higher ups in ILDAF knew exactly what Sven was and their moral code led them to extend him certain privileges, even though as his case was unique, it was highly recommended to everyone that he not start civil rights cases based on his exception. They were, perhaps more coldly intellectual about his reality than Melissa was, but they had been more than willing to start paying him a fair wage one he'd helped Melissa with her first case after adopting the former lab animal. "However, I had to commandeer the corporate jet. I simply could not find an airline that would take a take a dog over 100 lb. across two oceans."

Sven hunched a bit, trying to make his bulky body as small as possible. "Ouch, how much did that cost?"

"Never you mind. You're far more valuable than mere pounds."

Sven would have felt more comfortable had he not known for sure that he had cost Melissa far more than his mere weight in terms of money. He exhaled though, feeling comforted by the thought of riding in the private jet. Frequently the worst experience in his journalistic career had been the transportation. "At least you are not required kennel me?" he said, albeit cautiously.

Melissa laughed, "No, this time you'll be in the cabin with us." That came as a another tremendous relief. "Lily will be joining us. It happens that she's reporting on dolphin research happening at the University of Hawaii. Between the two of us, we'll have you feeling practically human."

Sven grinned a dog's grin. He appreciated the effort and the honest enthusiasm, but in his experience, no matter how one trussed things up for his convenience, there was always a barrier between him and what he would have called 'human.' "When are we leaving?" asked the dog.

Melissa slammed the lid down on the second suitcase and hauled both of them into the hallway. "Forty-five minutes."

An ILDAF employee was already waiting outside by the time that Melissa had locked up her apartment. Both human and dog hopped into the back of the car and shortly they both were walking up a staircase into an idling jet, their bags being taken and loaded on even as they stepped up into the cabin. For Sven, this was a new experience. The only other times he had flown in a jet, he had had to be locked into a plastic kennel and tossed into the freezing low pressure cargo area in the belly of the airplane, typically for many miserable hours. These times had been surprising rare given the nature of Melissa's work. But usually the story was located in Europe and could be fairly easily reached by ferry and automobile, which was a much more sensible way to travel in the dog's humble opinion.

Lily was already seated on one of the comfortable looking leather seats inside the cabin. She jumped up when she saw Melissa. "Melly!" she exclaimed in her high tenor and hugged the brown haired woman stepping into the cabin.

After several high pitched minutes of catching up, Sven found himself seated against the window beside Melissa while Lily sat across the aisle. The airplane rumbled as it began its terrific sprint down the runway. The dog closed the window. The noise was more bearable than below in the cargo area, but he had no desire to see the ground rushing by so quickly nor when it would inevitably fall away entirely. He leaned instead against Melissa, the arm rest up between them as it was not needed.

The reporter wrapped an arm around the large dog, but kept her head turned towards Lily. "It's fortunate I called when I did. I didn't know you were going to Hawaii. What's this I hear about dolphins?"

Lily had already reclined her seat despite the usual restrictions during take of and had her arms behind her head. She lowered these, however as the force of acceleration began to press all three of them into the backs of their seats. "They have made a breakthrough in dolphin communication, or at least that's what the publication they submitted claims. Using hydrophones, they can record and translate what the dolphins are saying now, or so they claim."

"And do the dolphins have anything to say?" asked Melissa with guarded curiosity, but she gripped Sven's plump shoulder more tightly.

The world seemed to tilt back as the plane lifted from the ground. Lily said something but it went unheard over the roar of the engines. She waved her hand in apology and settled back.

The jet was a high altitude variety of the sort that had been inconveniently expensive back in the late 20th century. When they had finally reached their cruising altitude and the noise of the jet engines had dropped to a low hum, the curvature of the horizon was readily apparent through the open windows. Sven did his best to look forward and inside the cabin, he knew he was prone to motion sickness.

"As I was saying," erupted Lily suddenly, "The dolphins have a lot to say. They have what could easily be called a tribal culture. The publication spouts it all out as scientific gobbledygook, that's why I'm going there to capture the heart of the story. This is big. It could be that the case for non-human personhood could be brought up again, and this time with serious scientific fact behind it. Why they may even be able to get the dolphins to speak for themselves on the matter."

"Well, how about that. All that time we spent looking for intelligence in the stars and here we find it beneath the waves instead." She fondly tussled the dog's ears, "But then I knew all about three years ago."

Lily leaned over in her chair to get a better look at the Labrador. "What do you think, Sven? This could mean big things for you too, especially if dolphins are recognized as non-human persons."

Sven had to consider the topic for several seconds. "I say that if they were all that smart, they would have done something about the whole being killed thing many years ago."

Both women moaned. Lily spouted, "Sven, how could you say such a thing? I mean..." And she gestured towards him with both hands.

Melissa had withdrawn her hand and that stung worse than Lily's words, but Sven leaned over past her and regarded Lily, "I don't know what you mean. I am sure that I'm not a dolphin. It doesn't follow that I have to feel sorry for them." The dog stopped speaking, but the silence lingered. Because he thought there was more expected, Sven added, "I just know that if people were fishing for me, I'd make sure I wasn't caught."

Lily opened her mouth like she wanted to protest with a very well informed argument, but Melissa shot the other woman a look and she pressed her mouth into a thin line. Instead, Melissa said, "Well, maybe dolphin intelligence doesn't match humans' on all levels. I'm certainly interested in what they might have to say about the fishing industry."

"Well these dolphins wouldn't have been exposed to direct hunting." said Lily haltingly. "Some wild dolphins have been consulted using the technology, but since the worldwide ban on dolphin hunting, the only experience with hunting they would know would have to come from the memory of older dolphins or passed on stories."

The talk of dolphins and the history of their activism went on without anymore input from Sven. That was perfectly fine for the dog. He didn't hate dolphins, he just did not find them particularly interesting.

The inflight movie ate more time and then all three passengers got up and walked over to the bar for lunch. Melissa ordered a BLT, Lily took the simple Alfredo and Sven got ham and cheese on sour dough. They shared and laughed over cocktails after. Two fingers of good whiskey got Sven feeling very warm on the cheeks and he warmed up to Lily, but suspected that half the time his words went only partially understood. Even so, Sven thought that Lily made better society than most, admittedly, the dog's circle of friends who knew him as anything more than a bright eyed, fatty Labrador could have been counted on two paws.

The flight was scheduled to be 16 hours long, but it seemed to Sven that they spent days up in the air. Sleep was short and light and he ate snacks constantly. Even for Melissa and Lily, the trip seemed to drag on, especially after the third in flight movie and they'd gotten quiet taking to reading books or playing games on their phones. Sven had an adventure figuring out how to use the lavatory, but fortunately, there was a second one on board and he was not pressured for time. The dog began to feel queasy and ill towards the end and antacids helped only marginally. Combating a severe headache, Sven was thankful to see the 'return to your seats' sign ignite overhead for the last time and the captain declare that they were beginning their final descent.

A wave of heat washed over Sven and light poured into the door frame that was brilliant and blinding. He tip toed down the ramp after the departing women looking up at crystal blue skies and lush colors that screamed in defiance of his limited visual palette. He was open mouthed and pushing air over his hot tongue before they had even gotten their luggage off of the plane.

They both had to bid farewell to Lily right away as she was destined for one of the smaller islands in the archipelago. Sven was sorrier to see her go than he wanted to admit. He was again alone in a strictly human world, Melissa his only guide and friend.

The reporter flagged down a taxi and gave the dark skinned man the address to their hotel, a small bed and breakfast joint in Peal City the suburb where their target temple and supposed cult resided. Sven sagged down to the floor when he had walked up the stone steps and crossed the threshold into air-conditioned relief. He did not suppose that he had ever been so hot in his life. Melissa lugged up their bags behind him.

She exhaled as she leaned her bags up right. Looking down at the heaving dog, she asked quietly, "Are you alright?"

"Hot... hot..." panted Sven. It was all he could say.

Melissa looked down at the dog then lifted the laminated map of the island in her hand, then back down. "Sven, we've hardly even gone anywhere. The temple is a two mile walk from here."

Sven shook his head slowly, the breath returning now in the cool air, "It's too hot."

A look of concern crossed Melissa's face, but Sven didn't see it. She left him there and proceeded to their room, down a short hallway. Once the keys had been handed over, she retrieved her still panting companion and led him gingerly to the single king sized bed. Sven jumped up onto the thin floral pattern sheets and laid down on the edge, leaving his head hanging and tongue flapping while his body made a deep depression in the soft mattress.

Melissa closed the door behind them and opened the suitcase, pulling out things and filling the drawers and closet. As she did this, she said, "I hope you're not faking, Sven."

Sven closed his mouth, looked up incredulously for a moment, then resumed panting. "I am not faking. Out in the sun, it's like everything's on fire."

Melissa paused and fingered the coat of the black, shaggy, grossly obese Labrador. "You're going to die of heat stroke out there." she said in a tone that made it sound like it was a conscious choice on Sven's part.

Sven was tempted strongly to point out that this might be a good reason to return and spare him a slow and painful death, but he remembered that he was the one who had insisted on coming along. "I'm sorry that the fact my species was built for colder climates is spoiling your tropical holiday."

The woman slapped his softened flank. "Don't be a martyr. But we're going to have to do something." she fingered the thick, soft pelt again. "You're going to have to get a hair cut."

Sven's ears perked up in alarm. "A what?"

"A shave." Melissa said now running her fingers back and forth through the black fur. "Yes... I think that's just the thing."

The brute logic of the suggestion availed itself to the long haired dog, but the viceral reaction to imagining himself undergoing such a process was intolerable. Sven jumped off the bed, moving to the far side of the room where sliding glass doored opened to a small, low walled patio, and the heat beyond. "No, no, no. I will not do any such thing."

"It'll grow back." said Melissa soothingly, but now Sven was tossing his head back and forth, trying in vain to see a way past the inevitable. The reporter sat on the bed blithely and watched him squirm, pacing back and forth across the small, cozy room. While Sven growled softly under his breath, Melissa added, "You'll feel ever so much more comfortable without all the hair."

In spite, Sven half barked, "Why don't you go shave your head as well?"

Melissa crossed her arms. "I would go shave my head if I thought it would make you feel any better." Sven paused and looked at her, she added, "But I don't suppose they would let me anywhere near that samoan dog if I showed up a cueball."

Sven regarded her silently, sitting up and looked at her face. She was quite serious. The Labrador hung his head, feeling ashamed for his tantrum. "Can you possibly find someone who will be gentle with the clippers?"

Melissa did and more besides. Sven found himself emerging from the canine spa feeling clean, refreshed and about ten pounds lighter. The cutting itself had been almost trivial in the end. They ran him over with the clippers, dropping great heaps of black tuft onto the linoleum floor while Melissa was out shopping to supplement her poor supply of tropical attire. They bathed him, clipped and ground his claws then styled the fur on his face and his tail, smoothing the unclipped head and tail fur in with the nearly skin close shave of the rest of his body. They perfumed him, which Sven thought suited the humans around him more than he himself and 'massaged' him. The massage was a treat Melissa had paid extra for, but in reality it amounted to little more than a common back rub and a few minutes of a man rotating and popping his leg joints.

Sven sat blithely through the experience, enjoying as much of the pampering as he could. Melissa was the one who usually bathed him when needed, but she wasn't a professional groomer after all. Without the heavy coat, the air was able to pass over his skin and indeed the heat did not feel so stifling, but the loss of the coat left no illusions as to the state of his figure. Even Sven himself was a little surprised to actually see how deep his belly hung and how thickly smeared with pudge his ribs were. Some carnel aspect of his hidden fantasy was delighted to have his fat highlighted in such an indecorous way.

Melissa returned with bags in tow and had nothing to but praise to give at Sven's transformation. A mild comment by the dog led to pictures he knew he might fancy later and then the reporter was attaching his leash to his collar. There was no need to provoke anyone here unnecessarily. Sven helped carry the bags when Melissa tied the hand loops together and threw them over his broad back like a pack mule's. They then walked down to the beach, which was less than half a mile away from the spa.

The heat was still intense, but it was tolerable now and the smell of salt spray on the wind was invigorating, much different from London bay. The golden sand of the Honolulu beach was like warm powdered sugar on the Labrador's paws. Literally hot-stepping down to the water, Sven threw himself into the ocean which was alarming in that it was only cool, not especially cold as he'd been expecting. Melissa watched for several minutes, but before she could so much as lay down a towel for herself, one of the lifeguards was stepping stiffly over to her from the nearby tower.

"This is not a dog beach, Ma'm." said the lifeguard in accented english.

What else could Melissa do? She apologized and summoned the paddling black dog from the surf and walked back onto the street, leaving behind wet dog tracks as they did. She called a cab that took them both back to their inn and proceeded to call up the temple to schedule appointments for the following day.

Despite the abbreviated beach romp, Sven found his muscles abused for the strain of walking about town and welcomely retreated into the soft embrace of the mattress. The rumble of the window air conditioning unit sent much needed chill air across the dog's back and for the first time, he was willing to accept that Hawaii might have been only a little worse than Italy had been.

"How is the haircut suiting you?" Melissa asked that evening as they ate traditional Hawaiian fair on the patio beside the small pool in the back of the inn.

Sven looked up from destroying a plate of pineapple and ham. Jowls dripping grease, he said, "For the climate, it's alright. Better than a kick in the rump at least."

Melissa rolled her eyes and stuck her fork into her rice. "You aren't going to admit that you like it here even a little bit are you?"

Sven slowly turned his head over to the little pool, which was blue and amber with the underwater lights and the setting sun. "I might like it a little better if I could get a few laps in the pool."

Melissa snorted and crunching bit into a spring roll. She had to bribe the inn keeper, but in the end she did make it happen. The reporter slipped into something altogether more revealing than Sven was used to seeing on Melissa that she had purchased that afternoon and slid in with the black dog who was already floating languidly in the cool, chlorinated water.

Melissa revived him somewhat with the addition of a set of irresistible pool rings and a game of splash that she instigated but Sven ultimately won with his thick otter's tail. The swimming wore down the last of Sven's reserves and they showered together in the room to clean off the chlorine.

There was nothing particularly sexual about Melissa's nakedness as she scrubbed him down for the second time that day. To Sven, the reporter smelled nothing like a bitch in heat and the shape of her anatomy was entirely dissimilar in all but the meanest senses. But the desire for closeness was genuine and went further than could be accounted for by mere friendship. Sven felt more at peace with Melissa's hands flowing over his thick body than at any other time. It was enough to make him believe, really believe, that he was safe and secure... at last.

Sven was awakened from the foot of Melissa's bed by the buzzing and chiming of her smartphone. The dog yawned hugely and cleaned himself with his tongue while Melissa hurriedly got herself dressed.

"Canary yellow?" asked Sven incredulously looking at the dress the reporter was pulling on.

Suddenly Melissa looked self conscious. "Do you think it's too much?"

Sven rolled his eyes. "Only if you want to be the brightest blooming object on the street."

Melissa put the dress down on the writing table and looked at the now streamlined dog. "Well, what would you pick?"

Sven hopped down and wordlessly pointed at something in the closet.

"I'm not putting that on, I'll look frumpy in front of those people."

Sven exhaled. "If you don't like it, why did you bring it?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know how people dress around here. Now, stop it, I'm not wearing that hideous thing."

Sven let himself drop heavily from where he'd reared up against the wall beside the closet. He licked his chops as Melissa selected the red outfit from the new ones bought yesterday and attached the leash. She paused only long enough to brush her teeth and they were out the door and into the early morning air.

The air was actually pleasant to the newly shaven canine and he actually enjoyed the walk outside, looking at the palms and other strange tropical plants waving in the moderate breeze. However, the enjoyment was overmatched by aching in his hind-legs. The walk to the temple where the samoan dog was kept was almost entirely uphill.

A mile into the walk, Sven panted, "And why is it that we couldn't hail a cab?"

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to call a taxi for such a short walk." Melissa said.

Sven said nothing. He was only complaining to complain.

The obese Labrador just made it inside the heavy wooden doors of the complex, which sat at the apex of an unnecessarily long stone stairway surrounded by local flora, without collapsing and requiring veterinary action.

They were immediately greeted by a heavyset brown skinned man wearing nothing more than a simple linen tunic and loose white trousers. Melissa began apologizing for Sven's devolution, but the receptionist waved her off without a word. He said something fast in samoan to another man standing in the doorway of a large adjacent room and not a minute passed before a large bowl of cool water was brought up for Sven.

The Labrador lapped noisily as Melissa made her introductions.