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Airedale

I never doubted Dolly would place high. Best of Breed at the very least. When it came to official conformation standards, my Airedale bitch made other dogs look like pigs and weasels.

The carriage of her ears and tail denoted her proud character. Her scalp was entirely free of wrinkles. Her body was strong and level with well-sprung ribs. She had well-bent stifles and muscular loins.

More importantly, she also had that special something. Intelligence. Charisma. Confidence, but not in a stand-offish way. You got the feeling she cared about you and wanted to lick your wounds and fix your problems.

At the end of the day, a plump woman in a blue blazer announced Dolly as Best in Show. Every dog in the arena turned over to display its belly in submission. Every human bowed on bended knee. Dolly remained standing. Her hindquarters were well muscled and let down at the hocks, turning neither in nor out. Her feet were well-arched and compact.

As Dolly's handler, it was my privilege to speak.

"My liege, we are yours to command. What is your bidding?"

She turned her muscular face toward me, her eyes dark and small and not excessively prominent and with no pink eyelid showing.

She spoke for all to hear. "Look upon me," she said. "You have bred a superior dog. You have judged me so. And now, we begin work on a superior breed of human."

I thought about my chipped front tooth and knew despair.

[Hear the podcast of this story at Escape Pod.]