This is an expanded version of a story I wrote in 1999. The writing is a lot less subtle, but I thought this was necessary as few people understood it the first time. There’s also a little more characterisation. Readers are advised that this story is approximately 9,000 words long.

The Pet

The girl on the screen was tanned and fit, with long blonde hair and an effortless smile. She ran across a sunlit field with a magnificent golden retriever, then stopped beneath a leafy tree and started talking about tampons. Marion had no interest in these, being far too young to need them, but the dog held her attention. She often felt lonely when she was at home and knew a pet would make a difference.
Marion turned the TV off and climbed the stairs to her parents’ room. She found her mother Lillian standing in front of the full-length mirror, trying on a shimmering gown her husband had bought for her. Lillian was tall and slim, with fiery hair and emerald eyes, and a golden ring encrusted with gemstones glittered on her wedding finger. Marion thought she was beautiful, though she sometimes seemed a little cold.

Lillian saw her daughter’s reflection and turned around as she approached. “Good evening, Marion,” she began. “Why aren’t you watching television?”

Marion wanted to sound brave, but her mother was far too intimidating. “I’d like you to buy me a dog,” she said.

“Oh, Marion, it’s not that simple.” Lillian gestured to her bed, a massive four-poster with white satin sheets and a sumptuous black canopy. “Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”

Marion sat down, and Lillian joined her. “I think you’re far too young,” she said. “Besides, good dogs are extremely expensive. You’d have to pay a thousand dollars for a decent pedigree.”

“But aren’t you rich?” asked Marion. “Some of the clothes you wear cost more.”

Lillian smiled. “So they do. I don’t have to feed them, though, and they’re not going to get sick. Dogs cost their owners lots of money. Even if I bought you one, and paid for its food and medical bills, you’d have to walk it every day and clean up any mess it made. A dog’s not something you can turn off when you’re getting tired of it. Why don’t you try a virtual pet? They’re so much more convenient.”

“I know, but they’re not the same. I want a real dog instead.” Marion was pleading now. “Can’t you buy one? Can’t you, please?”

Lillian frowned. “I won’t buy you a dog. I’ve made up my mind, and that’s that.”

Marion made a face. “You’re mean.”

“No, I’m being sensible.” Lillian gave her daughter a hug. “Now why don’t you go back downstairs, pour yourself a glass of milk, and turn on the television? I’d hate to see you all upset because you’d missed your favourite show.”

Marion looked at the clock. “Of course.” She saw through her mother’s ruse, but did not want to argue further. Lillian watched her daughter go. Then she stood up, smoothed her gown and turned back to her full-length mirror. She might not have been so calm if she had known what lay in store.

***

When Marion went to bed that night, she dreamed that she lived in a faraway land with a beautiful golden retriever. They spent their days playing in sunlit gardens and watching cartoons on TV. She never had to go to school or bore herself with household chores; the fridge was always stocked with food and her clothes were always clean. Best of all, she was never alone; her dog was always there for her, and no parents or teachers could take it away.

On some subconscious level, though, she knew that this world was too good to be true. It faded, and she found herself lying alone in her darkened room, with no loyal dog to comfort her. She seemed to have shrunk; her bed was too big and the ceiling was too far away. Monsters waited in the shadows, gloating at her helplessness. Then these illusions faded too, for she was old enough to beat them.

Marion climbed out of bed to get herself a glass of milk. As she left the room she noticed the light in her father’s private study was on. It seemed that he was always working, even when he was at home. Although she did not like to disturb him, Marion felt she had to tonight.

She softly knocked on her father’s door. A few seconds later he spoke. “Come in.”

Marion pushed the door ajar. She did not like her father’s study; he always kept the curtains closed, and the light was far too dim for her. The walls were lined with bookcases and plastered with large diagrams of skeletons and musculature. The noticeboard was worst of all; her father had covered it with photos of disfigured people, burns victims and amputees. She hurriedly turned back to him.

Anton was completely bald, and wore a pair of round-rimmed glasses, black bow tie and three-piece suit. He sat in a large swivel chair with a padded leather backrest. Notebooks, charts and diagrams lay on the wooden desk behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, it was a good one, but I don’t feel so happy now.” Marion wondered if he could help. “I had a lovely yellow dog, but when I woke up it was gone.”

Anton frowned. “Of course it was. Did you really expect it to follow you home?”

Marion hung her head. Her father made her feel stupid. “No, but I would like a dog. I asked Mother earlier, but she said I couldn’t have one. Could you please get me one instead?”

“Why on earth would you want a dog?” Anton’s frown grew more severe. “You asked your mother earlier? How long has this been going on?”

“I only asked this afternoon, but I’ve wanted a dog for a long time now.” Marion sensed her father’s impatience; he was probably missing his horrible books. “I wouldn’t be so lonely then.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Anton said. “You’d have your work cut out for you. You’d be picking up its faeces and cleaning slobber off your clothes. You’d also have to walk it, too, and I know how much you hate going outside. You’d tire of it within a week. Then I’d have to care for it, and you know I don’t have the time.”

“You never have the time, do you?” Marion was close to tears. “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“I care about you, Marion.” Anton’s expression softened slightly. “That’s why I work the hours I do. Owning a dog is a serious business, and raising a child is even harder. When you grow up you’ll understand. Your mother and I have done everything we can to give you a beautiful home and send you to the best kind of school. I know we don’t spend much time with you, but that’s the price we have to pay.”

“But do you have to?” Marion asked. “I’d live in a much smaller house if it meant I could see you more.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” said Anton. “Believe me, it’s no fun being poor. When I was a medical student, the flat I lived in was no larger than the room we are in now. I never had enough to eat and always had to wear the same clothes. If Lillian had met me then, she would have never married me. Your life will be much easier because of all we’ve done for you.”

“But can’t I have a dog?” asked Marion. “I promise I’ll look after it!”

“You can’t.” Anton’s frown returned. “When you’re my age, you’ll understand. It isn’t right for human beings to form bonds with animals. Dogs should only live with dogs, cats should only live with cats, and you should only live with people.” He pulled a large book from a shelf. “Read this when you’re old enough. It explains that pets are nothing more than child substitutes. Their owners give them false attributes, treating them as if they were more human than they really are. While some can display a wide range of emotions, there’s no proof that they can think. Dogs deceive us more than most. It doesn’t take much to win their affection. All you have to do is feed them.”

Marion did not reply. She could not argue with her father; he never even listened to her. He thought that he was awfully clever, but he missed the most important thing. Owning a dog would make her happy. Was that not good enough for him?

“I’m sorry I disturbed you, Father. I promise I won’t ask again.” She turned around and left the room. Anton got up, shut the door, and returned to his paperwork. He thought he’d had the final word, but Marion would prove him wrong.

***

After talking to her parents, Marion realised any further requests for a dog would be futile. Her obsession did not wane, however; on the contrary, it grew stronger. Although she had a magnificent home, a fridge filled with food and a warm bed to sleep in, she desperately craved company. When the school bell rang for lunch, she went to the library and read about dogs instead of playing with her peers. She looked through old magazines and cut out the pictures of dogs she found. Without the knowledge of her parents, she glued them into a scrapbook her father had bought for her long ago. She wrote stories and drew pictures in it; they always revolved around girls and their dogs.

As time went on, her scrapbook became the greatest treasure that she owned. It was much better than TV; she could not control what happened on screen, but the scrapbook was entirely hers. While the people on TV were often nasty to each other, her characters lived in a wonderful world where the sun always shone and the birds always sang. They never had to go to school and never got sick or grew old. Their dogs were smart and well behaved, and whenever a hint of danger appeared, canine heroes saved the day.

Marion’s scrapbook kept getting thicker, but meanwhile she grew paler and thinner. She stayed in her room with the curtains drawn, reading old stories, writing new ones, or poring over the pictures of beautiful girls and their dogs that accompanied them. After a couple of months had passed, her parents began to worry about her. Lillian thought her daughter had developed anorexia, and took her magazines away. Anton weighed and measured her, and told her to start eating more. Her teachers also noticed a change; because she had been neglecting her homework, her normally excellent marks had slipped. When she brought her report card home her parents asked her what was wrong. She said they wouldn’t understand and hurried away to her bedroom in tears.

When the holidays came, she wrote more stories, and these ones were much darker in tone. The girls in them were tired and ill, and only their dogs protected them from all the bad things in the world. Her parents tried to coax her from her room with fine food and expensive new toys, but she no longer cared for such things.

One day Anton insisted on taking her to an amusement park. Marion was reluctant at first, but she had a wonderful time. She squealed with delight while riding ferris wheels and roller coasters, and when she grew hungry she gorged herself on hot dogs, ice cream, chips and sweets. Anton, who looked thoroughly out of place in his severe black suit, smiled and said they should do it again. Marion gave him a big hug before they got into his car to go home.

Lillian had prepared a feast, and as they all sat down to eat, Anton described the amazing adventures that he and Marion had shared. Marion thought this was rather unfair because her mother had missed out. Lillian only picked at her food; something seemed to be bothering her. When they had finished their dessert, Marion went upstairs to her room. She reached under her bed - but her scrapbook was gone.

Marion suddenly felt cold. She spent the next hour looking for it, searching through her box of toys and emptying her wardrobe, but could not find it anywhere. At last she gave up and collapsed on her bed. She knew exactly what had happened; her mother had taken her scrapbook away.

She was too afraid to cry. Her parents had treated her badly enough when she had asked them for a dog. How would they react to her stories? They would probably find them incredibly childish, even for a girl her age. Marion was ashamed of them now. She really should have thrown them out. She knew that her parents would when they had finished reading them.

Marion crawled under her blankets, vainly trying to relax and clear her head of these terrible thoughts. It took a while for sleep to find her, and when it came, it did not last.

***

Marion’s parents fought that night. She listened from her darkened bedroom, trembling with fear and shame. Her mother and father did so much for her. Why had she expected more? And why had she written such horrible stories when she was on holidays? Had she secretly wanted her parents to read them?

Marion had a flash of insight. Her parents felt as guilty as she did. They spent so little time with her they tried to buy her love and affection, providing her with food and clothes that other girls could only dream of. Money did not matter, though; she only wanted happiness.

She knew this could not be bought. It came from treating others well, and having them reply in kind. She had expressed this in some of her stories, and perhaps her parents would learn from them. It was a wild hope, she knew, but right now it was all she had. She buried her face in her pillow to shut out her parents’ angry voices. It was no use; the argument raged for an interminable length of time. She was not even sure it had ended when she drifted off to sleep.

***

Marion felt tired and ill when she woke up the next day. The holidays were nearly over, and she hardly had the energy to get up and go downstairs. Finally, her hunger roused her, and she entered the kitchen to find her parents having a late breakfast. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Marion felt a little better; if she had been at the table, it would have made an almost perfect breakfast cereal commercial. She sat down beside her father.

“Good morning,” said Anton. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did,” lied Marion.

Anton looked at his wife and smiled. Lillian smiled in return. Marion wondered what they were thinking, but she lacked the nerve to ask. They were on good terms once more, and she did not want this to change.

Lillian clasped her hands together. “Last night I talked to your father,” she said, “and we came to an agreement. We think you’ve been alone too long and need more regular company.”

Marion liked the sound of this. Were her parents going to work less so they could spend more time with her? It almost seemed too good to be true.

Anton adjusted his round-rimmed glasses. “Your mother showed me the scrapbook you’d been keeping underneath your bed. While the pictures were unusual, and the stories were at times disturbing, I noticed some consistent themes.”

Marion’s nervousness returned. Anton had not told her whether he had liked her scrapbook or not, which was all she really cared about.

“You obviously want a dog, and you have for quite some time. Your mother and I have already said that we won’t have one in our house. This has not changed since yesterday - but we think it’s time we gave you a pet.”

Marion smiled; this was something, at least. “What kind of pet will it be?”

Anton hesitated, and his wife spoke instead. “You’ll have a special kind of pet no little girl has had before.” Her voice was calm and self-assured. “Your father’s going to make it for you.”

Marion gaped. “He’s going to make it?”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Lillian. “It shouldn’t be a problem for him. He’s done harder things before.”

Marion did not reply. There was no happiness left in her eyes - only a look of shocked confusion. Her parents had betrayed her again.

Anton tried to comfort her. “You really want a pet, don’t you?”

Marion nodded silently.

“Well don’t you worry, dear,” he said. “You’ll have one by the end of the year. Should it be a boy or girl?”

Marion thought about this for a while. She decided a boy would be better; it would make the family more balanced, like the ones she had so often seen on TV. “Make it a boy,” she replied.

“Splendid,” said Anton. “I’ll do that for you.” He wiped his mouth and stood up. “It’s been nice to talk to you, but I’m supposed to be at work. I’ll see you again this evening.”

He hugged the others and departed. Still feeling a little unsure of herself, Marion turned to her mother again. “Is he really going to make me a pet?”

“He is indeed,” said Lillian, and softly stroked her daughter’s hair. “It won’t take him very long.”

“Are you sure?” asked Marion.

“Of course I am.” Her mother smiled. “He has very clever hands.”

***

Marion’s parents told her to be patient, but she could not wait to have her pet. Its nature also confused her. How on earth could a pet be made?

Perhaps her father was building a robot like the ones she saw on TV. His working name was Dr. Hessler, which somehow seemed appropriate for an eccentric genius. She remembered the times he had told her about the new prosthetic limbs he had designed and built for amputees. Most were simple combinations of metal and plastic, wires and springs, but some of them were automated. They had built-in electric motors that operated moving parts. It was easy to imagine an entire being made from them, but it would look extremely strange. Marion tried to picture herself taking a robotic dog for a walk, but she did not like the idea. She wanted the real thing - a creature that was warm and soft, something that would love her back. The prospect of owning a mechanised pet was alien and frightening.

After having another bad dream, Marion could stand it no longer. Anton was working late that night, so she turned to Lillian for help. She found her mother in her room, lying on her massive bed, reading a thick hardback book with a richly patterned cover. As Marion approached she sat up, put the book on the bedside table, and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“What troubles you, my dear?” she asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Marion. “I can’t stop thinking about my pet. How’s my father going to make it? My teachers say it can’t be done!”

“Your teachers don’t know how clever he is.” Lillian’s lips drew back in a smile, revealing delicately pointed teeth. “You’ve seen his photos of accident victims? At work he fixes those poor people. He puts them back together so well you’d hardly know they had been injured. He could sew your face back onto your skull, and soon it would be as good as new. In fact, he could give you a brand new face if you didn’t like the one you had. He can change the shapes of ears and noses, rebuild jaws and eye sockets, and make wrinkles disappear.”

Marion nodded. “Is that why you’re so beautiful?”

“It is.” Lillian smiled some more. “I had a very plain face when I met him - in fact, I looked a lot like you. Anton said he didn’t care because he was in love with me. But when I saw what he could do, I begged him to give me the face I deserved. We talked about it for a long time, and finally he understood. He didn’t do everything I asked him to, but I think he did a magnificent job.”

Marion had to agree. Her faith in Anton was restored. She wondered if he would use his skills to make her pet more beautiful too. Lillian sensed her chain of thought.

“Your father can sculpt flesh like clay,” she said. “When your classmates see what he has created, they’ll want the same sort of pet for themselves. They’ll forget their cats and dogs and beg their parents to buy them one. Naturally, they’ll be disappointed. Your pet will be one of a kind.”

“What will it look like?” Marion asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lillian, “because your father hasn’t told me. There’s no need to be worried, though. It will be a masterpiece - an expression of his love for you.”

Marion was still confused, but far less worried than before. Her mother’s voice was reassuring, and the thought of owning a unique pet had a definite appeal. For too long she had envied girls whose parents bought them cats and dogs. When they saw what her father had done, they would envy her instead. She felt a glow of satisfaction as she kissed her mother goodnight.

***

Marion stood in the laundry and looked at her parents’ latest purchases. They included a large round trampoline bed, a thick woollen blanket, two plastic bowls, a brightly coloured rubber ball, and a collar with a clip-on leash. These accessories implied that she was going to get her dog, but she knew this was not the case. What sort of pet would she receive? Perhaps her father was making a new kind of animal altogether, one that combined the very best traits of dogs and cats and more besides. Who knew what he would create? Perhaps it had a lion’s mane, a zebra’s stripes and an eagles’ wings! That would be a sight to see!

Marion toyed with this thought, but she was still not satisfied. Such a creature seemed as strange and artificial as a robot. Moreover, it seemed impossible. At school she had already learned about the differences between species, and knew that there was no way to create a hybrid of this kind. Scientists might be able to one day - her teachers had told her stories of the miracles they worked already - but that was still a long way off. At last her imagination failed. She looked at the supplies again; the answer now seemed obvious. Her parents had changed their minds. They were buying a dog for her after all.

This was good enough for her. She had always wanted a dog, and she would have one in a matter of days. If her father used his skills to make her pet more beautiful, it would be an added bonus. Already, she could hardly wait.

***

Marion was on the couch, watching one of her favourite cartoons, when Anton called from the front door. She turned off the TV and ran down the hall, knowing her wait was finally over. Anton was outside on the porch, holding back something that panted and scrabbled against the hard wood of the door.

“Marion,” he said, “meet Kenji!”

He opened the door, and Kenji bounded joyfully into his new home. He leapt up at Marion and nearly knocked her over.

Marion screamed.

At the sound of her voice, Kenji rubbed his body against her bare legs. His face radiated happiness, all widened eyes and lolling tongue. Marion stared at him aghast, trembling with nausea, hoping that this was another bad dream.

Lillian rushed in from the kitchen with a saucepan in her hand. When she saw Kenji jumping up and trying to lick his owner’s face she laughed along with her husband.

“Oh, Anton, he’s gorgeous! However did you make him?”

“He’d been hit by a car,” said Anton. “No friends or relatives came in to claim him and he had no identification. It happens every now and then. His brain was badly damaged, especially the frontal lobes, but most of his organs were still in good shape. After a talk to the manager I acquired him for my own purposes.”

Marion stared at her new pet. His body was covered in branching scars and liberally stained with red gelatin dye. Sutures held his face together, and steel plates reinforced his skull. His limbs were little more than stumps, but Anton had added prosthetic extensions, and he walked on four spring metal paws. He cavorted about the room on them and finally stopped next to Anton. Anton chuckled and patted his head.

“He spent several months in bed while his ribs and skull were healing. He’s still a bit clumsy, but that will change.” Kenji moved away from him and crawled across to Lillian. Laughing with pleasure, she tickled his chin.

“How old is he?” she enquired.

“I think he’s in his late teens,” said Anton. “He won’t be talking to you, though. I’ve removed his vocal cords, and he’s been desexed as well. He learns new tricks easily - faster than the smartest dogs. Everything has gone as planned.”

Marion looked at Kenji again. By now her shock was wearing off. “Does he come when called?” she asked.

“Try it,” said Anton. “He won’t bite.”

Marion nodded. “Come here, Kenji!”

Kenji bounded over to her. Marion felt his breath on her face as she knelt down to hug him. It was hot and smelled of hospital food. Several of his teeth were missing, but those that remained were white and clean. His tongue seemed far too large for his mouth, and he was dribbling with joy.

“Good boy,” said Marion, running her hands across the purple scars on his back. “How do you like your new home?”

Kenji nuzzled her chest and pawed at her with his prosthetic limbs. Marion giggled and looked up at Anton.

“He’s wonderful, Father! Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” he replied. His wife came over to his side, and together they watched their daughter frolic with her long-awaited pet. He rolled onto his back and wriggled as his new owner tickled him. Marion was not afraid. It was good to have something to cuddle and love.

***

Marion’s summer holidays were the best she had experienced. She had plenty of time for Kenji, and soon they became inseparable friends. He followed Marion everywhere, playing with her in the garden, walking with her in the park, watching her favourite TV shows and sleeping on her bed at night. Life at home was better now; Marion was delighted with Kenji, Lillian was glad to see her so happy, and Anton was proud of his handiwork. Kenji needed a lot of attention, but no-one in the family complained.

Every night Lillian cooked a meal for Kenji as well as her husband and daughter. Sometimes Marion gave him treats, but her parents fed him healthier foods. They filled his bowl with vegetables, rice, pieces of fruit and scraps of meat. Marion often handed him the leftovers she did not like, and he gladly ate them all.

Kenji learned a number of tricks, and even Anton was surprised by the speed with which he acquired new skills. Soon he could sit, lie down, roll over, get up and fetch on command. After a few days of practice, he knew the difference between Marion’s slippers, her pillow and the remote control. He could pick them up in his mouth and bring them to her when she called. She found him easy to train on her own, for he responded well to speech and knew almost a hundred words. Anton said no dogs could manage this feat. Kenji was in a class of his own.

Of course Kenji could not talk, but his face was extremely expressive and displayed a wide range of emotions. Marion could understand him without recourse to human language. For his part, Kenji was extremely good at reading his owners’ moods. Even Anton, who had expressed such reservations about owning pets, formed close ties with his creation. Whenever he came home from work, he found Kenji at the door, waiting to give him a big wet kiss.

In time, Kenji’s smaller scars healed and he grew a fine crop of hair on his head. Marion was overjoyed because she was able to groom him now. He also needed exercise, and she took him for walks every day. She kept him on a leash so to stop him wandering off and coming to harm. He was not particularly fast, owing to his shortened limbs, but this did not bother her. Unlike the dogs her classmates owned, he never stopped to sniff around or play with other people’s pets. He was the perfect walking companion; he was obedient, mild-tempered, and forever willing to stay at her side. Marion also benefited from spending less time indoors. As her confidence increased, she went on longer journeys, discovering parks and playgrounds that she had never seen before.

Naturally, Kenji attracted attention. The neighbours’ reactions to him varied; small children seemed afraid of him, but adults found him fascinating. Some of them even asked Marion where they could obtain such a pet. She told them to ask her father, but Anton was unwilling to help, even when they offered to pay. He had neither the time or the inclination, and although he was proud of his handiwork, he said one Kenji was enough.

Kenji remained in excellent health, and he was also surprisingly clean. He did not mark his territory with urine or faeces, as he had no instinctive drive to do so. Instead he relieved himself in a tray that Marion emptied every night. Kenji was also easy to wash, and he shed no more hair than his owners. If Anton had said pets were substitute children, Kenji excelled at fulfilling this role.

As the holidays rolled on, Marion noticed a subtle change in her parents’ behaviour. They seemed calmer in each others’ presence and seldom argued any more. Marion no longer wanted a dog; her pet was a better companion by far. This realisation slowly spread throughout the whole community. Soon Marion’s friends were begging their parents for a Kenji of their own.

***

Marion sat on her favourite park bench and listened to the wind in the trees. She had stayed out a little too late, but wanted a few more minutes of rest before she started walking home. Kenji contentedly lay at her feet, sniffing the well-tended lawn and occasionally pausing to scratch himself. Marion leaned back and relaxed, savouring the sun’s last rays as the day drew to a close.

She turned to see a stranger approaching. He was tall and slightly stooped, with sparse brown hair and a grey-flecked beard. He wore a faded woollen jumper, short trousers and long woollen socks which he had pulled up to his knees. Marion eyed him suspiciously; she did not like the way he was looking at her. His dog seemed even more unpleasant. It waddled behind him on very short legs, and its long ears brushed the ground. Its bloodshot eyes stared mournfully from a wrinkled face with sagging jowls.

The stranger stopped in front of her. “Marion Hessler, I presume?”

Marion’s heart lurched. “Who are you?”

“I’m your neighbour, Mr. Winslow.” He offered his hand, but she did not shake it. “I’d like to talk about your pet.”

Marion frowned. “His name’s Kenji.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Mr. Winslow. “He’s not causing you any trouble, is he?”

“No, he’s very well behaved.” Marion patted Kenji’s head. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you now?”

“I’m sure he is,” said Mr. Winslow, “but don’t you feel sorry for him?”

“What do you mean?” asked Marion.

“Take a long hard look at him.” Mr. Winslow stroked his beard. “You know he wasn’t born that way. I’m sure you love him, Marion - but would you want to be like him?”

Marion thought about this for a while. “No, I wouldn’t,” she finally said.

“Neither would I,” said Mr. Winslow. “That’s why I feel sorry for him. I also feel sorry for you.”

Marion frowned again. “How come?”

Mr. Winslow cleared his throat. “I think your parents are sick,” he said. “They’re going to make you sick as well. People like that simply shouldn’t have children. And children shouldn’t have pets like yours.”

“But Kenji’s wonderful!” Marion cried. “And how dare you say my parents are sick? They only want to see me happy. You’re the one who shouldn’t have children!”

Mr. Winslow glared at her. “I don’t have children,” he replied. “I’d much rather live alone than with some little brat like you. In my day we were taught respect - not just for grown-ups, but for all life on earth. You obviously don’t understand. Your parents must have done this to you. If I had any say in the matter, I’d have you taken away from your home, and that pet of yours would be put down!”

Marion had heard enough. “You’re a nasty man,” she said. “Come on, Kenji. Let’s go home.”

She got up and walked away. Mr. Winslow called after her. “You haven’t seen the last of me! I’ll be talking with your father!”

Marion did not look back. Standing up to Mr. Winslow was the bravest thing she had ever done, but even so, she was afraid. If he talked to enough people, could she really be taken away from her home? And what would become of Kenji? Would Mr. Winslow have him killed?

Marion blinked back tears. Her pleasant afternoon had been spoiled. Kenji crawled along beside her, happy to be on the move once more, but the sight brought her no joy. He was not a normal pet, and she was not a normal girl from a normal family. As much as she disliked Mr. Winslow, it almost seemed that he was right.

Mr. Winslow watched her go with a smile on his bearded lips. His ugly dog stared after Kenji, but it looked as sad as ever.

***

When Marion came home her mother was waiting. “Where have you been? And what’s the matter?”

“I met a bad man in the park,” said Marion. “He said his name was Mr. Winslow. He told me the most horrible things. He said you and Father shouldn’t have children, and he - ”

“Ignore him,” Lillian firmly said. “He’s just a silly old busybody. Next time you see him, walk away.”

“But he might be coming here! He’s said he’s going to talk to Father. He doesn’t think I should live here! And he thinks Kenji should be killed!”

“Well that’s disgusting,” Lillian said. “What kind of man says things like that? I’m going to have a word with him!”

“My love, that won’t be necessary.” Anton stepped into the room. “I’ll take care of Mr. Winslow. It’s high time we had our dinner. By now it must be getting cold.”

“Of course.” Marion felt much better. Her parents might not have been normal, but they would look after her. For his part, Kenji was obviously hungry, and thrilled at Anton’s talk of dinner. He bounded after Marion as she walked into the dining room, and as she sat down at the table, he buried his mangled face in his bowl.

***

When Marion went to bed that night, she dreamed she was another Kenji. She was in a lot of pain; the clumsy prosthetics she wore on her stumps were heavy, and they chafed her skin. She could not stand up, open doors, or run and jump like an ordinary girl. She belonged to a boy with a face like Kenji’s, but she could not talk to him. Whenever she spoke, he simply drooled. Even so, he cared for her, taking her for walks in the park and bringing her food in a plastic bowl, and his love for her was evident in the way he combed and styled her hair. It wasn’t so much bad as strange; she had dreamed of worse things before.

Marion woke up. It was dark, and Kenji was asleep, snoring a little as he lay curled up on the edge of his bed. His prosthetic limbs had been removed, and sat on the floor beside her shoes. She wondered if he still had dreams. Did he remember anything of the life he had led before?

She heard a car pull up outside. For some reason, this made her anxious; she threw off her blanket and ran to the window. She saw a battered little hatchback in the driveway of her home. Mr. Winslow climbed out, closed the door, and walked up the garden path.

Marion was frightened, but she did not want to miss a thing. She left her bedroom, ran down the stairs, and hid in the cupboard under them. As she crouched there in the dark, Mr. Winslow rang the doorbell. A minute later, Marion heard her father walking down the stairs. She felt a little scared, but thrilled as he opened the front door.

“Good evening,” said Mr. Winslow. “May I have a word with you?”

“Certainly,” Anton replied. “Did you talk to my daughter this afternoon?”

“I did indeed. That’s why I’m here. She was very rude to me.”

“If what she told me was correct, you were being rude to her first. I understand you’ve got a problem with the pet I made for her?”

Marion’s excitement mounted. She pressed her ear to the cupboard door.

“Of course I do,” said Mr. Winslow. “That so-called pet is a disgrace. What kind of man gives his daughter a retarded cripple to look after? And what kind of society lets him get away with it?”

“Calm down,” said Anton. “Kenji’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Mr. Winslow cried. “How can you say that creature’s harmless? The very sight of him revolts me. No child should be exposed to such things!”

“I’m touched by your concern,” said Anton, “but it isn’t necessary. Marion’s much happier now.”

“In that case, she’s as sick as you.” Mr. Winslow raised his voice. “Is she the only one who counts? Imagine how her Kenji feels! He must be in tremendous pain, but that’s not the worst of it. How would you like it if some madman forced you to crawl around on a leash with your genitals exposed? What you’ve done to him is abhorrent. You’ve stripped him of his dignity!”

Marion knew that her father was smiling. Whenever people said such things, he quickly cut them down to size.

“So that’s what makes me sick,” said Anton. “I’ve created a monster of sorts. I’m not the only one, you know. You breed basset hounds, don’t you?”

“Of the highest pedigree.” Mr. Winslow seemed offended. “What are you implying here?”

“I’m not implying anything. What I’m saying, Mr. Winslow, is that you’re making monsters too. Several thousand years ago, our distant ancestors tamed wolves. I view wolves as noble creatures; they’re fast, strong and intelligent, and before they were domesticated, they could run long distances and catch prey larger than themselves. Like every other breed in existence, your bassets are descended from wolves, but can you imagine them roving the tundra, pulling down musk ox and caribou, and driving wildcats from their kills? They wouldn’t last a single day. Things aren’t much better for them here; their legs are too short for their bodies, which causes complications such as hip dysplasia and arthritis. They have difficulty breathing, and lots of them get ear infections. If you handle them roughly, their eyes can pop out. These genetic faults are linked to traits you want to propagate. You’re condemning your dogs to a lifetime of pain, and if their puppies don’t display the appropriate deformities, you kill them immediately. And just for the record, the ones that survive crawl around with their genitals exposed. Who are you to be judgemental?”

Marion feasted on his words. She had endured this kind of treatment from her father many times. It was nice to hear another grown-up being lectured for a change. Mr. Winslow was out of his depth - but he was not beaten yet.

“You’re wrong on every count,” he said. “You can’t compare my pets to yours. Kenji’s human, after all. More human than you’ll ever be!”

“A typically emotive statement from a blinkered ignoramus.” Anton was clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you face up to the facts? My creation has more merit than your brainless basset hounds. If they were more available, such pets could put you out of business.”

“That’s a lie,” said Mr. Winslow. “People are too good for that.” He sounded more bitter than confident now, and Marion sensed he was close to defeat. “I see it’s pointless arguing with you, but I’m not going to give in. I know I’m not the only one who thinks that what you’ve done is wrong. When I’ve got enough support, you’ll wish that you’d listened to me!”

“I don’t have time for threats,” said Anton. “I think you’d best be on your way.”

Mr. Winslow started walking. “This isn’t over, Dr. Hessler! You’ll be finished when it’s through!”

Marion heard a car door close. Her father did not seem afraid. “Best of luck with your crusade!”

He shut the front door, checked the lock, and went back upstairs to his study. Marion waited for a minute, then hurried back into her room. Kenji was still asleep on her bed, oblivious to all that had happened. She lay down beside him and gave him a kiss.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she softly said. “You’re always going to be safe here.”

Kenji grunted in his sleep, as if her words had reassured him. Marion covered herself with her blanket, but kept her hand on Kenji’s back, measuring its rise and fall. She closed her eyes and breathed as he did, hoping to follow him into his dreams.

***

Anton sat at his desk and stared at the pile of photographs before him. A large dog had mauled an unfortunate girl, and a team of surgeons under him were trying to rebuild her face. It was an especially difficult case, requiring extensive skin and bone grafts, and complications had arisen. Traces of morbidity had appeared in the transferred tissue, and although they had been excised, they hinted at a greater danger. If the grafts were rejected, his team would have to start the operation from scratch.

Anton was used to such challenges, but tonight he could not concentrate. He examined a photo of the girl as she had been before her mauling. She looked a lot like Marion, being pale-skinned and dark-haired, with soulful eyes and a haunting smile. He genuinely feared for her, which made him feel uncomfortable; until now he had viewed his patients with a clinical detachment. Mr. Winslow’s interruption had also filled his mind with doubt. He was trying to help his latest patient lead a normal life, but he had denied Kenji any hope of rehabilitation.

Anton rose and took a deep breath, annoyed that his usual rational self had succumbed to raw emotion. Feelings this strong were a cancer, and if they were left unchecked, they could be even deadlier. He felt he had done enough work for now. It was time to take a rest.

When he entered his bedroom, Lillian put down the book she was reading and looked up at him. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “I’m under a lot of stress. My current project’s bad enough, but I can’t stop thinking about Kenji.”

Lillian nodded. “What about him?”

“I feel guilty,” Anton said. “Marion might have wanted a pet, but Kenji never asked to be one. Have you ever wondered who he was before his accident?”

“There’s no point in doing so.” Lillian moved closer to him. “Even if we could find out, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“That’s the problem,” Anton said. “What I’ve done can’t be reversed. What do you think his family would say?”

“Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts,” said Lillian. “If he had a family, they couldn’t have been very close. When he was in hospital, no-one came to look for him. He might have been a criminal or social outcast of some kind.”

“There’s also a chance he was unlucky,” Anton ruefully replied. “His identity might have been lost in an administrative error. Mistakes like this have happened before.”

“I know it wasn’t a mistake.” Lillian’s voice was self-assured. “Don’t forget you saved his life.”

Anton was not comforted. “Perhaps I should have let him die.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Lillian. “He’ll never make some lasting contribution to society, but by and large, most people don’t. He’s brought our daughter happiness, and that alone makes him worthwhile. He might be better off as well. I’m sure our family’s far more loving than the one he left behind.”

Anton nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Lillian ran an arm around him. “He’s been good for us as well. Marion’s not just happier now - she’s also more considerate. She’s learned how to look after others. If she ever decides to have children, she’ll find it a lot easier now.”

“That’s a good point,” Anton said. “I never thought of that before.” He returned his partner’s hug. “Thanks for your time, Lillian. You’ve really made a difference.”

He tried to go, but she restrained him. “You’ve worked hard enough,” she said. “I want you to stay here with me.”

Anton’s emotions were stronger than ever, but they no longer bothered him. Lillian was beautiful - and she was his creation too. She caressed him with her bejewelled hands, resurrecting feelings that had been suppressed for far too long. As she leaned forward for a kiss, his reservations disappeared. He had indeed worked hard enough, and he deserved to know her love.

***

Mr. Winslow’s threats came to nothing. He complained to the council, but they ignored him, and his attempts to turn the neighbourhood against the Hessler family had the opposite effect. The people rallied behind Dr. Hessler, and Mr. Winslow became a pariah. His business failed, and he left the state. Few were sad to see him go.

Marion was happier than she had ever been before. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw a strong and confident girl, a far cry from the nervous child she had been a year ago. Her parents were much more relaxed and treated her more generously. Kenji had been good for them too.

Things became more difficult when Marion went back to school. Kenji had never liked being alone and found it very hard to cope. He crawled painfully around the house, looking for his little friend, chewing on her books and clothes and overturning furniture. His owners were forced to lock him outside, and with no external stimulation, he grew depressed and indolent. He lay with his back to the door, sniffling and whimpering, waiting for Marion to come home.

He was delighted when she did. He romped around on his prosthetics, pawing at her uniform and slobbering ecstatically. Sometimes he was so excited he slipped and fell flat on his face. Even this failed to calm him down. It often took him several minutes to return to his usual placid state. Marion did not mind at all; Kenji’s joyous greetings never failed to lift her mood.

***

After many happy years with Kenji, Marion came home one day to find her pet had disappeared. She called his name, but nothing happened. When she went out to search the garden, she noticed the side gate was open. Someone had forgotten to lock it, and Kenji had wandered away on his own.

Marion ran out onto the street. She called his name a few more times, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her anxiety gave way to fear. If he had escaped a few hours ago, he could be anywhere by now.

She set out for the nearest park, hoping he was waiting there. None of the people she met on the way had seen him that afternoon. She spent an hour looking for him in his favourite hiding places, but she found no sign of him. Her trepidation mounted as she scoured the surrounding streets. What if he had come to harm?

The sun’s last rays were weakening, and the air was growing cold. Marion felt powerless; again she was a frightened child, alone in an uncaring world. She did not want to go back home; she wanted to lie down and wait for her beloved pet to find her. If he did not, she would die. She could not bear to live without him.

Marion fought to control herself. This was no time for such thoughts. She turned and started back for home, hoping she would find him there.

***

As soon as Marion got back, Lillian confronted her. “Marion! Where have you been?”

“I’ve been looking for Kenji,” said Marion. “He wasn’t here when I got home.”

“Oh, Marion, if only I’d known!” Lillian hugged her daughter close. “You should have left a note for me!”

“Do you think he’s okay?” asked Marion.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Lillian. “He has a collar, after all. If anyone finds him they’ll give us a call.”

“But what if no-one finds him?” Marion was close to tears. “Dogs go missing all the time!”

“Kenji’s not a dog,” Lillian reminded her. “He’s smarter than the average pet. I’m sure he’ll find his way back home.”

Marion was unconvinced. “Shouldn’t we go look for him?”

“You’ve already looked hard enough,” said Lillian. “This isn’t the time to go roaming the streets. All we can do now is wait.”

Marion desperately clung to her mother, trying to control her fear. Lillian’s words had not changed the fact that Kenji could be anywhere. He must have been as scared as her, but he was in far greater danger.

***

When Anton came home and heard of the crisis he told Marion to get into his car.

“What is it, Father?” she enquired.

“It’s Kenji,” he said. “We’re going to find him.”

“Shouldn’t we wait?” asked Lillian. “He’s probably on his way home.”

“You’ve waited long enough,” said Anton. “I’m not taking any chances. Come now, Marion, let’s be off.”

Marion felt more confident as she followed him to his car. They could cover far more distance now, and two pairs of eyes would be better than one.

As they searched the neighbourhood, Marion’s hopes began to fade. Anton drove in silence, his pale hands gripping the steering wheel, scanning the streets for her missing pet. Marion grew tired and cold, but Anton refused to give up. He covered the entire suburb, never uttering a word.

It was nearly midnight when they found what they were looking for.

***

Anton glimpsed something beside the road as they reached the top of a hill. He applied the brake and stopped.

“Marion,” he said, “please look away.”

It was too late. Marion leapt out of the car and ran over to the object that lay motionless beneath a streetlight. She fell to her knees beside it and wailed, shattering the silent night.

Anton tightened his grip on the wheel.

Marion leaned over Kenji’s body and embraced him one last time. A speeding car must have struck him as it came over the crest. It had not killed him instantly, for he had found time to drag himself off the road.

His body seemed untouched, but one of his prosthetics was broken, and blood trickled from his mouth. He had already cooled and stiffened. Marion kissed his face and wept.

“Marion.” Anton came and stood beside her.

Marion looked up, her tear-stained face glistening beneath the streetlight.

Anton could say nothing more. He gently lifted Kenji’s body and carried it back to his car.

***

They buried Kenji in the garden. Marion had held his body and cried all night. Four years had passed since they had met, and her home seemed unspeakably empty without him.

Anton placed Kenji in the grave he had dug while his wife and daughter looked on. Marion pressed her face against her mother’s body to stifle her sobbing. Lillian embraced her daughter; she looked close to tears herself.

Anton turned to Marion. “Are there any last favours you wish to show Kenji?”

Marion left her mother’s arms. She picked up Kenji’s rubber ball. She placed it beside his still form, knelt down and kissed his cold scarred cheek.

“I love you, Kenji,” she declared. “I always have and I always will.”

Dew glistened on the sweet green grass, as if the sky had also wept. Anton buried Kenji, laid his shovel aside, and smoothed the cool moist earth before him. The hands that had created Kenji were laying him to rest. He rose and embraced his wife and daughter. “May he forever rest in peace.”

Marion choked back her tears. She knew that she would never ask her parents for another pet. Kenji had made her happier than she had ever been before, and she did not want to dishonour him by looking for a substitute. In spite of his deficiencies, she had learned a lot from him, and her parents were much wiser too. He had resolved their differences by showing them what true love was.