A. Elizabeth Herting

Cone of Shame

 

Buddy just knew he was in trouble. Big, big trouble. His Alpha had roused him from his warm bed early, luring him out into the cold with a slice of mouth-watering bacon. Bacon was Buddy’s number one, absolute favorite thing in the whole wide world, except for his Alpha, of course. He wolfed down the bacon, not realizing until it was too late that he had been led straight to the contraption.

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Usually, he loved the contraption. He would stick his head over the side as far as his Alpha would allow, basking in the glory of the wind blowing through his long, golden hair. Today was different. His Alpha always got that tone in his voice when they were going to the Place That Shall Not Be Named. The place that reeked of strange smells, fear, and others of his kind in distress. Buddy would be poked, strangers fussing over him and making him eat strange, bitter-tasting things. 

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This time was the worst. Buddy recently hurt himself, getting caught in a patch of weeds as he was chasing the bushy-tailed creature across the park. The bushy-tail managed to escape, but Buddy was left with a deep cut. His Alpha was clearly worried, giving him extra scraps and propping him up on the couch. Buddy should have known something was up, he was never allowed on that couch! Then, the next day, the trip to that horrid place. Boy, was he ever in trouble.

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Now, Buddy could only pray that no one would see him in such an undignified state. He could feel the edges of it securely in place around his neck, its large white walls surrounding him. It gave him a strange tunnel-like vision, rendering him helpless to attack from both sides. In the neighborhood, his peers would shake their heads and whimper whenever they saw one of their kind trapped inside of one. 

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Buddy walked the long path, hanging his head down as low as it would go. He didn’t know what he'd done to deserve such a punishment, for surely, that is what the Cone meant. They all knew what it was, dreaded the mere mention of its hideous name--The Cone of Shame.

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Buddy curled up on the couch, but it was impossible to get comfortable. The Cone inhibited his every movement, limiting his ability to stretch out. Buddy was well and truly miserable. His Alpha walked into the kitchen, Buddy perking up his head as he began to smell the tantalizing aroma of steak sizzling away.

He sat up and got into his most appealing begging stance, straining to see his Alpha through the frustrating barrier.

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His Alpha padded over to the couch, carrying the freshly-cooked meat in his mouth. Buddy knew that he must always wait until his Alpha told him to take the treat, must sit completely still until that very moment in order to get his reward. His Alpha gently placed the steak onto the couch next to Buddy, then gave him a single loud bark to signal that Buddy was allowed to eat. Buddy slowly reached out and grasped the steak in his left hand, carefully ripping off a portion with his right one. He dropped it inside of the cone, chewing and groaning in pleasure. His Alpha was pleased, barking at him and nuzzling Buddy with his long, wet nose. Buddy was relieved to see his Alpha’s tail wagging and knew he had been a Very Good Boy. His Alpha jumped up onto his lap as Buddy finished the treat, finally managing to lay down with the Cone in a way that was bearable. He could feel his Alpha checking his wound, rewrapping the new bandage with his snout as Buddy settled in for a well-deserved nap.

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It would be OK, his Alpha knew what was best. Maybe tomorrow the Cone of Shame would come off and maybe, just maybe, there would be bacon! With that pleasant thought floating through his mind, Buddy drifted off into sleep. He dreamed of bushy-tailed creatures, running as fast as his two legs would take him as his Alpha lovingly licked his hand.

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Max curled up in his chair, reaching over to lap up a taste of his finest single malt scotch. This had been a long day and the week was only halfway over. What else could possibly go wrong? He knew that his eldest pup had done something to the vehicle, the left side passenger ski was wobbly, totally pulled out of alignment. His boss was being a real bitch at work, making him fetch her presentations and always taking credit for his ideas. Then to top it all off, the human went and hurt his arm again, setting Max back a hefty two-hundred bones at the vet’s office and causing him to miss an entire day of work. 

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Buddy began twitching in his sleep as Max went over to nuzzle his long, silky hair. How nice it must be to be a human, he mused, without a single care in the world. Canine-beings in this day and age were so busy, rushing through their days, caught up in the cat race of life.

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Max sighed and checked on Buddy one last time before turning in. The human was sprawled out on the couch snoring loudly. Even though he knew his wife would be furious that the human was on the couch again, Max left him there anyway, feeling sorry that the poor guy would be forced to suffer another day wearing the Cone of Shame. Hopefully, the wound would heal enough that Max could trust him not to fuss at it, but until then, the Cone must stay. 

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Max gave Buddy one final lick goodnight. He was human-tired and he had a big day at the kennel tomorrow. After all, he thought as he turned around three times before settling in next to his sleeping wife, a dog’s work is never done. 

 

A. Elizabeth Herting is a freelance writer and busy mother of three living in colorful Colorado. She has over 60 short story credits, podcasts, and reprints as well as non-fiction work, and two collections of short stories published by Adelaide Books, "Whistling Past the Veil" and "Postcards From Waupaca" available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

 

Cone of Shame was originally printed in Corner Bar Magazine, July 2017. For more of her work/contact her at aeherting.com, twitter.com/AmyHerting or facebook.com/AElizabethHerting

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