“I suppose I should have thought this through. You will need many items. Well, these can be managed. We will consult.”
The dog licks the window.
“Dogs are very resilient. The Soviets sent dogs into space before they sent people.
“It’s sad. Those dogs died in space.”
The dog’s stomach growls and she works her mouth, chewing air.
“You’re very hungry. We will get you some food at the office. Excuse me, I will have a conversation with my colleague Daisuke about this now.”
She is talking to the dog in an absurd way; it is very interesting. Madoka feels reckless, impulsive, capable of anything.
Daisuke tells Madoka that she could use her screen’s magnetometer to read the dog’s microchip, if it has one. “Or you could take it to a shelter now. Hmmm. Is the dog calm? Is she dirty?”
Madoka says that the dog is quite dirty and seems calm.
“Oh, that’s good, actually,” Daisuke says. “Can you bring her here?”
The dog does not have a microchip. This means she is not lost, but abandoned, and Madoka is happy that she doesn’t have to relinquish her to an owner just yet, but sad for the burden of the dog’s past, the events that led her to a tunnel. She hopes the dog can forget.
Madoka’s jacket has a cloth belt, and she uses this as a leash, buckling it gingerly around the dog, who stares at her with wide eyes but does not panic, or run away. Madoka does not have to drag her, but they are not in movement accord, and her belt is not long enough for her to stand fully upright. People look and laugh when they see them, and this makes the dog nervous, but already she chooses to press herself against Madoka’s legs. She does pee on one of the Kochia bushes in front of her building. Anxious about what else the dog might produce, Madoka tries to move quickly. Once in the building, the dog sets her nose to the floor, and tugs at the belt, following an invisible trail like a near-sighted detective.
The doors of Daisuke’s lab are shut; a note pasted outside requests visitors to ring for admittance. The dog sniffs at the crack where the two doors meet and then takes a few steps back, nodding nervously at the portal.
“Oh sorry,” Daisuke says, opening one of the doors. “We keep that sign on when we are working with a non-ro.”
They exchange greetings. Madoka inexpertly works the belt leash in an effort to urge the dog forward.
Daisuke holds up a small pink dog biscuit.
“Here, girl,” he says, holding it low to the ground.
The dog lunges at the treat and swallows it whole.
“Very hungry.” Daisuke nods to an assistant, who comes forward with more biscuits. “Only a few more,” he cautions. “We don’t want her to be sick. Does she respond to commands?”
“I don’t know. I found her in the Higashiyama Tunnel.”
“Very nice of you to stop,” Daisuke says. “Most people don’t. Anyway, the reason I asked is we’re in proof-of-concept stage for a new pet bath. We have dogs coming in tomorrow, but they probably won’t be as dirty as this one. With your permission, we’d like to see how she responds.”
“Oh, I won’t be the owner.” Madoka waves her hand. “I don’t think I can keep her.” The moment Madoka says this out loud she knows she will absolutely keep the dog. “I travel constantly,” Madoka explains. “And my husband, you know, is away. Please, if the dog will be helpful to you for your test, I don’t mind waiting.”
Daisuke’s assistant replaces Madoka’s belt leash with a blue rubber collar attached to a length of some kind of tubing. The dog shivers. She is now surrounded by technicians with screens.
“For data purposes,” one of them says. “Let’s call her 27.”
27 is coaxed over to a stainless steel grooming station, complete with ramp and shower nozzles. To Madoka’s surprise, her dog scampers up the ramp without any prompting. The technicians angle a camera over the station and back away.
“Normally,” Daisuke says, “the pet owner’s face would appear on the screen, to be able to supervise the experience, and provide comfort and reassurance to the animal. But since we don’t have a name for this dog, and you have not had time for pet–human bonding, we’ll use this opportunity strictly as a test of cleaning functions. Can we get this dog clean?” Daisuke smiles at his team. He leads Madoka over to a corner screen. “We can watch from here.”
Madoka can see on the screen that her dog is at work on a yellow lump of something set into a wall of the tub. The stainless steel floor is speckled with colorful no-slip decals in the shape of animals. The blue tubing leash is now connected to the tub. Her dog’s tail is wagging.
“The leash is magnetic,” Daisuke explains. “The bones come in bacon or peanut butter flavor.” The sides of the station, set with spigots like a sauna, begin to send out gentle sprays of water. The dog flinches but does not look up, continues trying to tug the bone free from the wall.
“In the past, robotic pet-sitting was mostly about comfort surveillance,” Daisuke explains. “The owner might wish to check in on his pet while he was working, to make sure the pet was happy and content, or not engaging in destructive behavior. Also, people miss their pets and enjoy being able to communicate with them. Now our pet-sitters can engage in helpful tasks: food and water administration, mainly, but also some light play activities. If the owner has a home with secure property, the robots can open and shut doors to allow the pet access to that.”
The water is increasing in pressure now. Her dog stops mauling the bone and backs up, turns in circles, presses one side against the wall, tries putting her paws against the side of the tub, attempts an over-the-wall exit. The magnetic leash holds firm.
“It’s okay,” Daisuke says. “She’ll settle down in a moment. A lot of the anxiety dogs feel during hygiene is actually an absorption of the anxiety coming from inexpert human handlers.”