When I Met Him In The Summer

Twelve

It is a dog cafe.

Of course it's a dog cafe. Like, a cafe where they serve dog treats. Not where people go to play with dogs as they eat.
Count on my dad to know someone eccentric enough to open an actual, fucking dog cafe.

The small bell above the door jingles and the girl at the counter looks up, and then around me and when she does not see a dog, pinches the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes and lets out an exhale loud enough for me to hear.

"Hello, welcome to the Wagging Mug. I'm sorry, this is a cafe for—" she drawls out in a slow monotone and stops when I shake my head at her. Boy, she probably has to do that a lot every damn day.

"I'm here for the job?" I say, and she looks me over as she chews her gum even louder.

"Why would you want to—cool. I'll go get the manager," she tells me with a smirk, and then disappears through a door.

I look around me while she is gone, and rub my arms to get rid of the goosebumps. Dad knows this, that I am terrified of pets. He really deserves the Father of the Year Award, for getting me a job working with dogs.

I look up and smile as she walks through the door, and then a man comes out after her. He looks just like someone you would expect to own a literal dog cafe, but I wonder how he could ever, in a million years, be friends with my dad.

He's dressed in an orange suit the color of Cheetos that matches his hair, a Mickey Mouse t-shirt under the jacket, a tie with angry, red suns on it, and giant, clown shoes.

"Uh, you must be Daniel! You came highly recommended. I mean dude, your dad could not stop praising you. Finally, we have someone who looks like they're supposed to work here," he says, and nods towards the girl, who has taken her place at the counter. She flips him off, but I see what he is talking about.

Until I walked in here, I did not even think people still did the whole emo-goth thing anymore.

"Ky will-"

"Don't call me that," she says to him, and he throws his hands up.

"Kyra will show you around, you work Tuesday through Thursday, eight a.m to four p.m, the pay is twelve dollars an hour," he says, and I nod.

"Well? Any questions?" he asks, and I shake my head. Usually "any questions" is a trap to find out how difficult you are... I'm going to let him find that out for himself.

"Atta boy. Be careful with that one, she's a biter," he says, claps my back, barks and bares his teeth at me, and then goes back through the door.

So eccentric.

"Grab an apron, a notepad, smile when you talk to the customers—yes, I mean the dogs, and get them their orders before they start howling. Here, you can practice," she says, shoving me towards the counter as the bell jingles and a couple walks in.

I shake my head no and fasten my apron around my waist as she holds her thumbs up at me and ducks into a door labelled break room.

Hi, welcome to the Wagging Mug. How can I help you today?" I say, and raise my eyebrows at how natural I sound.

"We'll just have our regular," the woman says, scratching her wolf-dog hybrid lovingly behind the ears, and I hold my breath nervously.

"I'm sorry, and what would that be?" I ask, without tearing my eyes from the dog. Is it true what everyone says? That they can smell fear?

"You don't know our regular? We come here everyday. How can you say you don't know our regular?" the woman asks, her voice getting agitated.

"Honey, just tell him what the order is," the man with her says, just as the door opens again and another giant dog, a Komondor walks through the door.

"No, honey. We are loyal customers, and we should be treated as such. I don't like to have to say I want two orders of Lolli Chews, Chewy sticks and a puppucino every time I walk in here. I would like to speak with your manager please," she says, and her husband shakes his head apologetically at me.

"Sorry, ma'am. It's my first day on the job, but I'll have your order right away," I tell her as I grab a paper bag and start stuffing it with her order.

As I ring it up, the dog, apparently tired of waiting hurls itself in my direction and before I know it, I'm lying on the floor with her gigantic dog on my chest, barking over my face. I let out a blood curdling shriek as the second dog leaps over the counter and also starts barking over my face.

"Stop screaming, Martin can smell fear," the woman says calmly from above me, but makes no move to remove her beast from where it stands, while the other dog's owner tries, to no avail to get her mutt to sit.

"Kyra! Kyra!" I scream, and the dogs just get the more agitated, and bark even louder. "Get them the hell off."

I wait, but Kyra does not come. My heart is beating so fast it's all I can hear, and probably all the dogs can hear too. With the last of my strength and before I piss myself, I grab the dog and hurl it aside, and stand up.

Before I can even get the tiny door separating the counter from the cafe open, through the corner of my eye, I see it, already in the air, leaping towards me, and then I feel its entire weight on me.

My legs give way and my head feels light as I fall to the ground, and then it drags it's tongue over my face, and everything goes black as I pass out.