Saturday, eight fifty in the morning, the training floor on the second floor of Xiaoxiao Animal Hospital. The artificial turf mats had just been mopped with pet disinfectant, the smell sharp, so I opened two windows.
Twelve students, twelve dogs, class at nine. Three corgis, two border collies, and a golden retriever had already knocked over the marker cone in the corner. Xiaoyu at the front desk was handing out number tags at the top of the stairs. “Family-dog behavior correction course, first session, six hundred eighty a head, four classes.”
My name is Luo Xiao, thirty, and this hospital is mine. Open four years; last year we turned over two point one million, this year only one point three by August. The behavior course was my idea — I brought in an outside trainer to teach it and I take thirty percent.
Before class I checked myself in the second-floor mirror. Black lululemon leggings, white tee tucked into the waistband, sneakers. One meter seventy-two, and one meter zero five of that is leg, trained up over four classes a week at SpaceCycle. A director has to look like a director.
Eight fifty-five, the trainer came up. Gray work trousers, black tee, a treat pouch on his belt, a lead in one hand, a clicker in the other.
“Director Luo.” He draped the lead over the railing. “Meng Chuan.”
Thirty-three, per his résumé. Eight years as a police-dog handler in Hangzhou, three years on his own since. He talked neither loud nor soft, one sentence at a time, no breath in between — the same tone as that Huawei speaker in my living room reading out the weather.
“One thing first.” He stood in the middle of the mats. “Dogs and people are the same. Whoever holds the reward is in charge.”
A corgi below barked twice; he didn’t look, and the corgi stopped.
The students brought their dogs up one by one to try “sit.” The third was a girl in a puffer vest; her border collie sat three seconds then bolted, she yanked the lead, the dog strained forward, she leaned back.
“Your way of pulling is wrong,” Meng Chuan said. “The lead isn’t for dragging, it’s a reminder. You don’t know what it feels like to have your neck tighten, so you can’t pull right.”
“Then what do I do?” the girl asked. “Get someone to demonstrate.” He turned his head. “Director Luo, you come.”
Twelve people looked at me. The golden’s owner laughed out loud. “Director’s up.” I gave a little smile, set my phone on the railing, and walked to the middle of the mats.
“Crouch down,” he said.
I crouched. The collar in his hand was nylon, black, two fingers wide; he buckled it around my neck, not tight — you could slip two fingers under it.
“Stand up, walk forward, stop when I say stop.”
I walked forward. He gave the lead a tug and the collar cinched once, pressing under my throat. It didn’t hurt. I stopped.
“Again.” I walked again. “Stop.” The collar cinched again. After three times I didn’t need to wait for the lead — the moment his mouth opened my feet stopped. The golden’s owner said from below, “Director learns faster than our Doudou.”
“See that,” he said to the students. “Not a drag — it’s like this, cinch and release. She stopped.” The clicker went off in his hand. “Click.”
“What’s that for?” I asked. “Do it right, the clicker clicks, tells you you did it right. Then a reward.” He took a strip of chicken jerky from the treat pouch.
“I don’t eat those.” Everyone below cracked up.
“The reward doesn’t have to be food.” He looked at me, voice still the same. “It’s letting her know she did it right. Sit.”
My legs went soft and I sat down onto the mat. Not because I meant to — as he said it he tugged the lead down and my knees bent. The clicker went off again.
For the next twenty minutes I kept the collar on. He talked about the angle of the lead, about eye contact, about “never being the first to look away when the dog is watching you.” After each point he’d tug me with the lead so the students could see how the collar cinched.
By the seventh cinch my crotch was already wet inside my leggings. The leggings are thin; I pressed my thighs together once, and Meng Chuan glanced down but said nothing.
“Director Luo, stand up straight,” he said. I stood straight. The collar cinched, my chin lifted, and my eyes could only look at him. He said something I didn’t catch — I was listening to the sound of myself swallowing.
The girl in the puffer vest raised her hand. “Mr. Meng, what if the dog does it wrong?”
“No reward. No hitting, no scolding, just no clicker.” He loosened the lead. “What a dog fears most isn’t pain, it’s being ignored.”
“That’s all for today,” he announced at ten forty. “Next Saturday, heeling.”
The students led their dogs downstairs. The golden’s owner came over and said, “Director, you’re more obedient than the dog.” I laughed and said, “Twenty percent off next time I groom your dog.”
The place emptied out. I sat by the railing and touched my neck — the collar was still on. Meng Chuan was packing up his treat pouch, one thing at a time, the clicker into the right pocket of his trousers.
“Director Luo, you’ve had the collar on forty minutes and haven’t taken it off,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me to take it off.” “Right.” He coiled the lead. “I didn’t tell you to take it off.”
I reached up to undo the buckle, my fingers paused on it, then unfastened it. The collar dropped onto the mat and a ring of cool went around my neck.
“What does your husband do?” he asked.
“District Market Regulation Bureau, deputy section chief,” I said. “On duty today.”
“Married how many years?” “Five.”
“Haven’t come in two years, have you.”
I looked up at him. Nothing on his face, same as reading the weather. “I counted how many times you pressed your thighs together. Seven.”
“You train dogs, you don’t treat patients.”
“Same thing.” He picked the collar up off the mat and set it on the railing next to my phone. “Keep this.”
He went downstairs. I picked up the collar — nylon, a ring of my own sweat on the inside. I stood by the railing a while, then tucked it into the back waistband of my leggings.
At noon I locked the training floor and went down to see two patients — a poodle with a skin condition, an English shorthair in for a spay recheck. Xiaoyu said, “Director, there’s a mark on your neck.” I said, “Collar chafed it, from the demo.” She said “oh” and went to weigh the shorthair.
Three thirty in the afternoon I did the books in my office. Twelve students, eight thousand one hundred sixty, my thirty percent, two thousand four hundred forty-eight. Meng Chuan’s WeChat had been pulled into the staff group by Xiaoyu — profile picture a black German shepherd, Moments set to three days, nothing there.
Chen Jianming messaged at four in the afternoon: “Bureau dinner tonight, don’t wait up.” I replied “ok.” Thirty-four, deputy section chief, once every Wednesday and Saturday night, five minutes, lights off, then off to shower. Two years, and not once have I gotten there.
It’s not like I hadn’t tried. Last year I bought a bullet vibrator, hid it in the lining pocket of my gym bag, used it twice; the third time he saw it and said, “That thing’s unhygienic.” After that it just lay in the lining, batteries long dead.
At seven that evening I boiled myself a bowl of buckwheat noodles and ate half. On my phone Xiaoyu sent Sunday’s schedule: front desk Xiaoyu, doctor none, director none. I read “director none” twice.
Eight o’clock, home alone. Didn’t turn on the Ring Fit, didn’t do Pamela. I took that collar out of the bag and buckled it on in front of the living-room mirror, snug to two fingers.
The person in the mirror wore a white tee and leggings, a ring of black at her neck. I slid a hand into my waistband — wet, hadn’t dried since the afternoon.
I said “sit” to the mirror. Said it myself, quietly. My legs bent once, didn’t go down. Said it again and went down, buttocks pressed to my heels, just like he’d had me do that day.
Two fingers in, and what I was thinking of was the clicker. Click. Did it right.
Three minutes, legs shaking, couldn’t stay up, knelt on the rug. Two years, and the first time was on my own knees, someone else’s collar around my neck.
When I came, what I called out wasn’t Chen Jianming, it was “click.” Saying it out loud froze me for two seconds, then I laughed, and after laughing I didn’t want to laugh anymore.
I knelt a while before I got up. A small dark patch on the rug — I pressed at it with a tissue, couldn’t get it out, dragged a throw pillow over it.
Ten thirty Chen Jianming came home reeking of baijiu and went straight to shower. He didn’t see me tuck the collar into the deepest part of my gym bag, in the same layer as that dead bullet vibrator.
Eleven-oh-two, a WeChat came in, an unsaved number, profile picture a black German shepherd.
“Tomorrow, three in the afternoon, the training floor. Come alone.”