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Make not the mistake of taking my resolution for anything as trite or petty as mere revenge; nor tar me with the same brush as those who hunger for positions of power. Nay, as senior partner of Salvador and Fitch power is something that I possess in abundance. It is not for want of wealth, or position, or perceived injury that I put my designs into motion; these actions motivated more from a sense of duty that what I do is right.\n\nDear old Dick was - is - a friend I have known from infancy; fait accompli and steadfast companion to me since our days as classmates and beyond. We would borrow each other's notes in shared determination to obtain our law degrees and slowly work our way up to the modest private firm we own today. Though it is his name that comes first in the billings and mine second, it is something hardly worth remarking on. Never think that Dick ever slighted me in any way or gave me cause to take up arms against him. Rather, interpret these concerns as stemming from one who is true friend instead of bitter enemy - for I could not; cannot in good conscience see Salvador and Fitch driven into obscurity by the bleeding heart of Dick Salvador and his insistence on fancying virtue in every soul he meets\n\nAmong such souls is one Morris Salvador; Dick's eldest and soon-to-be heir to his father's modest holdings. He is a pleasant enough youth as boys go, I suppose - energetic, passionate, eager to learn and always deferential to his elders. In him I see the image of Richard in miniature; a sandy yellow meerkat banded with black with a body still in its prime and not yet gone to seed, with a cheerful and charismatic personality that cannot help but infect clients and superiors alike. My acquaintance with Morris dates back to when he was but a kit; and I the genial godfather charged with changing the odd nappy or making occasional appearances at family parties. He is twenty now, and while part of me feels a father's pride at the individual he has become; my reservations remain uneasy. A law firm is a place for cutthroats, not fine young furs. It is an arena of white-collar brutality and savagery that requires a firm paw and firmer resolve. Many are the times I have had to save poor Richard from some error of mismanagement; playing bad-cop to his good for the sake of keeping our accounts out of the red. Much as I adore my dear friend, I cannot say that he has much penchant for business...and thus it alarms me to learn that his future heir and my partner-to-be appears cut from the same cloth. \n\nDo not suppose that I ever gave either of them reason to suspect my concerns, however. Such is an avenue I know to be fruitless. For all his points, Dick can be as obstinate as the weasel he bears passing resemblance to. When he sets his mind on something, nothing will deter him from securing it and it is this stubborn streak which I so greatly admire. Nor can I confide my fears to Morris directly; what with the dear lad's head being so full of the notions and quandaries they cram into students at law school. Like his father he is a dreamer; full of ambitious ideas to make the world a better place. Unlike Richard, however, he is beset with too many distractions - sport; a girlfriend, games - to truly commend him. I have seen others of his type; young lawyers who think they are ready for the challenges of private practice. Many of them wash out early to take up junior roles in legal departments or contract consultants, with all the idealism drained from their tone and eyes. \n\nI cannot; will not, entertain such a fate for Salvador. Better that something be done about it early to force the issue rather than to squander years arriving at the same outcome. It is for the good of both father and son that I carry out what I intend to do. I must preserve Salvador and Fitch by any means necessary. I have given too much of myself to this company to see another drive it into the ground. \n\nIt does not take an overabundance of acting chops to play my accustomed role, or give either cause to doubt my good will. I continue as the unflappable partner, the hopelessly out-of-touch godparent in need of enlightenment on matters such as phone apps or MMORPG games. If Morris Salvador had a weak point, it can certainly be said to be one or the other. As most young people are, he has his attention fixed upon multiple things at once and can be easily driven into a fluster when a number of affairs together conspire for his attention. And while old fogeys such as myself or Dick are well past the age for dwelling upon sexual pastimes - our occasional forays merely adopted to suit occasion or opportunity - the same cannot be said for poor Morris; who surely possesses the stamina of a fox in heat. Though in his courtesy he takes the trouble to mask it under liberal applications of cologne, it's pretty evident to anyone with a good enough nose or knowledge of his internet password to see where his interests tend to lie. \n\nAs a godfather, I profess both. Perhaps I owe in no small part credit to this happenstance for allowing me privy to the sites he most often frequented; from whence I obtained a deeper understanding of how I might orchestrate his downfall. And thus I set my plans into motion, selecting a day when Richard would be away on business to pay a visit to his son's cubicle. \n\n``What up, Mori? Workin' hard or hardly working?''\n\n``Get with the times, Uncle Fitch. Nobody says `what-up' anymore,'' though he feigns a cool indifference, I see a smile hover around the edges of his muzzle - and why not? It's only old uncle Fitch, nothing to see here, nothing to write home about. \n\n``How's that Allerton brief then - you still messing around pro-bono? You know you don't have to - ''\n\n``It's alright, I need the experience,'' Morris treats me to a trademark grin; one that no doubt has made him popular among dozens of female undergraduates. ``You worry too much, Uncle Fitch,''\n\n``No, I worry exactly the right amount,'' We both laugh - the saying and its rejoinder has become a staple in many of our conversations. ``You `bout done for today, slick? Any plans for the weekend?''\n\n``Not really, thought I'd watch some NetPix or play some HoH - y'know, Home of Humans? My guy's a zookeeper and we're doing a raid tonight on some escaped animals - ferals...''\n\n``Ooh, kinky,'' I nudge him with an elbow and receive a bashful glare from the meerkat in return. ``So you've plans then? Because I was thinking...''\n\nI have his full attention now, I'm sure of it. This is yet another windup to one of old Uncle Fitch's patented Wild Weekends. It's always on the pretext of work - an opportunity for valuable experience - but at the same time takes us to interesting places ordinary folks can only dream. We've done this quite a number of times since Salvador junior joined the firm, sometimes as a trio but more recently just the two of us on quite a few memorable jaunts. Our last excursion was to a brewery, where we spent an entertaining weekend treated to free tours and samples of the local beverages after reviewing their licenses and legalese. ``You get all the fun contracts, Uncle Fitch,''\n\n``Tell that to my liver. It's still acting up after that pub crawl last time,'' I wave the case file suggestively under his twitching nose. ``So you in, or out? Gotta book the reservations, y'know,''\n\n``Where'll it be this time? Five star hotel? Amusement park? Massage parlor?'' he tries to keep a poker face, but the tone betrays his excitement. I'm reminded of a much younger Morris as a cub bristling in anticipation at the presents I used to conceal behind my back. \n\n``Prison,''\n\n``Prison?'' I can't help it, I laugh aloud at the genuine surprise and disappointment on the meerkat's features. ``Our new contract's a prison?''\n\n``Prison-hospice, really. I'm not entirely SURE what it is, tell ya the truth,'' I flip through the folder, extract a brochure, and slide it across Salvador's desk. ``From what I gather, it used to be strictly private detention. Like juvie hall for cubs, y'know? Except instead of being state funded it's a private outfit, for governments and stuff who prefer to rent existing premises instead of maintain their own. Oh, and get this - they've got an age limit too. They don't take anyone over thirteen. No teenagers, no adult inmates. Only cubs,''\n\n``Only cubs?'' I've never heard Morris squeak in so high a register before. \n\n``Yep, only cubs. They've got branches offshore in a few other countries, but the idea's still catching on here from what I understand. This is new territory to all of us, if it catches on it could save our judiciary system millions in the long term by leasing prisons instead of maintaining them. That's what it's all about, and why we're there,'' I tap the folder and its contents. ``It'll be the usual - we check the premises to make sure everything's up to code, that safety regulations are being met, then we go over the legal mumbo-jumbo to make sure they've dotted their I's and crossed their T's. It'll take longer than what you're used to since this is something new, so they're covering our room and board for the weekend on top of everything else. Feeling up to it, kid? Ready to make some history?''\n\nIt takes a considerable while before Morris replies. For once his attention is fully upon a singular object as he flips through the glossy brochure. I suppose I can understand, having had a similar experience when I first encountered the booklet myself. Eventually tiring of the admittedly amusing series of expressions forming on Salvador's face, I squeeze myself with some difficulty around behind him for a peek. ``Ah. I see you've found Ellie. I think she's the company mascot,''\n\n``Ellie?'' The meerkat echoes incredulously as we both regard a pinup of a preteen tigress wearing a swimsuit and not much else. The photographer has captured her likeness with her paws resting provocatively upon her hips and her eyes directly regarding the viewer. ``You said it's a prison...?''\n\n``Illyana, actually. And I said it used to be a prison,'' I remind Morris, flipping back to that pertinent section of the brochure for evidence. ``What it is now is something else entirely.'' \n\n ``Else...?''\n\nPoor Morris does not seem capable of stringing entire sentences together just yet, so it behooves me to explain. ``Apparently there's not much revenue to be made in privatizing juvie prisons...which makes sense. You've taken Economics in college, right? So you know about supply and demand... Well here's the principle at work. Fact is, you don't get many juvenile offenders. Most tend to slip out of the system; families settle out of court, etcetera. Those who do get arraigned...well again its more likely to see them saddled with community service or probation rather than go to cub jail. This lack of demand makes it not worth the average community's time to create a cub jail, see? Because they haven't got the numbers to fill it. And they can't exactly house cubs with adult criminals, right? That's where this place comes in, but...''\n\n``There's a `but'?''\n\nI fold both arms and try my best to look severe. ``There's always a `but'. Here, it just so happens that the profits this place earns by leasing out prisons doesn't meet its overhead costs because it faces the same problem as those governments in the first place - they don't get enough clients since there just aren't enough juvenile offenders to justify the expenses of keeping the lights on and the place running. So as you see, they've decided to diversify,''\n\n``Diversify?''\n\n``Yep. They're not a prison now, at least not entirely. It's also some kind of finishing school, rehab center, boarding home and military camp all in one. Oh, and also a non-profit orphanage of course,''\n\nMorris finally manages to find his voice. ``That can't be legal,''\n\n``You'd be surprised at the kind of stuff this state lets you get away with. Also, that's where we come in, isn't it - to see if it is or isn't? If you wanted to tag along with me, that is,''\n\nThat does the trick. The brochure has fulfilled its purpose. He's hooked whether he knows it or not. As I predicted that he would be, from what I know of his internet habits and search history. If I'm not mistaken, touring a commune of cubs would be right up his alley. ``I'm in,''\n\n``Good chap. It's right here in Springwood, so there's no need to bother with flight transfers or luggage. Don't even have to pack an overnight bag; the representative says they'll see to everything and for us to just come as we are. I'll bring the legal briefs and swing by your place to pick you up on my way out. Any questions?''\n\n``Just one,'' Morris points at the name on our client brief. ``Kinetic-Educative Natural Neurology Enclosure for Learning - seriously?''\n\nI feign nonchalance. ``Quite a mouthful, to be sure. Gotta admit it's a catchy acronym though. And not entirely incorrect, given the circumstances. Not something you'll forget in a hurry, right?''\n\n``You can say that again. K.E.N.N.E.L - I'll say this at least: somebody there has a sense of humor.''\n\nI ruffle his headfur in paternal fashion and make my way out of the office, leaving brochure and case file on the desk. Something tells me that both items will be sought after by a set of eager paws before long. It had taken me; a graying legal eagle pushing his sixties, the better part of an hour to pull myself away from the information package and its contents. For someone much younger and active - a certain meerkat, say for instance - the effects would surely be more pronounced. \n\nAll according to plan.  \n\nChapter Two\n\n``I'm afraid I've not been entirely straight with you, sport.''\n\nWe lounge side by side in the spacious confines of a chartered limo, watching the landscape blur by. That is to say; I lounge - watching my co-traveler's anxiety with considerable amusement. The way he perches himself at the edge of his seat looking this way and that is more akin to skittish hare than meerkat. I avail myself of carefully extricating folder and forms from Sal's rigid paws, a maneuver that entirely escapes his notice with his attention everywhere at once. \n\nIt is not an altogether unexpected reaction, I suppose. The corporation had surely spared no expense in prioritizing our comfort. Plush upholstery, privacy curtains, in-house entertainment and a fully stocked minibar compete for our attentions. Shot-glasses lie upended on lace doilies in their holders. I liberate one from these confines and help myself to two fingers of bourbon; topped with a twist of lemon. The sound system is playing some indistinct music in the background while screensavers featuring the Kennel's cartoon logo loops itself across our entertainment screens. It is this latter which presumably occupies my colleague's attention; a tongue-in-cheek caricature of a cub in a cage that hovers somewhere in the gray zone between ironic and tasteless. ``Huh?''\n\n``I said I may have misled you on one point,'' it certainly takes Morris a moment or so to tear himself away from our case file to regard me.  ``This is merely a routine audit, nothing more. The Kennel has already obtained the necessary clearances allowing its operation, so all we are here for is to ensure it is operating within the terms laid out by those agreements. You won't be tested on the nuances of state law loopholes or anything like that, I promise. So try to relax, eh?'' I put together a concoction of Southern Comfort and Seven-Up. ``Here, put this away and stop looking like a deer in the headlights before you give me a complex,''\n\nHe drains it in one, grimaces and reaches for another. ``You're holding out on me, Uncle,''\n\n``Am I?''\n\n``You must be. All this,'' Morris taps the folder and its contents. ``Must be some kind of weird joke, right? Something to get me out of the house while dad and Giselle make preparations or whatever?'' He grins, and it's astonishing how young he looks in that moment - almost like a kid playing dress up in his dad's clothes. ``I mean I'm flattered Uncle Fitch, really. But you needn't have gone to all the trouble of setting up a stag party,'' \n\n``So that's what you think this is about, then? That I would deliberately proposition you on false pretenses, on company time and with company resources, to celebrate your wedding?'' \n\n``That's exactly what I think. You're never this relaxed on business, and something like this can't be real. You're pulling my tail somehow,'' he returns to looking this way and that, as though hoping to see tiny cameras or banners proclaiming SURPRISE concealed in the upholstery. \n\n``Chauffeur,'' I rap on the privacy partition separating our carriage from the driver's wheel, motioning to lower the ambient serenade as I do so.\n\n``Aye?'' Our driver turns to face us, her chauffeur's cap nestled in the valley between her long ears. She is a matronly hare, middle aged and pleasant with a touch of the moors in her accent. \n\n``What can you tell us of this Kennel place, then? My friend's feeling a bit out of his depth,'' I indicate the bundle of meerkat-shaped nerves to my left. \n\n``Och, tis' noo mah place t'say, ye ken? Ah'm ter getcha there, nothing more,''\n\n``You're not with the company?''\n\n``Nay, boot they hire us time an' again,'' Perhaps misreading the situation, she shot a sympathetic look at Morris. ``Tis' a place they keep the wee bairns, not fer great galumping galoots sich as yerselves I hear. Nae offence ter present cump'ny, o' course,''\n\nI do my best to keep a straight face. ``Hear that, Morris? Nothing to be afraid of,''\n\n``Tis' a foine job they do ter be sure, mind yeh,'' a speculative look flits across our driver's face as she warms to the topic. ``Ah've noo got bairns meself, but mah cuzzin - she sez they just about do wonders with their wee ones. She has herself a handful there, what with the lot getting' up ter drugs an' all manner o' harm. Sed ter me the magistrate sendin' her eldest upstate were the best thing that ever was, used ter be a right rascal that one - an' now e's as good as they come,''\n\n``So it's real then - they really do...''\n\n``Och, tis' real enough,'' the hare taps her chin thoughtfully. ``As fer what they do, yer guess is as good as moine. They makes ye sign some sort o' papers, if'n ye hire their services. Thought I'd pry it out from me cuz, but she's still keeping mum. Mayhap I'll stop by ter see `im, since it's Saturday,''\n\n``Saturday?''\n\n``Weekly visiting hours - it's all in the folder somewhere,'' Something occurs to mind. ``Perhaps you won't mind introducing us?''\n\n``Aye, if `is warden sez tis' a'right,'' We pull into a driveway that ends at a security checkpoint. ``Evrabody oot,''\n\nOur conveyance has stopped at an impressive pair of automated gates bearing an ornate letter K at the intersection where they meet. On one side is a small guard post staffed by a pair of bored wolves. One is leaning back in his seat with footpaws up on a table, watching a collection of screens. The other leans out to regard us from the window. ``Name and purpose?''\n\n``Salvador and Fitch - here for the audit,'' I hand him our IDs for safekeeping, accepting a couple of yellow wristbands in return. They resemble the sort issued by hospitals, only crafted of some strange plastic material rather than paper. I slip my identifier on and loop it closed, motioning for Morris to do the same with his. He does so, albeit reluctantly.\n\n``Are we auditors or inmates then?'' Morris gives his tag a few experimental tugs. ``Don't they have clip-on passes?''\n\n``When in Rome...'' I shrug and clap him on the shoulders. ``These fellows will take them off for us when we're ready to leave. Won't run the risk of anyone losing their pass this way, see?'' \n\n``Certainly saves us a good deal of false alarms, Mr. Fitch. We used to do it the traditional way, but visitors kept losing their passes and making us go into security lockdown while we sorted things out. Can't be too careful where cubs are concerned,'' Our clearance confirmed, he leans over to look at our chauffeur. ``And you are...?''\n\n``Fanny Crablick, en't I? Here ter see our Angus M'Cloud. Tis' Saturday, y'ken?'' She holds her arms akimbo, glaring up at the wolf with maternal ferocity. \n\n``Visiting hours aren't for a while yet, Ms Crablick,'' I find myself somewhat amused to see the larger canine appear to wilt under the force of her glare. ``But you're welcome to wait in the lobby till they are. This way please, our valet will see to your car,''\n\n``Hmph! Visiting hours indeed - an' if Ah find one scratch on me car...'' Even Morris has to stifle a laugh at this. It doesn't keep him from looking from hare to wristband, however. \n\n``We acknowledge several categories of visitors, Mr. Salvador,'' the trustee who buzzes us past the gate offers in response to his confusion. ``Tags are for direct family and clients only; they allow access to other areas of the facility. Non-immediate family aren't allowed past the lobby, where they get to speak with the cubs only under supervision.''\n\nFanny's reply is a haughty sniff. ``Tis' nobbut Cheek, is whut et is. What when Ah've been `is closest relation e'er since she up an' married that no good M'Cloud...''\n\nThe purr of the cart we are shown to drown out these remonstrations. It is still a modest drive from the main gate to the building proper, and we pass a few more sentry towers on the way. We spot a few guards on watch in the upper canopies, keeping a close eye on surroundings below. Our guide points out these installations and their occupants whenever we pass them in something resembling pride. ``Each tower commands a line of sight up to at least a hundred yard radius, and we position them so they overlap the blind spots as much as possible. Aside from the wooded quarry, we've also leveled the area to limit cover. It's all flat plain between the institute and the gate, clear line of fire for our eyes in the towers. And the distance from kennel to gate is enough to tire out a cub going full sprint. They either get afoul of the towers or run out of steam before reaching the gate. Inmates won't be escaping that way, not on our watch,''\n\n``Surely the guns are overkill, Ms--'' \n\n``It's Warden, actually: Warden Hartmann,'' the female skunk tips Fanny a meaningful wink. ``We use tranquilizer darts instead of live ammo, of course. And you wouldn't say that if you knew our cubs,'' \n\n``Och, aye! Our Angus were a right wild blighter, `e was. Back in `is day,''\n\nI see by his manner that Morris is not entirely convinced. Perhaps Hartmann does too. ``At the end of the day our watchword is containment, Mr. Salvador. That still remains the cornerstone of our service. And as a private body, we need to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the domestic variety. Anything less, and we risk losing the trust of those clients who sublet our services. People are rightly cautious of whom they entrust their kids to, you know. Therefore, the kennel prides itself on a spotless record, and the only way to uphold those standards is to cover every eventuality,'' she spreads her paws in a conciliatory gesture. ``I can assure you that all that we do is done in the client's stated interests. It is hardly profitable to do otherwise, or engage the kids in ways we are not paid for. We are a private practice, after all.''\n\n``And what kind of clients do you get?''\n\n``A fairly diverse group. Historically, our founder envisioned us as leasing out private detention for juvenile offenders to meet a specific niche of customers,'' she glances over at the folder in Sal's grip. ``I see you've read our docket, so you probably already know how our various installations cater to states or small counties who find it otherwise too wasteful to maintain their own cub correction facilities. It is not always in a state's best interests to do so, especially if they do not foresee themselves having a need for one. We offer competitive rates that are cheaper than the average costs they would incur by establishing a prison in-house. From there, it didn't take long before people realized we didn't have to limit ourselves to the prison pool and it made sense to offer containment services to the general public as well,''\n\n``What use would the general public have for cub prisons, though?''\n\n``We prefer to call them `daycares', Mr. Salvador. And to address your question - we find that busy parents do appreciate the conveniences we offer...which amounts to board and lodging for their kids if the parents have to travel for extended periods of time and can't obtain a sitter, for example. The concept originated with pet kennels, I believe. It is an often overlooked industry that capitalizes on people needing places to house their pets while they go on vacation or are otherwise unavailable. We've merely expanded this from pets to children in offering the option to parents in need of it. Our summer school services are a popular item, for instance,'' Hartmann ticks off each point on her claws. ``The majority of our clients are parents in need of daycare services or rehabilitation, and we still cater to juvenile offenders of course. Aside from that we also offer our services as a non-profit orphanage to lessen the burden of state-funded care. In this capacity we organize events open to the public, whom we hope to engage as potential sponsors for the orphans. Individuals such as yourself may choose to sponsor our available orphans by paying a sum that would go towards their upkeep and education, in exchange for regular reports on how your sponsored cub is doing as well as privileged access at our discretion. All the perks of parenthood, without disadvantages like breastfeeding or personally dealing with the terrible twos. It is a hot item among senior citizens and married couples unable to have children, from what I hear. We are always in need of sponsors,''\n\nThe go-cart makes its leisurely way up the path leading to a squat boxy structure up ahead. It certainly resembles no prison we have ever seen; the entire installation consisting only of some buildings set at an L angle to each other with a small courtyard in its hollow. Surely not a place that can accommodate many prisoners. \n\nThis evidently occurs to Morris as well. ``I assume you don't enjoy a large clientele?''\n\nHartmann smiles, anticipating the question. ``These are our administrative and domestic offices, Mr. Salvador. The actual facility is located underground. This place used to be a geothermal plant before we co-opted it, and the underlying structure suits our purposes rather well. There is plenty of space below ground as it is, with more for expansion if need be. An effective escape deterrent too, if nothing else,'' she eases the go-cart to a stop in a vacant lot. ``Here we are,''\n\nWe get a whiff of the smell I've always associated with institutionalized care - some mysterious combination of industrial soap and air freshener - as we pass through the automated doors. The sight is not unlike the waiting area of a public clinic or pharmacy. Chairs are arranged in rows facing a compartmentalized countertop. Clear screens resembling the sort one might find at a bank teller's station or priest's confessional divide the countertop, sealing the area we are in from the rooms on the other side. Some of the rooms are empty, others occupied by uniformed cubs accompanied by guards while they spoke with their visitors. The uniform is some manner of orange jumpsuit as far as I can tell, not too dissimilar from the adult inmate variety. It hangs loose in most cases, especially at the collar where cubs have a habit of fussing with - resulting in outsized necklines that droop to expose one bare shoulder or another to a viewing eye.\n\nI allow myself a smile at the sound of Morris clearing his throat, pretending to turn my attention to the lighted display of queue numbers and available counters. I don't have to look at him to know that the meerkat is attempting to sneak peeks at those clad in orange without appearing too obvious. Poor kid. Who does he think he's fooling?\n\n``Are...are all of them juvenile offenders?''\n\n``Some are, but not all,'' Hartmann directs Fanny to one of the machines to input her details and receive her queue number. ``Illyana over there is an orphan, one of our oldest charges. She'll soon be graduating out of our facility and moving into state care. Gus Mc'Cloud's a juvie, sentenced to two years for multiple counts of arson and vandalism - you'll meet him later. And then there's Mark, my sister's kid - camps with us most summers but we're thinking of extending his contract so his folks can go pursue their postgrad Masters overseas and land a higher pay bracket. They're dressed the same and we treat them all the same; don't want anyone thinking we're playing favorites,''\n\nHer paws indicate each of the occupied cubicles in turn. Not all respond, though Illyana flips Hartmann with the middle claw and her nephew Mark manages a half-hearted wave. The hem of his collar sags as he does so, affording us a view of his collarbone and scruff. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Morris wet his muzzle. ``You alright there, sport?''\n\nA distracted nod is the only response. Once again it falls to me to take charge. ``How does this work, then? Do we need queue numbers?''\n\n``No, those are for unannounced visitors. I'll be taking you both to survey our operations shortly. Oh!'' We are interrupted by the pneumatic door whooshing open behind us. Another group is entering the atrium; a family of four. The father is a bookish-sort in button down shirt, slacks and loosely knotted tie. A pair of round-rimmed spectacles balance precariously upon his snout, giving him the appearance of a harried accountant. His mate is a vision of loveliness attired in the Muslim fashion - in a long sleeved baju-kurong that reaches down to her ankles. A tudung shawl completes the ensemble, loosely raised over her ears. Their eldest daughter is a lanky beanpole wearing a pink regulation leotard, the chalked numerical markings left over from a recent competition (#032) still present as black smudges on her upper thigh and arm. She is fiddling with a scrunchie, releasing what was formerly a tight ponytail to fall in a cascade of matted auburn strands as they walk in. Her younger brother brings up the rear - headfur tousled and scruffy, clad in shirt and shorts that appear a little too big, forepaws stuffed morosely in his pockets. They are chatting nineteen to the dozen, making their way to an unmanned receptionist desk situated near the partition.\n\nFor the first time since we've seen her, the unflappable skunk dame seems flustered. ``Doctor Small! We weren't expecting you back quite so soon...'' Hartmann spares a glance at the empty reception area in what looks like disapproval. ``My colleague is occupied at the moment, would you gentle-folk mind waiting while I settle this?''\n\n``Neither of us are doctors, Sister Hartmann. Please do not stand on ceremony. It is good to see you again,'' there is a pleasing lilt in her speech that brings to mind the Middle-East. The jackal lady glances in our direction, registering our presence. ``More clients, Sister Hartmann? You've certainly done much with the place. I remember back when this used to be an empty room. We were the only ones here then, weren't we John?''\n\n``Mr. Salvador, Mr. Fitch - I'd like to introduce you to the Smalls,'' her paw gestures at each of us in turn. ``Mr. Small has a mortuary practice here in Springwood, and his wife is our county coroner. These are their cubs, Lori and Travis. Lori is eleven this year and has been with us a considerable while...almost from the start, as a matter of fact. As of yet we've not had the pleasure of making her brother's acquaintance,'' Hartmann tips a wink in the boy's direction. ``Messrs Fitch and Salvador are attorneys that we've hired to keep the books cooked and accounts straight, Mrs. Small. Do forgive me if I sound frantic, though. They come highly recommended, and charge by the hour.''\n\nWe share the obligatory awkward chuckle at this observation. \n\n``We've always wanted to enroll Travis as well, but the prices are pretty steep...deservedly so, of course,'' Mr. Small hastens to add. ``But currently beyond our means. Maybe after Lorelei graduates...''\n\nThroughout this short exchange I entertain myself with the succession of facial expressions playing out on my companion's face. He has recognized the girl by now of course - for how could he not? She enjoys a measure of household notoriety in our humble town as one of the few representatives our youth division has been able to gather for statewide competitions. Recently made the cover of the local sports newsrag at some point for their top twenty-under-twelve issue. And even if Morris has been living under a rock for the past couple seasons; it is unlikely that he has missed the photogenic appearances Lori has contributed to their corporate brochure. Her face and figure takes pride of place on many a splash page in various attitudes and positions.  That he has recognized her is a point I am certain of. The fact that Morris uses one of her pin-ups for his desktop wallpaper volunteers no evidence to the contrary. \n\n``Hullo, Lori. Won another gymnast meet, I see?'' There is little reason for me to stand on ceremony, having met the lass on prior audit occasions. ``Where are you going to put all your trophies?'' \n\nNow follows a nearly indistinct mutter from the other jackal boy in which the word `dustbin' is barely audible. Whatever remains of this comment trails off into a sudden yip as his elder sister manages to surreptitiously elbow her sibling in the side without missing a beat or losing her demure expression. ``Lorelei here is one of the candidates for the company's new poster child once Ellie graduates,'' I tell Morris by way of explanation. ``They offer subsidies to the list price for parents whose cubs qualify for shortlisting, I believe. It's one of their avenues in securing new clients and retaining the regulars,''\n\n``Indeed it is,'' Hartmann interjects smoothly. ``Services charges are already significantly reduced for clients who make early commitments to a recurring payment plan of course, as is the case here. Lorelei was enrolled in our daycare program and her family decided to take advantage of our long term savers' option,'' \n\n``She was born not long after I met Hamizah,'' Small reseats his spectacles further up his snout. ``We were postgraduate transfer students in those days, pursuing related avenues of study - me from Guilin province, and Hamizah from Lebanon. To say that the medical field was challenging would be an understatement - the hours we spent interning at Springwood General alone...'' \n\n``In short, not ideal conditions for raising a cub,'' Hamizah spread her paws. ``We were strangers in this country then as well - not exactly poor but certainly lacking in contacts and support networks. Rushing into our nuptials was rash on hindsight, but fortunately we were able to procure long term childcare services at reasonable rates. That is not to say we did not take advantage of their available options, once settled in our careers,''\n\n``We were told she had a natural talent suited for acrobatics as a gymnast, and what kind of parents would we be to stand in the way of personal growth?'' Lori sticks her tongue out at Travis, who does not dignify that with a reply. ``At the time we figured it was exaggeration, but the Sisters certainly proved otherwise,''\n\nHartmann expertly keeps us all on the move during this unexpected exchange, directing us to an unoccupied counter. ``We call the personnel who are assigned sole responsibility over a particular cub `Handlers' or `Sisters','' she tells us. ``Seeing that it's far more pleasant than the alternative. I was Lorelei's assigned Sister for a few years, so we got know each other pretty well. It was an unusual arrangement; usually cubs are assigned new handlers every year so they don't get overly attached to the same set of faces. Lorelei will most likely be getting a new one if her contract is renewed another term. Both I and her new handler will be keeping you informed of her progress as usual, of course. Here are the standard papers requiring parental endorsement; I trust neither of you object to our auditors accompanying us to oversee the process?''\n\n``Nope not at all. Best to have legal representation on something like this, right?''\n\nFor a moment there is silence as we adults rifle through forms and disclaimers, broken from time to time with occasional questions addressed to myself or Morris. The return to familiar territory is certainly a relief to the meerkat; who quickly finds himself engaged with the Smalls over topics of culpability and responsibility. He conducts himself pretty admirably for somebody doing a convincing goldfish impression just moments before. \n\n``Mrs. Small, you've mentioned once that Lorelei might pursue cheerleading as a future co-curricular activity?'' Hartmann produces more official looking papers which she proceeds to examine closely. ``If so, I'm obliged to inform you that most official programs do have a new BMI requirement and Lori is currently on the low end of that range. It is entirely your choice, of course - but should you decide to take advantage of our new dietary options you won't be disappointed. A refresher course in our swimming program would not be amiss either, it's a fine way to develop the poise necessary for advanced gymnasts.'' \n\n``Hmm, I don't know - she does seem to be on the skinny side... You can fix that?''\n\n``We can fix that,'' the skunk lady nods encouragingly. ``And anything else you care to highlight. You'll find the checklist here,''\n\nTravis exploits that opportunity to pull a face at his elder sister, saying something that's either Chinese or Malay. She snarls back in the same language, giving him a shove before tugging at Hamizah's paw. ``Ibu...''\n\n``I know you don't like it, sahyang. But the Sister says...''she lights upon Morris, suddenly aware of our presence. ``What do you think, Mr. Salvador?''\n\n``Well, I...'' the meerkat appears uncomfortable, but takes refuge in protocol. ``Lorelei is still a minor, so any issues dealing with upbringing falls to you as her mother to decide, Mrs. Small. So long as her wellbeing isn't compromised that is,''\n\n``And we can assure you it will not,'' Sister Hartmann leans over to tip us a cheery wink. ``We've never lost any of our charges and we don't intend to do so now. It'd be bad for business,''\n\n``Can you also do something about her Chinese? There are few opportunities to practice here, and the tutor says her grades are slipping - ''\n\nIt takes the better part of an hour before the Smalls finalize the terms of their renewed contract and set their signatures as witnesses to the document. Hartmann gathers the completed forms; using a stylus to mark the requisite checkboxes on an electronic touchscreen she produces from her case. Once done, she flips it round and presents it to her clients for confirmation; patiently running down the finalized list on her device with special emphasis on each checked item - allowing either parent the chance to request changes before sealing the contract with a touch of their paw. Even Morris finds no fault with this level of professional transparency; at every stage of the process Hartmann solicits her clients' opinions about the item in question and allows ample opportunities for either to change their mind. She conducts herself calmly and appropriately throughout; from the very moment we sit down to pour over forms to the contract's renewal. I cannot help but feel impressed, though it is not exactly my first time witnessing this exchange. Judging from his expression, Morris apparently feels the same. \n\n``Everything seems in order. Now if you will all follow me?''\n\nWe are led past the partition separating the common area from the conversation cubicles at the far end of the room. Beyond is an L shaped corridor with an elevator at its first bend; one that we are told leads to the staff quarters above. Past the corner are doors leading into the interrogation rooms we saw from the lobby, with a stairway leading down. A confused jumble of conversation from the lower level reach our ears as Hartmann ushers us down the stairs. ``This is the rec room,''\n\nBeanbag couches line the walls of a modest space bearing some resemblance to a basement refitted as a common area. The air is not as musty as one might expect, with small windows situated high up near the ceiling open to admit the late morning breeze. Tables and stools are set up in clusters; their bright colors and lowered height a clear indication that they've been designed with cubs in mind. Books ranging from paperback classics to large-print fabric for early readers are piled in a haphazard stack to one side. Well-loved stuffed animals regard us from another corner. Together these accessories lend a somewhat cheery aspect to the dayroom, almost causing one to overlook the little details that suggest otherwise. \n\nIt doesn't take long to notice that sharp or angular objects are conspicuously absent and the available furniture is of the lightweight variety with rounded edges. No toys with detachable or moving parts that can be dissembled or easily swallowed; no fragile electronics or ornaments within occupant reach. A ceiling projector broadcasts a grainy rerun of Pig Hero 6 upon a wall as another warden lurks dispassionately to keep an eye on his charges. An older squirrel cub in prison fatigues sprawls upon one of the beanbag cushions, his snout buried in a Goosebumps paperback. A group of other cubs are gathered on the floor, watching the titular swine kick butt in the streets of San Fransokyo. Three others - a wolf, fox and doe - face each other on opposite sides of a low table playing at cards. They are somewhere between Lorelei and Travis in terms of age; big enough to make sitting at the table a semi-awkward enterprise. Both wolf and doe have their legs tucked close in awkward squats, trying to stay perched upon stools clearly meant for much younger cubs as they study their cards. That isn't what has drawn our attention, however. Fortunately for us, Travis obligingly points out what is undoubtedly at the forefront of our minds. \n\n``Naked! Mama, they're naked!'' this observation is voiced as a jubilant crow; in the unique manner only villains and five-year-old boys eager to witness doom upon older compatriots are capable. It certainly suffices to command the attention of everyone in the room. The squirrel youth glances over in an attitude of supreme boredom before refocusing on his book. Those watching the movie swivel round, lured by the prospect of real life drama far superior. The adult chaperone at his post rolls his eyes, bringing up the fingers of one paw to rub wearily at his temples. All three card players flinch, turning round to look at us like deer caught in headlights. Stray cards fall unattended from hands but no one makes a move to gather them up. \n\nAs it stands, Travis is only partly correct. The way the trio have twisted round to face us affords a pretty good view of their various stages of undress. In truth only one of the group - the arctic fox - is actually naked, the orange fabric pooling around his ankles a clear admission of guilt as he hugs his tail-brush up against his chest. Yet his companions only fare slightly better, with the wolf boy lacking his uniform top and the doe her jumpsuit bottoms. Cards lie forgotten on table and floor as they abandon their seats to stand, heads hung in anticipation of Hartmann's fury. \n\n``Did I just catch you kids playing strip poker? Were you three gambling?!''\n\n``It's just UNO, Sister!'' Strangely enough, the fox's claim appears to be true. I identify Draw-Two, Swap and Draw-Four Wild cards among the scattered debris on table and floor. \n\n``You - shush!'' our guide silences protests with a glare, rounding upon the next unfortunate target of her attentions. ``Eli, I expected better of you,''\n\nThe wolf she addresses doesn't appear any older than second grade. He is on the frail side and considerably scrawny, individual ribs outlined below his fur heaving at each shaky breath ``I - he...he said he was hot, and the warden said it was ok, so we...''  \n\nFor a moment there is silence; one that is quickly broken by a single word spoken with a cub's unmistakable inflections from somewhere near the TV. ``Busted,''\n\nHelp comes from an unexpected quarter in the form of the duty warden. ``I did say summat along those lines, yeah. Kid said they were feeling hot, said `e was getting one of `em whatchamacallits - heatstrokes - with the thick fur...reckoned we were better safe than sorry,''\n\n``And you believed him?'' Hartmann shakes her head in exasperation. ``And even if that WERE true, how'd you explain this?'' One claw jabs in the direction of exposed nethers. \n\n``It itches?'' three sets of incredulous faces - wolf and doe included - turn upon the fox kit, who has the unmistakable look of someone who has just signed his death warrant. ``Um, no - I mean...''\n\n``Dead pups walking,'' This from the squirrel kid to the room at large, casually turning another page of his book. Nobody seems to disagree.\n\n``You. With me,'' placing a steady paw on the miscreant's bare shoulder, our guide steers him towards us. Wolf and deer trade glances before reluctantly following at our rear. It is all Morris can do to keep from staring at the current state of our new arrivals. ``You two: wash bay - now,''\n\nThey flee in a mad scramble of hooves and paws through the only door leading out of the rec room. This is also our current destination, albeit at a more leisurely pace.  On first impression it appears to be an ordinary cloakroom, with cubbyholes for storage and sets of uniforms folded in neat stacks on the shelves. More are hung out to air on a collection of horizontal poles that serve as clotheslines. It is here that we reunite with Eli and his friend; or at least their bare behinds as they finish hanging up their partial uniforms before vanishing through yet another door. Hartmann watches them leave, seemingly preoccupied although her paw maintains its firm grip on a furry shoulder. \n\n``These are our storage areas,'' she says to us. ``Every cub has a locker assigned, which they can use to store possessions till their stay with us ends and they get to reclaim them. Lori, would you care to demonstrate?''\n\nThe jackal girl nods, immediately starting to strip out of her one-piece leotard without the slightest hesitation, gathering the form hugging fabric up in her arms. Moving with purpose towards a specific locker, she presses the pad of one paw against a panel built into its door - affording our entire group a teasing glimpse of her pert profile and tight hindquarters. She is joined at the locker by Hartmann herself, who retrieves a key from a ring about her person and fits it to a lock. ``Our storage lockers require two-point identification, both the owner and an authorized handler have to be present or they will not open. It safeguards against potential escapes since cubs won't be able to retrieve their belongings on their own, while also lending the assurance that strangers won't be rifling through a cub's possessions,'' \n\nLorelei deposits her leotard in the locker before moving to join the other fox boy, apparently unconcerned by their shared situation. Arms rest casually at her sides, hardly bothering to hide her assets from view. I take stock of our number. The family of four appears remarkably collected, as though faced with something they see every day. Not so my compatriot. From the looks of things Morris has apparently found something of supreme fascination high upon the cloakroom's ceiling. \n\n``We've a small dilemma here, folks...'' If Hartmann has noticed my partner's behavior, she gives no sign of doing so. ``Our original schedule had us breaking for lunch in the cafeteria, if not for a couple problems that need our attention. Would you and your colleague mind accompanying us to the wash bay... Mr. Salvador? Are you feeling all right?''\n\n``You'll have to forgive him, Sister Hartmann,'' I snap my godson out of his self-imposed trance with a clap on the shoulder. ``He's never seen your methods in person. Studied the docket cover to cover, of course. But it can be a little jarring, going from theoretical concept to seeing it up close.''\n\n``No better time than the present then,'' Suddenly the skunk is all business, doubtless following a prescribed template that she has had to adopt on many similar situations. ``The uniforms are used for outsider interactions only. But in the interests of efficiency the bulk of our routines require cubs remain unclothed from here onward. It is a practice we have adopted for several reasons; with deterrence being the chief among them. It is harder to smuggle illicit items in and out of the premises without pockets to contain them, and inmates who do happen to escape will find themselves sticking out like sore thumbs,'' she eyes Morris askance. ``I trust you are comfortable with this? If it sets your mind at ease, I can assure you our practices have been ratified by an advisory committee and are undertaken with full approval of our clients. It is, in fact, part of the extensive lists of forms and waivers that we go over with them to ascertain if the families are willing to defer to our stated mode of treatment,''\n\n``We have nothing against the notion, of course,'' Hamizah murmurs something in a language I can't make out to Travis, who promptly proceeds to shed shirt and shorts as well. ``Back in the Old Country it was tradition for cubs to be breeched only when they came of age, as part of a formal occasion. In the privacy of home, we try to keep such customs alive,''\n\nI feel a momentary pang of sympathy for poor Morris; with the number of naked cubs increasing steadily from one to three. Hartmann is relentless, however - adamant on directing my reluctant associate's gaze. Eventually unable to resist the lure, Morris glances over at Lorelei only to squeak in surprise as the jackal casually repositions her arms behind her head: an action which exposes more of her body in the process. \n\n``We call this stance one: the attention posture,'' our guide draws our attention to the position Lorelei is currently adopting - upright, feet spaced slightly apart and arms raised with forepaws cradling her head. ``All our charges have to adopt it if they notice anyone who's not an inmate glancing their way. It is one of the first things that are taught, something that quickly becomes rote habit. Feel free to experiment, should you wish,'' \n\nMorris and I take Hartmann at her word. Each time it is exactly as the skunk describes; with Lorelei adopting the attention stance each time we turn to look at her and dropping it when we glance away. Trying the same thing with the fox boy beside her yields similar results. Other than a sense of mild irritation and boredom at having to do the same action over and over, I get the impression that neither cub appears particularly troubled by our attentions.\n\n``Try stepping closer after stance one, Mr. Salvador. You too, Mr. Fitch,''\n\nI do as Hartmann suggests and the fox boy straightens, raising both arms higher above his head, paws still crossed at the wrists. The result is a posture bearing suspicious resemblance to a P.O.W position; an attitude that brings the sleek contours of his body into sharper relief. A quick look over at Lori is enough to see that the effect is even more pronounced on her wiry gymnast's frame. It's certainly having an impact on Morris; who is showing a considerable amount of interest for someone so adamant on avoiding eye contact just moments before. ``What's that?'' he points, and I finally notice the glint of metal shining from Lori's navel. Its corresponding gleam is harder to spot amid the younger fox's thicker pelt but I make it out eventually - a round sphere of something metallic snugly resting in the hollow of his exposed bellybutton. \n\n``Ah, you've noticed their trackers. I was wondering if you would; not many are as observant,'' sidling round behind the pair, Hartmann brings her paw to rest upon the older girl's flank, helpfully squeezing the flesh of her trim stomach to lend us a better view. ``Every cub receives such a piercing when they are first processed. It functions to track their movements within the facility, as well as act as a security failsafe should they leave its boundary unescorted. The whereabouts of our charges are our primary concern, and this little chip saves us a good deal of trouble. Each one broadcasts and receives signals transmitted from our various control bunkers, which in turn updates the system with the wearer's whereabouts and cross checks that with individual schedules to see if everyone's where they're supposed to be. Any cub who isn't is flagged for follow-up action, and by default the tracker deals a disabling shock should its wearer go beyond our facility boundaries. This is calibrated based off individual endurance levels to limit a cub's movements without harm until our retrieval teams can pick them up. They're perfectly safe. We do maintenance checks on a regular basis to ascertain each one is in working order and replace them twice a year. Speaking of which...''\n\nProducing a cardboard carton from a drawer, the warden offers it to each of us in turn. We reach in one at a time to obtain matching pairs of sterile hospital-issue gloves. It is evident that the Smalls are no stranger to this part of the proceedings so we copy their example, yanking the rubber over our paws. There is only one size available, appearing outsized on Travis but uncomfortably snug in my estimation. Once all of us are gloved appropriately, Hartmann motions for Morris and I to shift over to the side where the fox boy is standing so as to leave Lori to her family. ``The tracker does have another feature, which I'm about to demonstrate,'' she fishes out that electronic touchpad we saw her using earlier on to log the family's wishes. ``Stance 4 now,''\n\nOur - for some reason or other I'd grown accustomed to thinking of him in this manner - fox utters a petulant whine but complies; rising up on tiptoe and thrusting his snowy torso outward while keeping both arms swept back in a strenuous posture of arrested motion. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lorelei do the same, albeit with more grace. Both wobble precariously upon tiptoe, limbs straight, torso suspended in an arch with their arms and legs angled back. Every line of their bodies hangs taut as garrote wire, the positional strain adding definition to the muscles we see straining to hold them upright. Fingers tapping out a mysterious sequence of keys on her device; Hartmann invites our approach. The Smalls evidently need no urging, Hamizah currently occupied with massaging the tense muscle on her daughter's toned frame from collarbone to pelvis. Assorted grunts and winces escape the girl's snout as she struggles to maintain the stance despite her family's united efforts, sweat already starting to bead upon her skin. \n\n``Go ahead, he won't bite,'' Hartmann runs her own gloved fingers across the poor fox's quivering body, paying particular attention to the boy's ribs and sides. She alternates between a kneading motion and tickling, returning often to linger over his pale underbelly and crotch. ``I've armed both their trackers, and they've been here long enough to know by now what happens if they relax their positions. I can't let you interact with Lori unfortunately, not unless her family gives permission. But snowy here is all yours. Don't worry about the shock, that's what your gloves are for. Have a go,''\n\nI crouch, putting myself on eye level with the first-grader before clumsily aping Hartmann's example. His whimpers take on a strident quality as I rub absently at the firm flesh around his belly piercing, notably different from the indifference displayed two stances prior. After a moment's indecision Morris joins me; first hesitant but then growing ever bolder as he warms to the prospect - enough for me to dial back my efforts and leave everything to his capable paws. Over the course of our combined ministrations I feel what is probably the effects of the shock piercing secondhand as involuntary twitches running throughout the boy's frame; causing immature muscles to flex attractively as he pants and whines in the aftermath. Although his thick pelt lends an illusion of stockiness, our questing paws quickly discern the truth as damp fur loses its former volume to hang in matted patches showing off his sleek, streamlined form. While less impressive than Lori the fluid ripples of motion across heaving chest and abdomen are a sight to see nonetheless, and though not as taken as Morris by the spectacle even I cannot help but marvel at the strain I feel in every tremble of his body; the strength of will it must take to ignore our distractions and remain upright. \n\nYet something seems off, though it is awhile before I realize what it is. Somehow, despite all the stimulation the kid's sheath is bone dry. This is curious, as I'd have expected any cub however stoic to have wet themselves at least twice over under such conditions. Yet his sheath remains in its original state since the start of our encounter; neither engorged nor threatening to leak in any way whatsoever. Most curious indeed. I ponder awhile over whether something like this is worth bringing to Hartmann's attention at the cost of potentially interrupting my associate's interactions. \n\nTurns out I needn't have worried; in the state he's in a roof would be collapsing before Morris ever takes notice. Hartmann does however, and smiling directs my gaze to the fox's family jewels; expertly maneuvering around my companion to lift the cub's little package and bring it to my attention. A claw gently peels back the loose outer fold of the sheath, revealing what appears to be a curious rounded `cap' over its tip. ``This is what he was complaining about back in the rec room. One common side effect of the therapies is that it tends to leave our cubs fairly frisky. Because of that we often keep them plugged down there to avoid leakages and potential accidents. It's always awkward for handler and cub both if they squirt without warning under some routine checkup or other, so we try to spare them that embarrassment. The plugs are foolproof. Nothing we do, from tickling,'' she suits the action to the word, scraping her claws lightly down the shivering boy's flanks, ``to more intense stimulation - '' a perfunctory nod to Morris and his current activities. ``Will ever make him leak. Nope, snowy here is perfectly safe and dry,'' she administers a comparatively gentler rub to the child's belly that makes him squirm with pleasure, ruffling his head-fur fondly. ``That is, until we decide otherwise. Well done, you two - take a break.''\n\nJackal and fox drop their arms in unison and slump over in what is evident relief. Both are breathing heavily by this time and damp with perspiration. Even Lori appears winded, bringing up a paw to nurse an aching side. ``Stance Four is among the most demanding of our repertoire, but it is one that all our charges master with practice. Most who come to us are unable to hold it for more than a few minutes at a time, but with enough training a cub can be taught to stay in stance even under considerable distractions as we've just demonstrated. This is an important facet of the training every cub here undergoes; since many procedures require a patient to keep still. It is also a prime posture for inspection that emphasizes a cub's musculature and bone structure far more clearly than stances One and Two, which you've already seen,'' Hartmann has our fox demonstrate once more, this time only staying in each position for a count of ten before switching. ``Stance Two is also known as the Scan Stance, and it's what is required when cubs encounter checkpoints or otherwise need to submit to body scanners. For those, a more exposed position is necessary as compared to Stance One; since the system uses it in comparison with records in our database. Any discrepancy between scan and recorded baseline is flagged for attention, in case it might be a ringer or imposter. Most detention facilities concern themselves with only a face, whereas we find full-body records far more effective. Cubs like Lori and snowy here,'' she squeezes the fox's shoulders playfully, ``Regularly report for routine scans and checkups to update existing records so as to keep the data comparisons accurate,''\n\n``That sounds like it could be considerable trouble. How often do you do it, once per year? Six months?''\n\n``Actually, we try to do so once a month. And I've never implied it isn't a hassle. Our clients pay top dollar however, so for us it is worth it. One can't justify cutting corners on matters of safety, especially where cubs and parents are concerned,'' At some point in the discussion we have continued walking, leaving the cloakroom to emerge into a space dominated by trough urinals and ceiling showerheads. ``Although I suppose it does explain why we prefer to keep our population within manageable numbers,''\n\nThe place we find ourselves in is rife with a chaotic jumble of running water and conversation, one where our guide has trouble making herself heard. Morris is staring again, and no wonder - more cubs hang about in pairs using the facilities. Our elevated vantage point overlooks a tiled hexagonal room with sewer grating running along its perimeter. Pools bearing some resemblance to hot tubs occupy two of the room's sheared corners, diagonally facing each other. From these pour a steady inflow of traffic as cubs surface from one pool and dive into another, newcomers arriving to replace those who have left. Evidently there is some manner of underwater transport system in practice, as one pool seems to be reserved for entering and the other for leaving. Cubs would haul themselves out of the former and make a beeline for the showers in the middle before leaving via the latter, engaging in conversation as they do so. The showers themselves appear to activate without rhyme or reason, requiring those using them to move from section to section of the tiled central grid. An unmarked `pathway' divides the tiled shower section in the middle from the sewer grating around the walls, far enough from the activity on either side to avoid the possibility of being splashed. A handful of adults garbed in protective slickers patrol this boundary, keeping a close eye on things and breaking up confrontations before they get out of hand. \n\n``Wash bay,'' explains Hartmann in reply to our unasked question, indicating the pools. ``Some of the procedures we conduct require sterile conditions or as close to them as can reasonably be managed. Management decided that the best way to achieve this was to have separate avenues for entering and leaving so they'll remain presentable for the eggheads. Those who enter pair off with a partner for scrubbing before leaving through the passage linking to the sterile area,'' she nods towards the shower-section; where we look down upon what appears to be random sections of the grid being sprayed by overhead sprinklers that run for a short moment before shutting off. Cubs would head for the sections with running water in groups, moving from grid to grid in pursuit of a thorough rinse. The overall effect for someone watching from above put me in mind of old video games for some reason; or those dance machines in arcades where the aim is to step upon lighted squares for points. \n\n``The showers are always in operation, so the system currently in place is one that saves water while easing potential burden on sprinklers and pipes. Instead of having them run continuously, we set it up to detect areas upon the grid with the greatest volume of users. The showerheads will activate for the section with highest population, run for a moment, then reactivate at another location. They don't visit the same area twice, so there's no way to game the system. We find that this setup allows for procedural wear and tear to be distributed relatively evenly throughout existing infrastructure, letting us make the most of what we have.''\n\nHaving invested my future in law instead of - oh, say...industrial engineering - I take our host's rationale at face value. None of us here are experts in the relevant fields to challenge this explanation anyway, despite part of my brain objecting to the notion. Thankfully, that part is easily shut up by the sight of soapy cubs dashing from point A to point B. There is something hypnotic about watching so many bodies in motion weaving their way across the central grid in what looks almost like a coordinated dance to `chase' the closest available sprinkler. In some cases, the milling pack even leave before their current location runs dry and arrive at the new one before it starts to turn on, experience lending some sixth sense to their movements. I might've spent the entire day glued to the observation panel watching this dance replay itself again and again, if not for something else arresting my eye. \n\nThat something turns out to be pairs of matching posts scattered throughout the wash area. Each stands roughly at shoulder height for an average adult, and their paired placement - one on each side of a specially textured section of tile - suggests some manner of frame. Each post has three smaller cylindrical rods branching out at intervals along its length that face inward at the space between them. Although the `trunks' of the main post seem solid enough, there is something about the `branches' that suggest they are made of some different material entirely...perhaps something that is meant to be - \n\nOh. I look over at Morris to find him in goldfish mode once more. Evidently the same lines of thought have occurred to him regarding the role and purpose of said objects on the posts. Moments later we are rewarded with visual confirmation: a possum cub saunters up to the poles and plants his feet upon the non-slip surface between them, reaching out with both paws to grasp at the middle set of branching rods to the left and right. Their height and orientation requires him to stand on tiptoe in order to do so, with arms outspread almost in a T to reach each side. We watch his small paws slide up and down the branching rods - slowly at first, but soon building into a faster rhythm - pumping faster and faster. The denouement when it comes is one we both expect; with spurts of a white gooey something being expelled from the rod-nozzles to splatter upon the cub's exposed body. \n\n``Soap dispensers,'' is all Hartmann will say on that subject, her expression unreadable. Together we watch his partner step up to the plate, her paws scrubbing at the possum's fur to spread trails of sticky white around while he continues to pump the nozzles for a second coat. ``They function on a partner operated system, like many things here. One cub has to pump while the other does the actual scrubbing, each taking turns,''\n\nI nudge Morris in the side. ``Tell me that doesn't remind you of...''\n\nHuh. Interesting. I never knew meerkats could actually turn that color of pink. Something to note down. For future reference. \n\n``This way, everyone,'' we leave the observation area behind, entering the wash bay proper. Hartmann appraises us with a critical eye before disappearing back into the cloakroom and returning with a load of ponchos. ``We'll be keeping to the walkway from here on out, but those of you with suits might want to put these on just in case. Never know when there might be a stray splash,''\n\nI take their largest size, awkwardly trying to make it fit around my middle. It's enough to almost make me envy Morris and Hamizah; who are able to don their raincoats with little trouble. The smell of carbolic soap gets stronger as we approach the room. For some of us, our encounter in the wash bay is the first time we've ever been up close to so many undressed cubs at once. Most are moving with purpose between pools and shower, nonchalantly ignoring us new arrivals. Others are lounging and engaging in horseplay at the pools. We see Eli and his doe friend again, now naked and maintaining an awkward half-squat together at the urinal troughs lining the walls. The deer has her forelimbs resting upon Eli's bony shoulders for support, currently too preoccupied to notice our emergence. Half crouching while facing her, we watch the wolf methodically knead at his partner's stomach with both paws to the sound of fluids splattering against the trough. Grunts and hisses from the latter issue sporadically as she voids her bowels, interspersed with colorful language more appropriate for a shipyard than a hospice.  \n\n``Could you get on with it, Saff? You're not the only one who hasta go, y'know,'' Though there's an anxious note in the wolf's voice, he doesn't shirk from applying continuous stimulation to the doe's flanks and midsection in a manner that is eye-catching to say the least. I belatedly awaken to the fact that I've spent the last couple minutes staring like a moron, captivated by the dainty motions of Eli's paws navigating flesh and fur. While no professional masseuse, he appears to have some idea of what he's doing at least - if the girl's sensual moans and sighs are any kind of indication. \n\n``You think it's so easy, you - ahhh!'' a vocalization that is equal parts strain and grateful relief conveniently eclipses the term she would have applied to him otherwise. ``Then do it yourself!''\n\nTo his credit, Eli takes her reply in his stride; his long-suffering attitude implying this isn't the worst he has encountered from this quarter. His ministrations continue to a steady accompaniment of herbivore grunts and curses as I wisely look away in deference to the sensation building in my trousers. ``Whoa,''\n\nIt is unclear whose comment it was that shatters the stillness. Could've been either of us or neither, something arising instead from the Smalls' quarter. Whatever its source, it happens to cut through Saff's litany of creative curses to command their attention. Two figures stiffen and two heads swivel in our direction - Saff glaring defiantly at our presence; Eli blushing pink to the roots of his bare fur. \n\n``Keep going, you both know the drill,'' with a motion of her arm assigning us clearance to watch, our skunk guide addresses the pair. ``No stopping till it's done. I'll be checking, Eli. So you best be sure,'' \n\nSwallowing nervously, the skinny wolf resumes his task and his partner's vocalizations continue. Although this time I detect some struggle on the doe's part to control her exclamations in the presence of an unexpected audience, Eli's expertise easily foils any attempts at such efforts. His paws elicit gasps time and time again at a reliable rate even after the last of her bladder is emptied down the grate, leaving the girl a shivery wreck by the time he finally draws away. We hear stiff joints popping as both are finally allowed to straighten, automatically entering Stance One at our presence before receiving permission to resume. \n\n``Now they'll swap,'' Hartmann's prediction is proven true as wolf and doe do exactly that - both rising from their squatting posture to take up fresh positions with Eli now facing the urinal. Behind him, his partner aims his sheath with one arm while using the spare one to attend the wolf in similar fashion. Their motions have the telltale ease of long practice and she largely ignores the yips and flinches of her partner, savagely stroking and teasing at his torso and flanks in expectation of that which would follow. It is not long before the spray is coaxed forth anew. ``Assisted toileting,'' our guide informs us matter-of-factly. ``We find it therapeutically beneficial in encouraging a familiarity with being handled, both by fellow cubs as well as by staff and nurses. Which reminds me - gather round, everyone.''\n\nWe do as we are instructed; Morris albeit reluctantly - his interests still captivated by the squirming pair's antics. Hartmann guides us over to an occupied spot at the urinals, firmly ushering an antsy fox cub to the wall. A small cart contraption on wheels awaits nearby. It is unremarkable in terms of general appearance, perhaps the height of a trolley. A handlebar on one side indicates that it is designed to be pushed. On closer examination it appears to be a receptacle holder of sorts, in some manner related to the metal industrial types used in hospitals or airplanes to keep meal portions hot. Try as I might I find myself unable to locate any kind of door to the inner warming compartment however. Instead, several circular depressions line its uppermost surface; each holding a cylindrical object of some kind. Tendrils of steam create heat hazes above these receptacles as the contraption keeps their contents warm. An altogether boring set piece in conclusion; especially when compared to the wash bay's occupants, it is not something l might've noticed admittedly - were it not for the sidelong glances one of the number seems to be casting in its direction. Though he tries not to show it, there is something about this device that concerns the fox kit in our midst considerably.\n\n``Alright, folks. I could use a volunteer. Would any of you oblige me? Mr. Salvador? Mr. Fitch?''\n\nI trade a wink with the Smalls and we all take a step backward in shared consent, leaving one very confused meerkat stranded out of our lineup. A very impressive bit of choreography if I do say so myself. ``Uncle Fitch? You...what?''\n\n``It's all yours, slick. Make us proud,'' I clap my colleague on the back; a move which serves the dual purposes of communicating support while propelling him forward into Hartmann's presence. This is followed by an encouraging nod from Hamizah and a thumbs-up from John. \n\n``Are you still wearing your gloves? Excellent - now if I could get you to hold this for me...'' fiddling with the contraption's receptacles, Hartmann extracts something that vaguely resembles a test tube. She presses it on our brave volunteer, who fields in gingerly in both paws. Freed from its holder, the cylinder immediately begins to steam upon contact with the cooler surrounding air. ``No need to look so nervous, Mr. Salvador. All I need you to do is pop the top of that canister and hand the plug to me. Be sure to keep your gloves on, though - it's hot,''\n\nThe arctic fox is already in Stance One when she turns her attention back to him - arms raised and feet planted slightly apart to allow Hartmann access to the collection of objects between his legs. Fiddling with his sheath, she exposes that curious cap once more; this time pointing out a little indentation that previously escaped my notice. ``This here is the keyhole. Step closer everyone, it's hard to make it out from a distance...'' once she has our attention, the skunk selects what appears to be a straightened paperclip from her collection of keys. It takes a while before I see what it actually is: one of those specialized keys people use nowadays to open small compartments on their phones and such like, where the lock is little more than a tiny hole. She fits it to the one in the cap, giving it a brief twist. Before our eyes the cap appears to open like a flower, revealing petal-partitions that allow Hartmann to seize ahold of and loosen carefully. It is not long before she has the entire plug extracted and tossed into a nearby used receptacle; all within the span of a minute. ``Mr. Salvador, if you would?''\n\nMorris hands her the replacement sound, which she casually immerses in a `bath' of water to cool. It appears `our' fox has gotten significantly more fidgety within that short space of time, however - all but hopping from paw to paw. Nonetheless it takes a moment before the penny drops and Morris realizes what he's really been asked to do. ``Um...''\n\n``Go ahead, Mr. Salvador. He's waiting,''\n\nI make a little shooing gesture with my paws. It seems to do the trick, and we watch a replay of events before. Although his technique is admittedly less impressive than Eli's had been, the resulting stream makes it clear enough that the kit doesn't need any further prompting. And for all his earlier reluctance, Morris is curiously slow to disengage; paws moving to part and inscribe trails through lush white fur.  The assorted yips and squeaks of his assigned target probably do not help matters. \n\n``They come in a range of sizes,'' after checking that each of us are gloved; Hartmann passes a couple of canisters around for our perusal. `` - with separate models for males and females. What you're holding is the containment canister where the plugs are suspended in an inert solution at high temperatures to ensure sterile conditions. The heat kills off any bacteria or contaminants that are missed in the first wash cycle. Our surplus stock can sometimes be found for sale at the pharmacy above ground as well, should any of you be interested. Nine out of ten pediatricians endorse it as a feasible solution for incontinence or nocturnal emissions. Visit your local GPs for an assessment and written referral though, since it isn't available over-the-counter,''\n\n``Doesn't something like that require specialist training?'' \n\n``Indeed it does, Mrs. Small. Our listed price covers both the sale of the item itself, as well as the cost of a short training session the buyer is required to attend in order to be certified for performing the procedure. It doesn't require medical experience and is something that parents, teachers and caretakers can quickly pick up,'' the casual way she replaces the fox's plug is testimony enough. ``We've started to offer caregiver classes catering to the general public which cover this aspect as well as several others. Already a few schools in the district have signed up their teachers for our classes and there is talk of making the course mandatory for everyone in the childcare industry; given the popularity of our product. As of yet our focus is still upon the preteen range, though we are thinking of expanding to incorporate older audiences - ''\n\n``Anything that brings in the money, eh Sister?'' we are interrupted at this point by a tall otter attired in floral-patterned board shorts but little else; with a ring of tags and keys dangling from a cord about his neck. He's young like Morris, with a surfer's build and brashness. ``And who do we have here?''\n\n``Folks, this is my colleague and Lori's new handler - Trevor Jones. I've asked him to meet us here so we could be properly introduced,'' even without looking, one can almost sense the eyeroll in her voice. ``Handler Jones will be your point of contact from hereon as I lack his experience in the service-areas you've highlighted, Mrs. Small,''\n\n``Just T.J will do,'' the otter offers an exaggerated kiss to Lorelei's forepaw. ``Atcher service,''\n\n``Handler Jones,'' reiterates Hartmann to us, ``Is a fully licensed warden who used to be a talented swim instructor and competitive swimmer before joining our faculty. He has won several medals in statewide events and is the best match for Lori's water development,'' \n\n``Aw, stoppit - you're making me blush,''\n\n``Jones, these are the auditors we've hired - Morris Salvador and Atticus Fitch,'' We offer our paws to be pumped several times by the over enthusiastic otter. ``The Smalls you've already met,''\n\n``Lawyers, eh? I used to study law, back in college. Never made it further than Intro 101 though...''\n\n``We should probably be moving on,'' Hartmann's reply has me glancing at my watch. Has it been over an hour already? Bidding farewell to the Smalls, we dispose of our ponchos and head out.  \n\nChapter Three\n\n``Penny for your thoughts,'' the fruit medley is sheer ambrosia, perfectly paired with the sober notes of a dry martini as counterpoint. It is nearly as good as restaurant fare; enough to excuse the unusual manner of its presentation and our surroundings. \n\nThe room in which we currently sit to dine resembles more of an amphitheater or lecture hall rather than cafeteria; with tables and benches layered in concentric rings going down to a stage platform at the very bottom. Seats are slowly filling around us as more and more people arrive to be shown to their tables by loitering cubs. The orange jumpsuits they wear appear almost florescent in the gloom of evening, making them easier to spot in this dimming light. Hartmann's own nephew is the one to take our dinner orders - grub stroganoff for Morris, salad for me - which arrives in individually wrapped foil portions that come with plastic spoons. Wine is available upon request; by the cup and not the bottle, however. No sharp utensils or cutlery, no bottles that could otherwise break or be pressed into service as improvised weapons. Such would be too great a risk altogether, regardless how `trusted' our waiters might be. It has been a while since I've dined with plastic cutlery in place of silverware. On the whole, an interesting experience. \n\n``What kind of open event comes with a price tag?'' Morris spears a caterpillar, munching it with evident relish. ``Good grub, though,''\n\n``This kind,'' I wave the skunk kid over to clear our trays. ``Gotta admit, it's pretty smart. Make something free and no one wants it - but once you tack on an exclusive price tag...you get curious people lining up outside your door. You also attract someone other than the penniless public, I suppose... See that chap over there?'' Morris turns in the direction I indicate, taking in the imposing wolf currently enjoying the company of a preteen waiter in his lap. ``He's some kind of mogul, I think. Hotels, or some such - runs one of those off-the-book places where all your dreams come true for the right price. Didn't catch his name; Om-something...but he's definitely a fellow you wouldn't want to get mixed up with. And that couple over there?'' I point at a pair of elderly beavers on the wolf's left. ``I know them; they're good people - came to consult us over the legal process for adoption once, since they can't have cubs of their own. These events attract all types; nowhere else will you get to see mobsters mingle with schoolteachers. And they'll HAVE to play nice, whether they want to or not; or run the risk of being blacklisted. Nobody wants that,''\n\n``The event's that good?'' there is skepticism on Salvador's face. ``What's it about anyway...some kind of performance? Tasty as their stroganoff is; I somehow don't see mobsters being interested in paying the cover charge for just the food alone,''\n\n``You'll see, college boy. Now hush - the show's starting,''\n\nAn expectant atmosphere is settling over the auditorium, with last-minute stragglers squeezing by to locate their seats. Conversation peters out as the overhead lights dim further, leaving only the stage illuminated. Everyone is gazing at the central platform and catwalk leading up to it, far as I can tell. Our unfortunate seating arrangements situate me behind some lady with a bouffant hairdo, and eventually I resign myself to watching one of the projector screens rather than the live performance. \n\nWe do not have to wait long before the curtains part to reveal our evening's entertainment. I draw in an intake of surprised breath and am vaguely aware of Morris doing the same. It is the white fox we encountered earlier. He is attired in a strange costume consisting of top hat and open-front vest. A native-style linen wrap girds his loins, preserving their modesty. Music starts playing as he approaches the stage; one of those newfangled rap numbers that's more rhythm than anything else. \n\nIt is then that the performance begins. \n\nI see Morris goggling with his jaw wide open beside me and am vaguely aware that I'm doing the same. Before our eyes the arctic fox becomes a white blur of motion, tossing and catching his hat as he does so. The choreography that follows has some resemblance to breakdance or capoeira in the flowing nature of his movements as he turns and pivots, balancing top hat on one paw before spinning it by its brim, letting it roll along his arms and paws before catching it on the toe of an upturned foot. There it teeters for a moment, before a casual kick rockets it upward again to land square upon his head. The black hue of hat and vest is a good contrast against his white fur and, I confess; is the only way I have of following the cub's dizzying movements. More than once I find myself reminded of the Stances we saw earlier while watching the kit at his routine; juggling his hat even as he attains the front of the stage, hurling it skyward even as he launches into a graceful forward roll that somehow ends in an upside-down pawstand, top hat falling to rest at the intersection of legs parted in a perfect split. \n\nThe crowd goes wild, exploding with cheers and catcalls. My pants feel unreasonably tight. Over the course of the act Morris has been scooting closer and closer; now he sits perched upon the edge of his seat, staring in fascination. Down on the stage, a fox boy continues to maintain his inverted pose; the tension in the air around us suggesting to me that the show has yet to end. \n\nThe report of gunfire; when it comes, takes almost everyone by surprise. I fall backward in my chair. Morris manages an undignified squeak. There is a scream or two as others quicker on the uptake piece together what I'm only just seeing: the top hat previously balanced upon a cub's spread legs now lies a distance away smoking, a red splatter upon its brim. Only the relative calm upon the performer's face and the chuckles of veterans around us keep the audience from fleeing in a mass exodus. For this too, is somehow part of the performance; part of the show. I'm reassured of this when gunshots thunder again, this time splattering a section of the stage in garish red. \n\nPaint pellets - not actual bullets. Merely blanks and paintballs, nothing more. None of us were in any kind of danger, but what on earth...?\n\nAnother shot; this time at the location of the fox's former pawstand. I say `former', because by the time the projectile bursts in a shower of red the boy is no longer there - having flipped neatly back a distance away before bouncing back to the balls of his feet. He has shrugged out of his vest and is seemingly using it in matador fashion, whipping the fabric about in attempt to parry or counter each shot. Perspiration starts to build, matting fur to his body as he pirouettes and darts, the vest he holds in his paws getting ever more paint-stained as it wards off each `bullet' before being entirely shot out of his grip to join abandoned hat upon stage floor. \n\nThere is a heartfelt sigh from the crowd as the fox boy picks himself up, newly parted from his makeshift shield. It is followed by a hush of anticipation as his paws dip to his waist, as if to - but surely not...?\n\n``Walrus Almighty,'' mutters Morris in a strangled croak, knuckles whitening on the edge of his seat.\n\nNot the most articulate, perhaps...but it does sum up events rather well. All of a sudden the act is now a striptease, with the cub slowly unpicking the knot of his wrap and allowing the cloth to fall free. It unravels in a long pale ribbon that he wields with artful precision, every twitch of an arm causing ripples in the folds that both obscure and expose his now-naked form to view. The performance continues, this time with fabric as a prop - teasingly cast in semi-modest fashion to hide-then-reveal parts of the cub's body; a shield against occasional `shots' made by the unseen assailant, and even pressed into service as a jump-rope at one point before joining vest and hat in ruins upon the floor. \n\n``Is...is the show over?'' Morris is panting now, question loud in the silence that descends, tie lying askew around his neck as we watch the cub return to his feet with nothing he can use this time against his unknown attacker. \n\n``Not on your life,'' from somewhere ahead, I hear a spectator's throaty chuckle. It's that wolf businessman I pointed out to my colleague earlier; and he's sounding honestly amused. ``The best is yet to come,'' \n\nSo we watch, glued to our seats as the fox boy turns to face both us and his opponent - unabashedly naked, sweat-slick fur plastered to his frame like a second skin. Though he is standing still, there is a bristling in his person that suggests readiness to move at any second, alert for what may follow next.\n\nAnother gunshot has us cover our ears and draw in a collective `ahhh...' at the sight of stains upon the floorboards. In the interim our fox has moved, body twisted in the attempt to dodge the projectile. He maintains that pose, allowing us the audience to admire the semi-sensual attitude he freezes himself in...muscles flexing under his fur in their effort to bear the strain.\n\nA second shot rings out, and now the boy has adopted a new pose - this one more suggestive than the last. His breath issues in small clouds of steam in the evening's chill, lending to the allure. Old as I may be, it is taking most of my self-control to keep my paws away from that irritating tightness in my trousers. \n\nAnd now a third, followed by a fourth. The shots are becoming faster, with less intervals between them spacing them apart. Stances are adopted one after another, falling into a seamless pattern of fluid movements as the cub twists, stretches, and strains to avoid every shot while the floor below becomes ever more coated in paint. By the time of its denouement it seems that every patch of flooring is covered, apart from the small portion of stage upon which our fox stands. The boy is breathing heavily now from exertion but savagely triumphant, casually stretching and turning in a slow circle for his audience to verify his unmarred form. Although drenched in sweat, his fur remains pristine white; having avoided every single one of the pellets. The projector screens zoom in for the benefit of those like us seated far away from the action, showing heaving ribs as the child pants. Zooms out again for a full frontal body shot of the cub standing alone on the stage that leaves nothing to the imagination\n\nThe last bullet takes all of us by surprise; those among us who foolishly assume the performance over. This time the cub does not dodge. Instead, his arm sweeps up in a dramatic arc...a catching gesture; coming to a halt with the clenched paw facing towards us. Slowly it unfolds, and we see the round ball of a paint pellet cupped within a pawpad before his fist enfolds it again, arm raising higher until it is overhead. In that position of victory, he crushes the pellet in his fist - allowing the liquid contents of its paint to trickle out in runnels down his upraised arm to the remainder of his unstained form. There is something savagely erotic in how the paint spills from his fist to spread, gradually turning the white fur of his pelt a bloody red. He smears the remainder of its juice upon face and torso, where it takes on the appearance of tribal war paint. \n\n``Walrus Almighty,'' says Morris again, but this time he is drowned out by the cheers and applause that resound throughout the auditorium as the fox kit bows solemnly to us and finally takes his leave. Tributes are being tossed heedlessly to the stage in his wake - mostly in the form of coin currency and notes that the staff will retrieve later for safekeeping. ``No way that was real,''\n\n``It's not,'' I try to sound nonchalant though the performance has left me just as overwhelmed. ``It's choreography. An act - the cub practices the movements beforehand, and the hidden sniper is a confederate who takes advantage of the rote practice. Paint pellets or not, they're either blanks or they're shooting to miss. That bit there at the end? He has the paintball palmed all along, only showing us for dramatic effect. Unless you actually do think that kits can dodge bullets now?''\n\nMorris considers this for a moment or so. ``Well, I'm still impressed. Something like that would've taken a whole lot of coordination,''\n\n``You're meant to be. That's how they win sponsors. Damn smart method of doing so too, if you ask me,'' the hall is awash in conversation now as our fellow patrons engage in discussing the act just as we are in amazed and reverent tones. ``I'd say that kid will end up with more than a few applying to sponsor him, after his performance tonight. Room and board settled at least for another six months or so... Maybe there'll even be a bidding war. It's how they afford to pay for the orphans' upkeep - by auctioning off sponsorship rights to clients after shows like this one. It's different from adoption; sponsors don't get all the guardianship rights, but they do receive free passes to visit their sponsored cub anytime they like instead of paying the cover charge to see the shows. It's also a way for the kennel to `screen' potential parents, or for potential parents to opt for a trial period to see if parenthood is something they want or not - sponsorship buys you six months of access under supervision, which should be enough time for parents to make up their mind and for the management to determine if you've what it takes or not,''\n\nAround us the lights are slowly coming on as we make our way up the stairs and out the auditorium doors. Cub ushers at the doors are handing out cards to people as they emerge blinking to the lobby, simple designs sporting the kennel's enquiry hotline and the date of the next orphan auction. I take one for Morris, stuffing it into his shirt pocket despite his protests. ``Keep it, sport. Might come in handy if you and that Giselle have problems in kid development, eh?''\n\n``Uncle!'' \n\nI hold out both paws in mock surrender. ``I'm kidding. Now what say we try to get a bit of shut eye? It's been a long day,''\n\n","writing_bbcode_parsed":"<span style='word-wrap: break-word;'>Chapter One<br /><br />The countless eccentricities of Richard Salvador have I borne as long as I could, yet there comes a time when errors cannot be tolerated or their issue permitted. Make not the mistake of taking my resolution for anything as trite or petty as mere revenge; nor tar me with the same brush as those who hunger for positions of power. Nay, as senior partner of Salvador and Fitch power is something that I possess in abundance. It is not for want of wealth, or position, or perceived injury that I put my designs into motion; these actions motivated more from a sense of duty that what I do is right.<br /><br />Dear old Dick was - is - a friend I have known from infancy; fait accompli and steadfast companion to me since our days as classmates and beyond. We would borrow each other&#039;s notes in shared determination to obtain our law degrees and slowly work our way up to the modest private firm we own today. Though it is his name that comes first in the billings and mine second, it is something hardly worth remarking on. Never think that Dick ever slighted me in any way or gave me cause to take up arms against him. Rather, interpret these concerns as stemming from one who is true friend instead of bitter enemy - for I could not; cannot in good conscience see Salvador and Fitch driven into obscurity by the bleeding heart of Dick Salvador and his insistence on fancying virtue in every soul he meets<br /><br />Among such souls is one Morris Salvador; Dick&#039;s eldest and soon-to-be heir to his father&#039;s modest holdings. He is a pleasant enough youth as boys go, I suppose - energetic, passionate, eager to learn and always deferential to his elders. In him I see the image of Richard in miniature; a sandy yellow meerkat banded with black with a body still in its prime and not yet gone to seed, with a cheerful and charismatic personality that cannot help but infect clients and superiors alike. My acquaintance with Morris dates back to when he was but a kit; and I the genial godfather charged with changing the odd nappy or making occasional appearances at family parties. He is twenty now, and while part of me feels a father&#039;s pride at the individual he has become; my reservations remain uneasy. A law firm is a place for cutthroats, not fine young furs. It is an arena of white-collar brutality and savagery that requires a firm paw and firmer resolve. Many are the times I have had to save poor Richard from some error of mismanagement; playing bad-cop to his good for the sake of keeping our accounts out of the red. Much as I adore my dear friend, I cannot say that he has much penchant for business...and thus it alarms me to learn that his future heir and my partner-to-be appears cut from the same cloth. <br /><br />Do not suppose that I ever gave either of them reason to suspect my concerns, however. Such is an avenue I know to be fruitless. For all his points, Dick can be as obstinate as the weasel he bears passing resemblance to. When he sets his mind on something, nothing will deter him from securing it and it is this stubborn streak which I so greatly admire. Nor can I confide my fears to Morris directly; what with the dear lad&#039;s head being so full of the notions and quandaries they cram into students at law school. Like his father he is a dreamer; full of ambitious ideas to make the world a better place. Unlike Richard, however, he is beset with too many distractions - sport; a girlfriend, games - to truly commend him. I have seen others of his type; young lawyers who think they are ready for the challenges of private practice. Many of them wash out early to take up junior roles in legal departments or contract consultants, with all the idealism drained from their tone and eyes. <br /><br />I cannot; will not, entertain such a fate for Salvador. Better that something be done about it early to force the issue rather than to squander years arriving at the same outcome. It is for the good of both father and son that I carry out what I intend to do. I must preserve Salvador and Fitch by any means necessary. I have given too much of myself to this company to see another drive it into the ground. <br /><br />It does not take an overabundance of acting chops to play my accustomed role, or give either cause to doubt my good will. I continue as the unflappable partner, the hopelessly out-of-touch godparent in need of enlightenment on matters such as phone apps or MMORPG games. If Morris Salvador had a weak point, it can certainly be said to be one or the other. As most young people are, he has his attention fixed upon multiple things at once and can be easily driven into a fluster when a number of affairs together conspire for his attention. And while old fogeys such as myself or Dick are well past the age for dwelling upon sexual pastimes - our occasional forays merely adopted to suit occasion or opportunity - the same cannot be said for poor Morris; who surely possesses the stamina of a fox in heat. Though in his courtesy he takes the trouble to mask it under liberal applications of cologne, it&#039;s pretty evident to anyone with a good enough nose or knowledge of his internet password to see where his interests tend to lie. <br /><br />As a godfather, I profess both. Perhaps I owe in no small part credit to this happenstance for allowing me privy to the sites he most often frequented; from whence I obtained a deeper understanding of how I might orchestrate his downfall. And thus I set my plans into motion, selecting a day when Richard would be away on business to pay a visit to his son&#039;s cubicle. <br /><br />``What up, Mori? Workin&#039; hard or hardly working?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Get with the times, Uncle Fitch. Nobody says `what-up&#039; anymore,&#039;&#039; though he feigns a cool indifference, I see a smile hover around the edges of his muzzle - and why not? It&#039;s only old uncle Fitch, nothing to see here, nothing to write home about. <br /><br />``How&#039;s that Allerton brief then - you still messing around pro-bono? You know you don&#039;t have to - &#039;&#039;<br /><br />``It&#039;s alright, I need the experience,&#039;&#039; Morris treats me to a trademark grin; one that no doubt has made him popular among dozens of female undergraduates. ``You worry too much, Uncle Fitch,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``No, I worry exactly the right amount,&#039;&#039; We both laugh - the saying and its rejoinder has become a staple in many of our conversations. ``You `bout done for today, slick? Any plans for the weekend?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Not really, thought I&#039;d watch some NetPix or play some HoH - y&#039;know, Home of Humans? My guy&#039;s a zookeeper and we&#039;re doing a raid tonight on some escaped animals - ferals...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Ooh, kinky,&#039;&#039; I nudge him with an elbow and receive a bashful glare from the meerkat in return. ``So you&#039;ve plans then? Because I was thinking...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I have his full attention now, I&#039;m sure of it. This is yet another windup to one of old Uncle Fitch&#039;s patented Wild Weekends. It&#039;s always on the pretext of work - an opportunity for valuable experience - but at the same time takes us to interesting places ordinary folks can only dream. We&#039;ve done this quite a number of times since Salvador junior joined the firm, sometimes as a trio but more recently just the two of us on quite a few memorable jaunts. Our last excursion was to a brewery, where we spent an entertaining weekend treated to free tours and samples of the local beverages after reviewing their licenses and legalese. ``You get all the fun contracts, Uncle Fitch,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Tell that to my liver. It&#039;s still acting up after that pub crawl last time,&#039;&#039; I wave the case file suggestively under his twitching nose. ``So you in, or out? Gotta book the reservations, y&#039;know,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Where&#039;ll it be this time? Five star hotel? Amusement park? Massage parlor?&#039;&#039; he tries to keep a poker face, but the tone betrays his excitement. I&#039;m reminded of a much younger Morris as a cub bristling in anticipation at the presents I used to conceal behind my back. <br /><br />``Prison,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Prison?&#039;&#039; I can&#039;t help it, I laugh aloud at the genuine surprise and disappointment on the meerkat&#039;s features. ``Our new contract&#039;s a prison?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Prison-hospice, really. I&#039;m not entirely SURE what it is, tell ya the truth,&#039;&#039; I flip through the folder, extract a brochure, and slide it across Salvador&#039;s desk. ``From what I gather, it used to be strictly private detention. Like juvie hall for cubs, y&#039;know? Except instead of being state funded it&#039;s a private outfit, for governments and stuff who prefer to rent existing premises instead of maintain their own. Oh, and get this - they&#039;ve got an age limit too. They don&#039;t take anyone over thirteen. No teenagers, no adult inmates. Only cubs,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Only cubs?&#039;&#039; I&#039;ve never heard Morris squeak in so high a register before. <br /><br />``Yep, only cubs. They&#039;ve got branches offshore in a few other countries, but the idea&#039;s still catching on here from what I understand. This is new territory to all of us, if it catches on it could save our judiciary system millions in the long term by leasing prisons instead of maintaining them. That&#039;s what it&#039;s all about, and why we&#039;re there,&#039;&#039; I tap the folder and its contents. ``It&#039;ll be the usual - we check the premises to make sure everything&#039;s up to code, that safety regulations are being met, then we go over the legal mumbo-jumbo to make sure they&#039;ve dotted their I&#039;s and crossed their T&#039;s. It&#039;ll take longer than what you&#039;re used to since this is something new, so they&#039;re covering our room and board for the weekend on top of everything else. Feeling up to it, kid? Ready to make some history?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />It takes a considerable while before Morris replies. For once his attention is fully upon a singular object as he flips through the glossy brochure. I suppose I can understand, having had a similar experience when I first encountered the booklet myself. Eventually tiring of the admittedly amusing series of expressions forming on Salvador&#039;s face, I squeeze myself with some difficulty around behind him for a peek. ``Ah. I see you&#039;ve found Ellie. I think she&#039;s the company mascot,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Ellie?&#039;&#039; The meerkat echoes incredulously as we both regard a pinup of a preteen tigress wearing a swimsuit and not much else. The photographer has captured her likeness with her paws resting provocatively upon her hips and her eyes directly regarding the viewer. ``You said it&#039;s a prison...?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Illyana, actually. And I said it used to be a prison,&#039;&#039; I remind Morris, flipping back to that pertinent section of the brochure for evidence. ``What it is now is something else entirely.&#039;&#039; <br /><br />&nbsp;``Else...?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Poor Morris does not seem capable of stringing entire sentences together just yet, so it behooves me to explain. ``Apparently there&#039;s not much revenue to be made in privatizing juvie prisons...which makes sense. You&#039;ve taken Economics in college, right? So you know about supply and demand... Well here&#039;s the principle at work. Fact is, you don&#039;t get many juvenile offenders. Most tend to slip out of the system; families settle out of court, etcetera. Those who do get arraigned...well again its more likely to see them saddled with community service or probation rather than go to cub jail. This lack of demand makes it not worth the average community&#039;s time to create a cub jail, see? Because they haven&#039;t got the numbers to fill it. And they can&#039;t exactly house cubs with adult criminals, right? That&#039;s where this place comes in, but...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``There&#039;s a `but&#039;?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I fold both arms and try my best to look severe. ``There&#039;s always a `but&#039;. Here, it just so happens that the profits this place earns by leasing out prisons doesn&#039;t meet its overhead costs because it faces the same problem as those governments in the first place - they don&#039;t get enough clients since there just aren&#039;t enough juvenile offenders to justify the expenses of keeping the lights on and the place running. So as you see, they&#039;ve decided to diversify,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Diversify?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Yep. They&#039;re not a prison now, at least not entirely. It&#039;s also some kind of finishing school, rehab center, boarding home and military camp all in one. Oh, and also a non-profit orphanage of course,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Morris finally manages to find his voice. ``That can&#039;t be legal,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You&#039;d be surprised at the kind of stuff this state lets you get away with. Also, that&#039;s where we come in, isn&#039;t it - to see if it is or isn&#039;t? If you wanted to tag along with me, that is,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />That does the trick. The brochure has fulfilled its purpose. He&#039;s hooked whether he knows it or not. As I predicted that he would be, from what I know of his internet habits and search history. If I&#039;m not mistaken, touring a commune of cubs would be right up his alley. ``I&#039;m in,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Good chap. It&#039;s right here in Springwood, so there&#039;s no need to bother with flight transfers or luggage. Don&#039;t even have to pack an overnight bag; the representative says they&#039;ll see to everything and for us to just come as we are. I&#039;ll bring the legal briefs and swing by your place to pick you up on my way out. Any questions?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Just one,&#039;&#039; Morris points at the name on our client brief. ``Kinetic-Educative Natural Neurology Enclosure for Learning - seriously?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I feign nonchalance. ``Quite a mouthful, to be sure. Gotta admit it&#039;s a catchy acronym though. And not entirely incorrect, given the circumstances. Not something you&#039;ll forget in a hurry, right?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You can say that again. K.E.N.N.E.L - I&#039;ll say this at least: somebody there has a sense of humor.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I ruffle his headfur in paternal fashion and make my way out of the office, leaving brochure and case file on the desk. Something tells me that both items will be sought after by a set of eager paws before long. It had taken me; a graying legal eagle pushing his sixties, the better part of an hour to pull myself away from the information package and its contents. For someone much younger and active - a certain meerkat, say for instance - the effects would surely be more pronounced. <br /><br />All according to plan.&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /><br />Chapter Two<br /><br />``I&#039;m afraid I&#039;ve not been entirely straight with you, sport.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />We lounge side by side in the spacious confines of a chartered limo, watching the landscape blur by. That is to say; I lounge - watching my co-traveler&#039;s anxiety with considerable amusement. The way he perches himself at the edge of his seat looking this way and that is more akin to skittish hare than meerkat. I avail myself of carefully extricating folder and forms from Sal&#039;s rigid paws, a maneuver that entirely escapes his notice with his attention everywhere at once. <br /><br />It is not an altogether unexpected reaction, I suppose. The corporation had surely spared no expense in prioritizing our comfort. Plush upholstery, privacy curtains, in-house entertainment and a fully stocked minibar compete for our attentions. Shot-glasses lie upended on lace doilies in their holders. I liberate one from these confines and help myself to two fingers of bourbon; topped with a twist of lemon. The sound system is playing some indistinct music in the background while screensavers featuring the Kennel&#039;s cartoon logo loops itself across our entertainment screens. It is this latter which presumably occupies my colleague&#039;s attention; a tongue-in-cheek caricature of a cub in a cage that hovers somewhere in the gray zone between ironic and tasteless. ``Huh?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``I said I may have misled you on one point,&#039;&#039; it certainly takes Morris a moment or so to tear himself away from our case file to regard me.&nbsp;&nbsp;``This is merely a routine audit, nothing more. The Kennel has already obtained the necessary clearances allowing its operation, so all we are here for is to ensure it is operating within the terms laid out by those agreements. You won&#039;t be tested on the nuances of state law loopholes or anything like that, I promise. So try to relax, eh?&#039;&#039; I put together a concoction of Southern Comfort and Seven-Up. ``Here, put this away and stop looking like a deer in the headlights before you give me a complex,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />He drains it in one, grimaces and reaches for another. ``You&#039;re holding out on me, Uncle,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Am I?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You must be. All this,&#039;&#039; Morris taps the folder and its contents. ``Must be some kind of weird joke, right? Something to get me out of the house while dad and Giselle make preparations or whatever?&#039;&#039; He grins, and it&#039;s astonishing how young he looks in that moment - almost like a kid playing dress up in his dad&#039;s clothes. ``I mean I&#039;m flattered Uncle Fitch, really. But you needn&#039;t have gone to all the trouble of setting up a stag party,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``So that&#039;s what you think this is about, then? That I would deliberately proposition you on false pretenses, on company time and with company resources, to celebrate your wedding?&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``That&#039;s exactly what I think. You&#039;re never this relaxed on business, and something like this can&#039;t be real. You&#039;re pulling my tail somehow,&#039;&#039; he returns to looking this way and that, as though hoping to see tiny cameras or banners proclaiming SURPRISE concealed in the upholstery. <br /><br />``Chauffeur,&#039;&#039; I rap on the privacy partition separating our carriage from the driver&#039;s wheel, motioning to lower the ambient serenade as I do so.<br /><br />``Aye?&#039;&#039; Our driver turns to face us, her chauffeur&#039;s cap nestled in the valley between her long ears. She is a matronly hare, middle aged and pleasant with a touch of the moors in her accent. <br /><br />``What can you tell us of this Kennel place, then? My friend&#039;s feeling a bit out of his depth,&#039;&#039; I indicate the bundle of meerkat-shaped nerves to my left. <br /><br />``Och, tis&#039; noo mah place t&#039;say, ye ken? Ah&#039;m ter getcha there, nothing more,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You&#039;re not with the company?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Nay, boot they hire us time an&#039; again,&#039;&#039; Perhaps misreading the situation, she shot a sympathetic look at Morris. ``Tis&#039; a place they keep the wee bairns, not fer great galumping galoots sich as yerselves I hear. Nae offence ter present cump&#039;ny, o&#039; course,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I do my best to keep a straight face. ``Hear that, Morris? Nothing to be afraid of,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Tis&#039; a foine job they do ter be sure, mind yeh,&#039;&#039; a speculative look flits across our driver&#039;s face as she warms to the topic. ``Ah&#039;ve noo got bairns meself, but mah cuzzin - she sez they just about do wonders with their wee ones. She has herself a handful there, what with the lot getting&#039; up ter drugs an&#039; all manner o&#039; harm. Sed ter me the magistrate sendin&#039; her eldest upstate were the best thing that ever was, used ter be a right rascal that one - an&#039; now e&#039;s as good as they come,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``So it&#039;s real then - they really do...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Och, tis&#039; real enough,&#039;&#039; the hare taps her chin thoughtfully. ``As fer what they do, yer guess is as good as moine. They makes ye sign some sort o&#039; papers, if&#039;n ye hire their services. Thought I&#039;d pry it out from me cuz, but she&#039;s still keeping mum. Mayhap I&#039;ll stop by ter see `im, since it&#039;s Saturday,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Saturday?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Weekly visiting hours - it&#039;s all in the folder somewhere,&#039;&#039; Something occurs to mind. ``Perhaps you won&#039;t mind introducing us?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Aye, if `is warden sez tis&#039; a&#039;right,&#039;&#039; We pull into a driveway that ends at a security checkpoint. ``Evrabody oot,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Our conveyance has stopped at an impressive pair of automated gates bearing an ornate letter K at the intersection where they meet. On one side is a small guard post staffed by a pair of bored wolves. One is leaning back in his seat with footpaws up on a table, watching a collection of screens. The other leans out to regard us from the window. ``Name and purpose?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Salvador and Fitch - here for the audit,&#039;&#039; I hand him our IDs for safekeeping, accepting a couple of yellow wristbands in return. They resemble the sort issued by hospitals, only crafted of some strange plastic material rather than paper. I slip my identifier on and loop it closed, motioning for Morris to do the same with his. He does so, albeit reluctantly.<br /><br />``Are we auditors or inmates then?&#039;&#039; Morris gives his tag a few experimental tugs. ``Don&#039;t they have clip-on passes?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``When in Rome...&#039;&#039; I shrug and clap him on the shoulders. ``These fellows will take them off for us when we&#039;re ready to leave. Won&#039;t run the risk of anyone losing their pass this way, see?&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``Certainly saves us a good deal of false alarms, Mr. Fitch. We used to do it the traditional way, but visitors kept losing their passes and making us go into security lockdown while we sorted things out. Can&#039;t be too careful where cubs are concerned,&#039;&#039; Our clearance confirmed, he leans over to look at our chauffeur. ``And you are...?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Fanny Crablick, en&#039;t I? Here ter see our Angus M&#039;Cloud. Tis&#039; Saturday, y&#039;ken?&#039;&#039; She holds her arms akimbo, glaring up at the wolf with maternal ferocity. <br /><br />``Visiting hours aren&#039;t for a while yet, Ms Crablick,&#039;&#039; I find myself somewhat amused to see the larger canine appear to wilt under the force of her glare. ``But you&#039;re welcome to wait in the lobby till they are. This way please, our valet will see to your car,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Hmph! Visiting hours indeed - an&#039; if Ah find one scratch on me car...&#039;&#039; Even Morris has to stifle a laugh at this. It doesn&#039;t keep him from looking from hare to wristband, however. <br /><br />``We acknowledge several categories of visitors, Mr. Salvador,&#039;&#039; the trustee who buzzes us past the gate offers in response to his confusion. ``Tags are for direct family and clients only; they allow access to other areas of the facility. Non-immediate family aren&#039;t allowed past the lobby, where they get to speak with the cubs only under supervision.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Fanny&#039;s reply is a haughty sniff. ``Tis&#039; nobbut Cheek, is whut et is. What when Ah&#039;ve been `is closest relation e&#039;er since she up an&#039; married that no good M&#039;Cloud...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The purr of the cart we are shown to drown out these remonstrations. It is still a modest drive from the main gate to the building proper, and we pass a few more sentry towers on the way. We spot a few guards on watch in the upper canopies, keeping a close eye on surroundings below. Our guide points out these installations and their occupants whenever we pass them in something resembling pride. ``Each tower commands a line of sight up to at least a hundred yard radius, and we position them so they overlap the blind spots as much as possible. Aside from the wooded quarry, we&#039;ve also leveled the area to limit cover. It&#039;s all flat plain between the institute and the gate, clear line of fire for our eyes in the towers. And the distance from kennel to gate is enough to tire out a cub going full sprint. They either get afoul of the towers or run out of steam before reaching the gate. Inmates won&#039;t be escaping that way, not on our watch,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Surely the guns are overkill, Ms--&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``It&#039;s Warden, actually: Warden Hartmann,&#039;&#039; the female skunk tips Fanny a meaningful wink. ``We use tranquilizer darts instead of live ammo, of course. And you wouldn&#039;t say that if you knew our cubs,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``Och, aye! Our Angus were a right wild blighter, `e was. Back in `is day,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I see by his manner that Morris is not entirely convinced. Perhaps Hartmann does too. ``At the end of the day our watchword is containment, Mr. Salvador. That still remains the cornerstone of our service. And as a private body, we need to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the domestic variety. Anything less, and we risk losing the trust of those clients who sublet our services. People are rightly cautious of whom they entrust their kids to, you know. Therefore, the kennel prides itself on a spotless record, and the only way to uphold those standards is to cover every eventuality,&#039;&#039; she spreads her paws in a conciliatory gesture. ``I can assure you that all that we do is done in the client&#039;s stated interests. It is hardly profitable to do otherwise, or engage the kids in ways we are not paid for. We are a private practice, after all.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``And what kind of clients do you get?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``A fairly diverse group. Historically, our founder envisioned us as leasing out private detention for juvenile offenders to meet a specific niche of customers,&#039;&#039; she glances over at the folder in Sal&#039;s grip. ``I see you&#039;ve read our docket, so you probably already know how our various installations cater to states or small counties who find it otherwise too wasteful to maintain their own cub correction facilities. It is not always in a state&#039;s best interests to do so, especially if they do not foresee themselves having a need for one. We offer competitive rates that are cheaper than the average costs they would incur by establishing a prison in-house. From there, it didn&#039;t take long before people realized we didn&#039;t have to limit ourselves to the prison pool and it made sense to offer containment services to the general public as well,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``What use would the general public have for cub prisons, though?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``We prefer to call them `daycares&#039;, Mr. Salvador. And to address your question - we find that busy parents do appreciate the conveniences we offer...which amounts to board and lodging for their kids if the parents have to travel for extended periods of time and can&#039;t obtain a sitter, for example. The concept originated with pet kennels, I believe. It is an often overlooked industry that capitalizes on people needing places to house their pets while they go on vacation or are otherwise unavailable. We&#039;ve merely expanded this from pets to children in offering the option to parents in need of it. Our summer school services are a popular item, for instance,&#039;&#039; Hartmann ticks off each point on her claws. ``The majority of our clients are parents in need of daycare services or rehabilitation, and we still cater to juvenile offenders of course. Aside from that we also offer our services as a non-profit orphanage to lessen the burden of state-funded care. In this capacity we organize events open to the public, whom we hope to engage as potential sponsors for the orphans. Individuals such as yourself may choose to sponsor our available orphans by paying a sum that would go towards their upkeep and education, in exchange for regular reports on how your sponsored cub is doing as well as privileged access at our discretion. All the perks of parenthood, without disadvantages like breastfeeding or personally dealing with the terrible twos. It is a hot item among senior citizens and married couples unable to have children, from what I hear. We are always in need of sponsors,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The go-cart makes its leisurely way up the path leading to a squat boxy structure up ahead. It certainly resembles no prison we have ever seen; the entire installation consisting only of some buildings set at an L angle to each other with a small courtyard in its hollow. Surely not a place that can accommodate many prisoners. <br /><br />This evidently occurs to Morris as well. ``I assume you don&#039;t enjoy a large clientele?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Hartmann smiles, anticipating the question. ``These are our administrative and domestic offices, Mr. Salvador. The actual facility is located underground. This place used to be a geothermal plant before we co-opted it, and the underlying structure suits our purposes rather well. There is plenty of space below ground as it is, with more for expansion if need be. An effective escape deterrent too, if nothing else,&#039;&#039; she eases the go-cart to a stop in a vacant lot. ``Here we are,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />We get a whiff of the smell I&#039;ve always associated with institutionalized care - some mysterious combination of industrial soap and air freshener - as we pass through the automated doors. The sight is not unlike the waiting area of a public clinic or pharmacy. Chairs are arranged in rows facing a compartmentalized countertop. Clear screens resembling the sort one might find at a bank teller&#039;s station or priest&#039;s confessional divide the countertop, sealing the area we are in from the rooms on the other side. Some of the rooms are empty, others occupied by uniformed cubs accompanied by guards while they spoke with their visitors. The uniform is some manner of orange jumpsuit as far as I can tell, not too dissimilar from the adult inmate variety. It hangs loose in most cases, especially at the collar where cubs have a habit of fussing with - resulting in outsized necklines that droop to expose one bare shoulder or another to a viewing eye.<br /><br />I allow myself a smile at the sound of Morris clearing his throat, pretending to turn my attention to the lighted display of queue numbers and available counters. I don&#039;t have to look at him to know that the meerkat is attempting to sneak peeks at those clad in orange without appearing too obvious. Poor kid. Who does he think he&#039;s fooling?<br /><br />``Are...are all of them juvenile offenders?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Some are, but not all,&#039;&#039; Hartmann directs Fanny to one of the machines to input her details and receive her queue number. ``Illyana over there is an orphan, one of our oldest charges. She&#039;ll soon be graduating out of our facility and moving into state care. Gus Mc&#039;Cloud&#039;s a juvie, sentenced to two years for multiple counts of arson and vandalism - you&#039;ll meet him later. And then there&#039;s Mark, my sister&#039;s kid - camps with us most summers but we&#039;re thinking of extending his contract so his folks can go pursue their postgrad Masters overseas and land a higher pay bracket. They&#039;re dressed the same and we treat them all the same; don&#039;t want anyone thinking we&#039;re playing favorites,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Her paws indicate each of the occupied cubicles in turn. Not all respond, though Illyana flips Hartmann with the middle claw and her nephew Mark manages a half-hearted wave. The hem of his collar sags as he does so, affording us a view of his collarbone and scruff. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Morris wet his muzzle. ``You alright there, sport?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />A distracted nod is the only response. Once again it falls to me to take charge. ``How does this work, then? Do we need queue numbers?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``No, those are for unannounced visitors. I&#039;ll be taking you both to survey our operations shortly. Oh!&#039;&#039; We are interrupted by the pneumatic door whooshing open behind us. Another group is entering the atrium; a family of four. The father is a bookish-sort in button down shirt, slacks and loosely knotted tie. A pair of round-rimmed spectacles balance precariously upon his snout, giving him the appearance of a harried accountant. His mate is a vision of loveliness attired in the Muslim fashion - in a long sleeved baju-kurong that reaches down to her ankles. A tudung shawl completes the ensemble, loosely raised over her ears. Their eldest daughter is a lanky beanpole wearing a pink regulation leotard, the chalked numerical markings left over from a recent competition (#032) still present as black smudges on her upper thigh and arm. She is fiddling with a scrunchie, releasing what was formerly a tight ponytail to fall in a cascade of matted auburn strands as they walk in. Her younger brother brings up the rear - headfur tousled and scruffy, clad in shirt and shorts that appear a little too big, forepaws stuffed morosely in his pockets. They are chatting nineteen to the dozen, making their way to an unmanned receptionist desk situated near the partition.<br /><br />For the first time since we&#039;ve seen her, the unflappable skunk dame seems flustered. ``Doctor Small! We weren&#039;t expecting you back quite so soon...&#039;&#039; Hartmann spares a glance at the empty reception area in what looks like disapproval. ``My colleague is occupied at the moment, would you gentle-folk mind waiting while I settle this?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Neither of us are doctors, Sister Hartmann. Please do not stand on ceremony. It is good to see you again,&#039;&#039; there is a pleasing lilt in her speech that brings to mind the Middle-East. The jackal lady glances in our direction, registering our presence. ``More clients, Sister Hartmann? You&#039;ve certainly done much with the place. I remember back when this used to be an empty room. We were the only ones here then, weren&#039;t we John?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Mr. Salvador, Mr. Fitch - I&#039;d like to introduce you to the Smalls,&#039;&#039; her paw gestures at each of us in turn. ``Mr. Small has a mortuary practice here in Springwood, and his wife is our county coroner. These are their cubs, Lori and Travis. Lori is eleven this year and has been with us a considerable while...almost from the start, as a matter of fact. As of yet we&#039;ve not had the pleasure of making her brother&#039;s acquaintance,&#039;&#039; Hartmann tips a wink in the boy&#039;s direction. ``Messrs Fitch and Salvador are attorneys that we&#039;ve hired to keep the books cooked and accounts straight, Mrs. Small. Do forgive me if I sound frantic, though. They come highly recommended, and charge by the hour.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />We share the obligatory awkward chuckle at this observation. <br /><br />``We&#039;ve always wanted to enroll Travis as well, but the prices are pretty steep...deservedly so, of course,&#039;&#039; Mr. Small hastens to add. ``But currently beyond our means. Maybe after Lorelei graduates...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Throughout this short exchange I entertain myself with the succession of facial expressions playing out on my companion&#039;s face. He has recognized the girl by now of course - for how could he not? She enjoys a measure of household notoriety in our humble town as one of the few representatives our youth division has been able to gather for statewide competitions. Recently made the cover of the local sports newsrag at some point for their top twenty-under-twelve issue. And even if Morris has been living under a rock for the past couple seasons; it is unlikely that he has missed the photogenic appearances Lori has contributed to their corporate brochure. Her face and figure takes pride of place on many a splash page in various attitudes and positions.&nbsp;&nbsp;That he has recognized her is a point I am certain of. The fact that Morris uses one of her pin-ups for his desktop wallpaper volunteers no evidence to the contrary. <br /><br />``Hullo, Lori. Won another gymnast meet, I see?&#039;&#039; There is little reason for me to stand on ceremony, having met the lass on prior audit occasions. ``Where are you going to put all your trophies?&#039;&#039; <br /><br />Now follows a nearly indistinct mutter from the other jackal boy in which the word `dustbin&#039; is barely audible. Whatever remains of this comment trails off into a sudden yip as his elder sister manages to surreptitiously elbow her sibling in the side without missing a beat or losing her demure expression. ``Lorelei here is one of the candidates for the company&#039;s new poster child once Ellie graduates,&#039;&#039; I tell Morris by way of explanation. ``They offer subsidies to the list price for parents whose cubs qualify for shortlisting, I believe. It&#039;s one of their avenues in securing new clients and retaining the regulars,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Indeed it is,&#039;&#039; Hartmann interjects smoothly. ``Services charges are already significantly reduced for clients who make early commitments to a recurring payment plan of course, as is the case here. Lorelei was enrolled in our daycare program and her family decided to take advantage of our long term savers&#039; option,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``She was born not long after I met Hamizah,&#039;&#039; Small reseats his spectacles further up his snout. ``We were postgraduate transfer students in those days, pursuing related avenues of study - me from Guilin province, and Hamizah from Lebanon. To say that the medical field was challenging would be an understatement - the hours we spent interning at Springwood General alone...&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``In short, not ideal conditions for raising a cub,&#039;&#039; Hamizah spread her paws. ``We were strangers in this country then as well - not exactly poor but certainly lacking in contacts and support networks. Rushing into our nuptials was rash on hindsight, but fortunately we were able to procure long term childcare services at reasonable rates. That is not to say we did not take advantage of their available options, once settled in our careers,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``We were told she had a natural talent suited for acrobatics as a gymnast, and what kind of parents would we be to stand in the way of personal growth?&#039;&#039; Lori sticks her tongue out at Travis, who does not dignify that with a reply. ``At the time we figured it was exaggeration, but the Sisters certainly proved otherwise,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Hartmann expertly keeps us all on the move during this unexpected exchange, directing us to an unoccupied counter. ``We call the personnel who are assigned sole responsibility over a particular cub `Handlers&#039; or `Sisters&#039;,&#039;&#039; she tells us. ``Seeing that it&#039;s far more pleasant than the alternative. I was Lorelei&#039;s assigned Sister for a few years, so we got know each other pretty well. It was an unusual arrangement; usually cubs are assigned new handlers every year so they don&#039;t get overly attached to the same set of faces. Lorelei will most likely be getting a new one if her contract is renewed another term. Both I and her new handler will be keeping you informed of her progress as usual, of course. Here are the standard papers requiring parental endorsement; I trust neither of you object to our auditors accompanying us to oversee the process?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Nope not at all. Best to have legal representation on something like this, right?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />For a moment there is silence as we adults rifle through forms and disclaimers, broken from time to time with occasional questions addressed to myself or Morris. The return to familiar territory is certainly a relief to the meerkat; who quickly finds himself engaged with the Smalls over topics of culpability and responsibility. He conducts himself pretty admirably for somebody doing a convincing goldfish impression just moments before. <br /><br />``Mrs. Small, you&#039;ve mentioned once that Lorelei might pursue cheerleading as a future co-curricular activity?&#039;&#039; Hartmann produces more official looking papers which she proceeds to examine closely. ``If so, I&#039;m obliged to inform you that most official programs do have a new BMI requirement and Lori is currently on the low end of that range. It is entirely your choice, of course - but should you decide to take advantage of our new dietary options you won&#039;t be disappointed. A refresher course in our swimming program would not be amiss either, it&#039;s a fine way to develop the poise necessary for advanced gymnasts.&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``Hmm, I don&#039;t know - she does seem to be on the skinny side... You can fix that?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``We can fix that,&#039;&#039; the skunk lady nods encouragingly. ``And anything else you care to highlight. You&#039;ll find the checklist here,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Travis exploits that opportunity to pull a face at his elder sister, saying something that&#039;s either Chinese or Malay. She snarls back in the same language, giving him a shove before tugging at Hamizah&#039;s paw. ``Ibu...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``I know you don&#039;t like it, sahyang. But the Sister says...&#039;&#039;she lights upon Morris, suddenly aware of our presence. ``What do you think, Mr. Salvador?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Well, I...&#039;&#039; the meerkat appears uncomfortable, but takes refuge in protocol. ``Lorelei is still a minor, so any issues dealing with upbringing falls to you as her mother to decide, Mrs. Small. So long as her wellbeing isn&#039;t compromised that is,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``And we can assure you it will not,&#039;&#039; Sister Hartmann leans over to tip us a cheery wink. ``We&#039;ve never lost any of our charges and we don&#039;t intend to do so now. It&#039;d be bad for business,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Can you also do something about her Chinese? There are few opportunities to practice here, and the tutor says her grades are slipping - &#039;&#039;<br /><br />It takes the better part of an hour before the Smalls finalize the terms of their renewed contract and set their signatures as witnesses to the document. Hartmann gathers the completed forms; using a stylus to mark the requisite checkboxes on an electronic touchscreen she produces from her case. Once done, she flips it round and presents it to her clients for confirmation; patiently running down the finalized list on her device with special emphasis on each checked item - allowing either parent the chance to request changes before sealing the contract with a touch of their paw. Even Morris finds no fault with this level of professional transparency; at every stage of the process Hartmann solicits her clients&#039; opinions about the item in question and allows ample opportunities for either to change their mind. She conducts herself calmly and appropriately throughout; from the very moment we sit down to pour over forms to the contract&#039;s renewal. I cannot help but feel impressed, though it is not exactly my first time witnessing this exchange. Judging from his expression, Morris apparently feels the same. <br /><br />``Everything seems in order. Now if you will all follow me?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />We are led past the partition separating the common area from the conversation cubicles at the far end of the room. Beyond is an L shaped corridor with an elevator at its first bend; one that we are told leads to the staff quarters above. Past the corner are doors leading into the interrogation rooms we saw from the lobby, with a stairway leading down. A confused jumble of conversation from the lower level reach our ears as Hartmann ushers us down the stairs. ``This is the rec room,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Beanbag couches line the walls of a modest space bearing some resemblance to a basement refitted as a common area. The air is not as musty as one might expect, with small windows situated high up near the ceiling open to admit the late morning breeze. Tables and stools are set up in clusters; their bright colors and lowered height a clear indication that they&#039;ve been designed with cubs in mind. Books ranging from paperback classics to large-print fabric for early readers are piled in a haphazard stack to one side. Well-loved stuffed animals regard us from another corner. Together these accessories lend a somewhat cheery aspect to the dayroom, almost causing one to overlook the little details that suggest otherwise. <br /><br />It doesn&#039;t take long to notice that sharp or angular objects are conspicuously absent and the available furniture is of the lightweight variety with rounded edges. No toys with detachable or moving parts that can be dissembled or easily swallowed; no fragile electronics or ornaments within occupant reach. A ceiling projector broadcasts a grainy rerun of Pig Hero 6 upon a wall as another warden lurks dispassionately to keep an eye on his charges. An older squirrel cub in prison fatigues sprawls upon one of the beanbag cushions, his snout buried in a Goosebumps paperback. A group of other cubs are gathered on the floor, watching the titular swine kick butt in the streets of San Fransokyo. Three others - a wolf, fox and doe - face each other on opposite sides of a low table playing at cards. They are somewhere between Lorelei and Travis in terms of age; big enough to make sitting at the table a semi-awkward enterprise. Both wolf and doe have their legs tucked close in awkward squats, trying to stay perched upon stools clearly meant for much younger cubs as they study their cards. That isn&#039;t what has drawn our attention, however. Fortunately for us, Travis obligingly points out what is undoubtedly at the forefront of our minds. <br /><br />``Naked! Mama, they&#039;re naked!&#039;&#039; this observation is voiced as a jubilant crow; in the unique manner only villains and five-year-old boys eager to witness doom upon older compatriots are capable. It certainly suffices to command the attention of everyone in the room. The squirrel youth glances over in an attitude of supreme boredom before refocusing on his book. Those watching the movie swivel round, lured by the prospect of real life drama far superior. The adult chaperone at his post rolls his eyes, bringing up the fingers of one paw to rub wearily at his temples. All three card players flinch, turning round to look at us like deer caught in headlights. Stray cards fall unattended from hands but no one makes a move to gather them up. <br /><br />As it stands, Travis is only partly correct. The way the trio have twisted round to face us affords a pretty good view of their various stages of undress. In truth only one of the group - the arctic fox - is actually naked, the orange fabric pooling around his ankles a clear admission of guilt as he hugs his tail-brush up against his chest. Yet his companions only fare slightly better, with the wolf boy lacking his uniform top and the doe her jumpsuit bottoms. Cards lie forgotten on table and floor as they abandon their seats to stand, heads hung in anticipation of Hartmann&#039;s fury. <br /><br />``Did I just catch you kids playing strip poker? Were you three gambling?!&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``It&#039;s just UNO, Sister!&#039;&#039; Strangely enough, the fox&#039;s claim appears to be true. I identify Draw-Two, Swap and Draw-Four Wild cards among the scattered debris on table and floor. <br /><br />``You - shush!&#039;&#039; our guide silences protests with a glare, rounding upon the next unfortunate target of her attentions. ``Eli, I expected better of you,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The wolf she addresses doesn&#039;t appear any older than second grade. He is on the frail side and considerably scrawny, individual ribs outlined below his fur heaving at each shaky breath ``I - he...he said he was hot, and the warden said it was ok, so we...&#039;&#039;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /><br />For a moment there is silence; one that is quickly broken by a single word spoken with a cub&#039;s unmistakable inflections from somewhere near the TV. ``Busted,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Help comes from an unexpected quarter in the form of the duty warden. ``I did say summat along those lines, yeah. Kid said they were feeling hot, said `e was getting one of `em whatchamacallits - heatstrokes - with the thick fur...reckoned we were better safe than sorry,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``And you believed him?&#039;&#039; Hartmann shakes her head in exasperation. ``And even if that WERE true, how&#039;d you explain this?&#039;&#039; One claw jabs in the direction of exposed nethers. <br /><br />``It itches?&#039;&#039; three sets of incredulous faces - wolf and doe included - turn upon the fox kit, who has the unmistakable look of someone who has just signed his death warrant. ``Um, no - I mean...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Dead pups walking,&#039;&#039; This from the squirrel kid to the room at large, casually turning another page of his book. Nobody seems to disagree.<br /><br />``You. With me,&#039;&#039; placing a steady paw on the miscreant&#039;s bare shoulder, our guide steers him towards us. Wolf and deer trade glances before reluctantly following at our rear. It is all Morris can do to keep from staring at the current state of our new arrivals. ``You two: wash bay - now,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />They flee in a mad scramble of hooves and paws through the only door leading out of the rec room. This is also our current destination, albeit at a more leisurely pace.&nbsp;&nbsp;On first impression it appears to be an ordinary cloakroom, with cubbyholes for storage and sets of uniforms folded in neat stacks on the shelves. More are hung out to air on a collection of horizontal poles that serve as clotheslines. It is here that we reunite with Eli and his friend; or at least their bare behinds as they finish hanging up their partial uniforms before vanishing through yet another door. Hartmann watches them leave, seemingly preoccupied although her paw maintains its firm grip on a furry shoulder. <br /><br />``These are our storage areas,&#039;&#039; she says to us. ``Every cub has a locker assigned, which they can use to store possessions till their stay with us ends and they get to reclaim them. Lori, would you care to demonstrate?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The jackal girl nods, immediately starting to strip out of her one-piece leotard without the slightest hesitation, gathering the form hugging fabric up in her arms. Moving with purpose towards a specific locker, she presses the pad of one paw against a panel built into its door - affording our entire group a teasing glimpse of her pert profile and tight hindquarters. She is joined at the locker by Hartmann herself, who retrieves a key from a ring about her person and fits it to a lock. ``Our storage lockers require two-point identification, both the owner and an authorized handler have to be present or they will not open. It safeguards against potential escapes since cubs won&#039;t be able to retrieve their belongings on their own, while also lending the assurance that strangers won&#039;t be rifling through a cub&#039;s possessions,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />Lorelei deposits her leotard in the locker before moving to join the other fox boy, apparently unconcerned by their shared situation. Arms rest casually at her sides, hardly bothering to hide her assets from view. I take stock of our number. The family of four appears remarkably collected, as though faced with something they see every day. Not so my compatriot. From the looks of things Morris has apparently found something of supreme fascination high upon the cloakroom&#039;s ceiling. <br /><br />``We&#039;ve a small dilemma here, folks...&#039;&#039; If Hartmann has noticed my partner&#039;s behavior, she gives no sign of doing so. ``Our original schedule had us breaking for lunch in the cafeteria, if not for a couple problems that need our attention. Would you and your colleague mind accompanying us to the wash bay... Mr. Salvador? Are you feeling all right?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You&#039;ll have to forgive him, Sister Hartmann,&#039;&#039; I snap my godson out of his self-imposed trance with a clap on the shoulder. ``He&#039;s never seen your methods in person. Studied the docket cover to cover, of course. But it can be a little jarring, going from theoretical concept to seeing it up close.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``No better time than the present then,&#039;&#039; Suddenly the skunk is all business, doubtless following a prescribed template that she has had to adopt on many similar situations. ``The uniforms are used for outsider interactions only. But in the interests of efficiency the bulk of our routines require cubs remain unclothed from here onward. It is a practice we have adopted for several reasons; with deterrence being the chief among them. It is harder to smuggle illicit items in and out of the premises without pockets to contain them, and inmates who do happen to escape will find themselves sticking out like sore thumbs,&#039;&#039; she eyes Morris askance. ``I trust you are comfortable with this? If it sets your mind at ease, I can assure you our practices have been ratified by an advisory committee and are undertaken with full approval of our clients. It is, in fact, part of the extensive lists of forms and waivers that we go over with them to ascertain if the families are willing to defer to our stated mode of treatment,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``We have nothing against the notion, of course,&#039;&#039; Hamizah murmurs something in a language I can&#039;t make out to Travis, who promptly proceeds to shed shirt and shorts as well. ``Back in the Old Country it was tradition for cubs to be breeched only when they came of age, as part of a formal occasion. In the privacy of home, we try to keep such customs alive,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I feel a momentary pang of sympathy for poor Morris; with the number of naked cubs increasing steadily from one to three. Hartmann is relentless, however - adamant on directing my reluctant associate&#039;s gaze. Eventually unable to resist the lure, Morris glances over at Lorelei only to squeak in surprise as the jackal casually repositions her arms behind her head: an action which exposes more of her body in the process. <br /><br />``We call this stance one: the attention posture,&#039;&#039; our guide draws our attention to the position Lorelei is currently adopting - upright, feet spaced slightly apart and arms raised with forepaws cradling her head. ``All our charges have to adopt it if they notice anyone who&#039;s not an inmate glancing their way. It is one of the first things that are taught, something that quickly becomes rote habit. Feel free to experiment, should you wish,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />Morris and I take Hartmann at her word. Each time it is exactly as the skunk describes; with Lorelei adopting the attention stance each time we turn to look at her and dropping it when we glance away. Trying the same thing with the fox boy beside her yields similar results. Other than a sense of mild irritation and boredom at having to do the same action over and over, I get the impression that neither cub appears particularly troubled by our attentions.<br /><br />``Try stepping closer after stance one, Mr. Salvador. You too, Mr. Fitch,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I do as Hartmann suggests and the fox boy straightens, raising both arms higher above his head, paws still crossed at the wrists. The result is a posture bearing suspicious resemblance to a P.O.W position; an attitude that brings the sleek contours of his body into sharper relief. A quick look over at Lori is enough to see that the effect is even more pronounced on her wiry gymnast&#039;s frame. It&#039;s certainly having an impact on Morris; who is showing a considerable amount of interest for someone so adamant on avoiding eye contact just moments before. ``What&#039;s that?&#039;&#039; he points, and I finally notice the glint of metal shining from Lori&#039;s navel. Its corresponding gleam is harder to spot amid the younger fox&#039;s thicker pelt but I make it out eventually - a round sphere of something metallic snugly resting in the hollow of his exposed bellybutton. <br /><br />``Ah, you&#039;ve noticed their trackers. I was wondering if you would; not many are as observant,&#039;&#039; sidling round behind the pair, Hartmann brings her paw to rest upon the older girl&#039;s flank, helpfully squeezing the flesh of her trim stomach to lend us a better view. ``Every cub receives such a piercing when they are first processed. It functions to track their movements within the facility, as well as act as a security failsafe should they leave its boundary unescorted. The whereabouts of our charges are our primary concern, and this little chip saves us a good deal of trouble. Each one broadcasts and receives signals transmitted from our various control bunkers, which in turn updates the system with the wearer&#039;s whereabouts and cross checks that with individual schedules to see if everyone&#039;s where they&#039;re supposed to be. Any cub who isn&#039;t is flagged for follow-up action, and by default the tracker deals a disabling shock should its wearer go beyond our facility boundaries. This is calibrated based off individual endurance levels to limit a cub&#039;s movements without harm until our retrieval teams can pick them up. They&#039;re perfectly safe. We do maintenance checks on a regular basis to ascertain each one is in working order and replace them twice a year. Speaking of which...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Producing a cardboard carton from a drawer, the warden offers it to each of us in turn. We reach in one at a time to obtain matching pairs of sterile hospital-issue gloves. It is evident that the Smalls are no stranger to this part of the proceedings so we copy their example, yanking the rubber over our paws. There is only one size available, appearing outsized on Travis but uncomfortably snug in my estimation. Once all of us are gloved appropriately, Hartmann motions for Morris and I to shift over to the side where the fox boy is standing so as to leave Lori to her family. ``The tracker does have another feature, which I&#039;m about to demonstrate,&#039;&#039; she fishes out that electronic touchpad we saw her using earlier on to log the family&#039;s wishes. ``Stance 4 now,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Our - for some reason or other I&#039;d grown accustomed to thinking of him in this manner - fox utters a petulant whine but complies; rising up on tiptoe and thrusting his snowy torso outward while keeping both arms swept back in a strenuous posture of arrested motion. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lorelei do the same, albeit with more grace. Both wobble precariously upon tiptoe, limbs straight, torso suspended in an arch with their arms and legs angled back. Every line of their bodies hangs taut as garrote wire, the positional strain adding definition to the muscles we see straining to hold them upright. Fingers tapping out a mysterious sequence of keys on her device; Hartmann invites our approach. The Smalls evidently need no urging, Hamizah currently occupied with massaging the tense muscle on her daughter&#039;s toned frame from collarbone to pelvis. Assorted grunts and winces escape the girl&#039;s snout as she struggles to maintain the stance despite her family&#039;s united efforts, sweat already starting to bead upon her skin. <br /><br />``Go ahead, he won&#039;t bite,&#039;&#039; Hartmann runs her own gloved fingers across the poor fox&#039;s quivering body, paying particular attention to the boy&#039;s ribs and sides. She alternates between a kneading motion and tickling, returning often to linger over his pale underbelly and crotch. ``I&#039;ve armed both their trackers, and they&#039;ve been here long enough to know by now what happens if they relax their positions. I can&#039;t let you interact with Lori unfortunately, not unless her family gives permission. But snowy here is all yours. Don&#039;t worry about the shock, that&#039;s what your gloves are for. Have a go,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I crouch, putting myself on eye level with the first-grader before clumsily aping Hartmann&#039;s example. His whimpers take on a strident quality as I rub absently at the firm flesh around his belly piercing, notably different from the indifference displayed two stances prior. After a moment&#039;s indecision Morris joins me; first hesitant but then growing ever bolder as he warms to the prospect - enough for me to dial back my efforts and leave everything to his capable paws. Over the course of our combined ministrations I feel what is probably the effects of the shock piercing secondhand as involuntary twitches running throughout the boy&#039;s frame; causing immature muscles to flex attractively as he pants and whines in the aftermath. Although his thick pelt lends an illusion of stockiness, our questing paws quickly discern the truth as damp fur loses its former volume to hang in matted patches showing off his sleek, streamlined form. While less impressive than Lori the fluid ripples of motion across heaving chest and abdomen are a sight to see nonetheless, and though not as taken as Morris by the spectacle even I cannot help but marvel at the strain I feel in every tremble of his body; the strength of will it must take to ignore our distractions and remain upright. <br /><br />Yet something seems off, though it is awhile before I realize what it is. Somehow, despite all the stimulation the kid&#039;s sheath is bone dry. This is curious, as I&#039;d have expected any cub however stoic to have wet themselves at least twice over under such conditions. Yet his sheath remains in its original state since the start of our encounter; neither engorged nor threatening to leak in any way whatsoever. Most curious indeed. I ponder awhile over whether something like this is worth bringing to Hartmann&#039;s attention at the cost of potentially interrupting my associate&#039;s interactions. <br /><br />Turns out I needn&#039;t have worried; in the state he&#039;s in a roof would be collapsing before Morris ever takes notice. Hartmann does however, and smiling directs my gaze to the fox&#039;s family jewels; expertly maneuvering around my companion to lift the cub&#039;s little package and bring it to my attention. A claw gently peels back the loose outer fold of the sheath, revealing what appears to be a curious rounded `cap&#039; over its tip. ``This is what he was complaining about back in the rec room. One common side effect of the therapies is that it tends to leave our cubs fairly frisky. Because of that we often keep them plugged down there to avoid leakages and potential accidents. It&#039;s always awkward for handler and cub both if they squirt without warning under some routine checkup or other, so we try to spare them that embarrassment. The plugs are foolproof. Nothing we do, from tickling,&#039;&#039; she suits the action to the word, scraping her claws lightly down the shivering boy&#039;s flanks, ``to more intense stimulation - &#039;&#039; a perfunctory nod to Morris and his current activities. ``Will ever make him leak. Nope, snowy here is perfectly safe and dry,&#039;&#039; she administers a comparatively gentler rub to the child&#039;s belly that makes him squirm with pleasure, ruffling his head-fur fondly. ``That is, until we decide otherwise. Well done, you two - take a break.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Jackal and fox drop their arms in unison and slump over in what is evident relief. Both are breathing heavily by this time and damp with perspiration. Even Lori appears winded, bringing up a paw to nurse an aching side. ``Stance Four is among the most demanding of our repertoire, but it is one that all our charges master with practice. Most who come to us are unable to hold it for more than a few minutes at a time, but with enough training a cub can be taught to stay in stance even under considerable distractions as we&#039;ve just demonstrated. This is an important facet of the training every cub here undergoes; since many procedures require a patient to keep still. It is also a prime posture for inspection that emphasizes a cub&#039;s musculature and bone structure far more clearly than stances One and Two, which you&#039;ve already seen,&#039;&#039; Hartmann has our fox demonstrate once more, this time only staying in each position for a count of ten before switching. ``Stance Two is also known as the Scan Stance, and it&#039;s what is required when cubs encounter checkpoints or otherwise need to submit to body scanners. For those, a more exposed position is necessary as compared to Stance One; since the system uses it in comparison with records in our database. Any discrepancy between scan and recorded baseline is flagged for attention, in case it might be a ringer or imposter. Most detention facilities concern themselves with only a face, whereas we find full-body records far more effective. Cubs like Lori and snowy here,&#039;&#039; she squeezes the fox&#039;s shoulders playfully, ``Regularly report for routine scans and checkups to update existing records so as to keep the data comparisons accurate,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``That sounds like it could be considerable trouble. How often do you do it, once per year? Six months?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Actually, we try to do so once a month. And I&#039;ve never implied it isn&#039;t a hassle. Our clients pay top dollar however, so for us it is worth it. One can&#039;t justify cutting corners on matters of safety, especially where cubs and parents are concerned,&#039;&#039; At some point in the discussion we have continued walking, leaving the cloakroom to emerge into a space dominated by trough urinals and ceiling showerheads. ``Although I suppose it does explain why we prefer to keep our population within manageable numbers,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The place we find ourselves in is rife with a chaotic jumble of running water and conversation, one where our guide has trouble making herself heard. Morris is staring again, and no wonder - more cubs hang about in pairs using the facilities. Our elevated vantage point overlooks a tiled hexagonal room with sewer grating running along its perimeter. Pools bearing some resemblance to hot tubs occupy two of the room&#039;s sheared corners, diagonally facing each other. From these pour a steady inflow of traffic as cubs surface from one pool and dive into another, newcomers arriving to replace those who have left. Evidently there is some manner of underwater transport system in practice, as one pool seems to be reserved for entering and the other for leaving. Cubs would haul themselves out of the former and make a beeline for the showers in the middle before leaving via the latter, engaging in conversation as they do so. The showers themselves appear to activate without rhyme or reason, requiring those using them to move from section to section of the tiled central grid. An unmarked `pathway&#039; divides the tiled shower section in the middle from the sewer grating around the walls, far enough from the activity on either side to avoid the possibility of being splashed. A handful of adults garbed in protective slickers patrol this boundary, keeping a close eye on things and breaking up confrontations before they get out of hand. <br /><br />``Wash bay,&#039;&#039; explains Hartmann in reply to our unasked question, indicating the pools. ``Some of the procedures we conduct require sterile conditions or as close to them as can reasonably be managed. Management decided that the best way to achieve this was to have separate avenues for entering and leaving so they&#039;ll remain presentable for the eggheads. Those who enter pair off with a partner for scrubbing before leaving through the passage linking to the sterile area,&#039;&#039; she nods towards the shower-section; where we look down upon what appears to be random sections of the grid being sprayed by overhead sprinklers that run for a short moment before shutting off. Cubs would head for the sections with running water in groups, moving from grid to grid in pursuit of a thorough rinse. The overall effect for someone watching from above put me in mind of old video games for some reason; or those dance machines in arcades where the aim is to step upon lighted squares for points. <br /><br />``The showers are always in operation, so the system currently in place is one that saves water while easing potential burden on sprinklers and pipes. Instead of having them run continuously, we set it up to detect areas upon the grid with the greatest volume of users. The showerheads will activate for the section with highest population, run for a moment, then reactivate at another location. They don&#039;t visit the same area twice, so there&#039;s no way to game the system. We find that this setup allows for procedural wear and tear to be distributed relatively evenly throughout existing infrastructure, letting us make the most of what we have.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Having invested my future in law instead of - oh, say...industrial engineering - I take our host&#039;s rationale at face value. None of us here are experts in the relevant fields to challenge this explanation anyway, despite part of my brain objecting to the notion. Thankfully, that part is easily shut up by the sight of soapy cubs dashing from point A to point B. There is something hypnotic about watching so many bodies in motion weaving their way across the central grid in what looks almost like a coordinated dance to `chase&#039; the closest available sprinkler. In some cases, the milling pack even leave before their current location runs dry and arrive at the new one before it starts to turn on, experience lending some sixth sense to their movements. I might&#039;ve spent the entire day glued to the observation panel watching this dance replay itself again and again, if not for something else arresting my eye. <br /><br />That something turns out to be pairs of matching posts scattered throughout the wash area. Each stands roughly at shoulder height for an average adult, and their paired placement - one on each side of a specially textured section of tile - suggests some manner of frame. Each post has three smaller cylindrical rods branching out at intervals along its length that face inward at the space between them. Although the `trunks&#039; of the main post seem solid enough, there is something about the `branches&#039; that suggest they are made of some different material entirely...perhaps something that is meant to be - <br /><br />Oh. I look over at Morris to find him in goldfish mode once more. Evidently the same lines of thought have occurred to him regarding the role and purpose of said objects on the posts. Moments later we are rewarded with visual confirmation: a possum cub saunters up to the poles and plants his feet upon the non-slip surface between them, reaching out with both paws to grasp at the middle set of branching rods to the left and right. Their height and orientation requires him to stand on tiptoe in order to do so, with arms outspread almost in a T to reach each side. We watch his small paws slide up and down the branching rods - slowly at first, but soon building into a faster rhythm - pumping faster and faster. The denouement when it comes is one we both expect; with spurts of a white gooey something being expelled from the rod-nozzles to splatter upon the cub&#039;s exposed body. <br /><br />``Soap dispensers,&#039;&#039; is all Hartmann will say on that subject, her expression unreadable. Together we watch his partner step up to the plate, her paws scrubbing at the possum&#039;s fur to spread trails of sticky white around while he continues to pump the nozzles for a second coat. ``They function on a partner operated system, like many things here. One cub has to pump while the other does the actual scrubbing, each taking turns,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I nudge Morris in the side. ``Tell me that doesn&#039;t remind you of...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Huh. Interesting. I never knew meerkats could actually turn that color of pink. Something to note down. For future reference. <br /><br />``This way, everyone,&#039;&#039; we leave the observation area behind, entering the wash bay proper. Hartmann appraises us with a critical eye before disappearing back into the cloakroom and returning with a load of ponchos. ``We&#039;ll be keeping to the walkway from here on out, but those of you with suits might want to put these on just in case. Never know when there might be a stray splash,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I take their largest size, awkwardly trying to make it fit around my middle. It&#039;s enough to almost make me envy Morris and Hamizah; who are able to don their raincoats with little trouble. The smell of carbolic soap gets stronger as we approach the room. For some of us, our encounter in the wash bay is the first time we&#039;ve ever been up close to so many undressed cubs at once. Most are moving with purpose between pools and shower, nonchalantly ignoring us new arrivals. Others are lounging and engaging in horseplay at the pools. We see Eli and his doe friend again, now naked and maintaining an awkward half-squat together at the urinal troughs lining the walls. The deer has her forelimbs resting upon Eli&#039;s bony shoulders for support, currently too preoccupied to notice our emergence. Half crouching while facing her, we watch the wolf methodically knead at his partner&#039;s stomach with both paws to the sound of fluids splattering against the trough. Grunts and hisses from the latter issue sporadically as she voids her bowels, interspersed with colorful language more appropriate for a shipyard than a hospice.&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /><br />``Could you get on with it, Saff? You&#039;re not the only one who hasta go, y&#039;know,&#039;&#039; Though there&#039;s an anxious note in the wolf&#039;s voice, he doesn&#039;t shirk from applying continuous stimulation to the doe&#039;s flanks and midsection in a manner that is eye-catching to say the least. I belatedly awaken to the fact that I&#039;ve spent the last couple minutes staring like a moron, captivated by the dainty motions of Eli&#039;s paws navigating flesh and fur. While no professional masseuse, he appears to have some idea of what he&#039;s doing at least - if the girl&#039;s sensual moans and sighs are any kind of indication. <br /><br />``You think it&#039;s so easy, you - ahhh!&#039;&#039; a vocalization that is equal parts strain and grateful relief conveniently eclipses the term she would have applied to him otherwise. ``Then do it yourself!&#039;&#039;<br /><br />To his credit, Eli takes her reply in his stride; his long-suffering attitude implying this isn&#039;t the worst he has encountered from this quarter. His ministrations continue to a steady accompaniment of herbivore grunts and curses as I wisely look away in deference to the sensation building in my trousers. ``Whoa,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />It is unclear whose comment it was that shatters the stillness. Could&#039;ve been either of us or neither, something arising instead from the Smalls&#039; quarter. Whatever its source, it happens to cut through Saff&#039;s litany of creative curses to command their attention. Two figures stiffen and two heads swivel in our direction - Saff glaring defiantly at our presence; Eli blushing pink to the roots of his bare fur. <br /><br />``Keep going, you both know the drill,&#039;&#039; with a motion of her arm assigning us clearance to watch, our skunk guide addresses the pair. ``No stopping till it&#039;s done. I&#039;ll be checking, Eli. So you best be sure,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />Swallowing nervously, the skinny wolf resumes his task and his partner&#039;s vocalizations continue. Although this time I detect some struggle on the doe&#039;s part to control her exclamations in the presence of an unexpected audience, Eli&#039;s expertise easily foils any attempts at such efforts. His paws elicit gasps time and time again at a reliable rate even after the last of her bladder is emptied down the grate, leaving the girl a shivery wreck by the time he finally draws away. We hear stiff joints popping as both are finally allowed to straighten, automatically entering Stance One at our presence before receiving permission to resume. <br /><br />``Now they&#039;ll swap,&#039;&#039; Hartmann&#039;s prediction is proven true as wolf and doe do exactly that - both rising from their squatting posture to take up fresh positions with Eli now facing the urinal. Behind him, his partner aims his sheath with one arm while using the spare one to attend the wolf in similar fashion. Their motions have the telltale ease of long practice and she largely ignores the yips and flinches of her partner, savagely stroking and teasing at his torso and flanks in expectation of that which would follow. It is not long before the spray is coaxed forth anew. ``Assisted toileting,&#039;&#039; our guide informs us matter-of-factly. ``We find it therapeutically beneficial in encouraging a familiarity with being handled, both by fellow cubs as well as by staff and nurses. Which reminds me - gather round, everyone.&#039;&#039;<br /><br />We do as we are instructed; Morris albeit reluctantly - his interests still captivated by the squirming pair&#039;s antics. Hartmann guides us over to an occupied spot at the urinals, firmly ushering an antsy fox cub to the wall. A small cart contraption on wheels awaits nearby. It is unremarkable in terms of general appearance, perhaps the height of a trolley. A handlebar on one side indicates that it is designed to be pushed. On closer examination it appears to be a receptacle holder of sorts, in some manner related to the metal industrial types used in hospitals or airplanes to keep meal portions hot. Try as I might I find myself unable to locate any kind of door to the inner warming compartment however. Instead, several circular depressions line its uppermost surface; each holding a cylindrical object of some kind. Tendrils of steam create heat hazes above these receptacles as the contraption keeps their contents warm. An altogether boring set piece in conclusion; especially when compared to the wash bay&#039;s occupants, it is not something l might&#039;ve noticed admittedly - were it not for the sidelong glances one of the number seems to be casting in its direction. Though he tries not to show it, there is something about this device that concerns the fox kit in our midst considerably.<br /><br />``Alright, folks. I could use a volunteer. Would any of you oblige me? Mr. Salvador? Mr. Fitch?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I trade a wink with the Smalls and we all take a step backward in shared consent, leaving one very confused meerkat stranded out of our lineup. A very impressive bit of choreography if I do say so myself. ``Uncle Fitch? You...what?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``It&#039;s all yours, slick. Make us proud,&#039;&#039; I clap my colleague on the back; a move which serves the dual purposes of communicating support while propelling him forward into Hartmann&#039;s presence. This is followed by an encouraging nod from Hamizah and a thumbs-up from John. <br /><br />``Are you still wearing your gloves? Excellent - now if I could get you to hold this for me...&#039;&#039; fiddling with the contraption&#039;s receptacles, Hartmann extracts something that vaguely resembles a test tube. She presses it on our brave volunteer, who fields in gingerly in both paws. Freed from its holder, the cylinder immediately begins to steam upon contact with the cooler surrounding air. ``No need to look so nervous, Mr. Salvador. All I need you to do is pop the top of that canister and hand the plug to me. Be sure to keep your gloves on, though - it&#039;s hot,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />The arctic fox is already in Stance One when she turns her attention back to him - arms raised and feet planted slightly apart to allow Hartmann access to the collection of objects between his legs. Fiddling with his sheath, she exposes that curious cap once more; this time pointing out a little indentation that previously escaped my notice. ``This here is the keyhole. Step closer everyone, it&#039;s hard to make it out from a distance...&#039;&#039; once she has our attention, the skunk selects what appears to be a straightened paperclip from her collection of keys. It takes a while before I see what it actually is: one of those specialized keys people use nowadays to open small compartments on their phones and such like, where the lock is little more than a tiny hole. She fits it to the one in the cap, giving it a brief twist. Before our eyes the cap appears to open like a flower, revealing petal-partitions that allow Hartmann to seize ahold of and loosen carefully. It is not long before she has the entire plug extracted and tossed into a nearby used receptacle; all within the span of a minute. ``Mr. Salvador, if you would?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Morris hands her the replacement sound, which she casually immerses in a `bath&#039; of water to cool. It appears `our&#039; fox has gotten significantly more fidgety within that short space of time, however - all but hopping from paw to paw. Nonetheless it takes a moment before the penny drops and Morris realizes what he&#039;s really been asked to do. ``Um...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Go ahead, Mr. Salvador. He&#039;s waiting,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />I make a little shooing gesture with my paws. It seems to do the trick, and we watch a replay of events before. Although his technique is admittedly less impressive than Eli&#039;s had been, the resulting stream makes it clear enough that the kit doesn&#039;t need any further prompting. And for all his earlier reluctance, Morris is curiously slow to disengage; paws moving to part and inscribe trails through lush white fur.&nbsp;&nbsp;The assorted yips and squeaks of his assigned target probably do not help matters. <br /><br />``They come in a range of sizes,&#039;&#039; after checking that each of us are gloved; Hartmann passes a couple of canisters around for our perusal. `` - with separate models for males and females. What you&#039;re holding is the containment canister where the plugs are suspended in an inert solution at high temperatures to ensure sterile conditions. The heat kills off any bacteria or contaminants that are missed in the first wash cycle. Our surplus stock can sometimes be found for sale at the pharmacy above ground as well, should any of you be interested. Nine out of ten pediatricians endorse it as a feasible solution for incontinence or nocturnal emissions. Visit your local GPs for an assessment and written referral though, since it isn&#039;t available over-the-counter,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Doesn&#039;t something like that require specialist training?&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``Indeed it does, Mrs. Small. Our listed price covers both the sale of the item itself, as well as the cost of a short training session the buyer is required to attend in order to be certified for performing the procedure. It doesn&#039;t require medical experience and is something that parents, teachers and caretakers can quickly pick up,&#039;&#039; the casual way she replaces the fox&#039;s plug is testimony enough. ``We&#039;ve started to offer caregiver classes catering to the general public which cover this aspect as well as several others. Already a few schools in the district have signed up their teachers for our classes and there is talk of making the course mandatory for everyone in the childcare industry; given the popularity of our product. As of yet our focus is still upon the preteen range, though we are thinking of expanding to incorporate older audiences - &#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Anything that brings in the money, eh Sister?&#039;&#039; we are interrupted at this point by a tall otter attired in floral-patterned board shorts but little else; with a ring of tags and keys dangling from a cord about his neck. He&#039;s young like Morris, with a surfer&#039;s build and brashness. ``And who do we have here?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Folks, this is my colleague and Lori&#039;s new handler - Trevor Jones. I&#039;ve asked him to meet us here so we could be properly introduced,&#039;&#039; even without looking, one can almost sense the eyeroll in her voice. ``Handler Jones will be your point of contact from hereon as I lack his experience in the service-areas you&#039;ve highlighted, Mrs. Small,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Just T.J will do,&#039;&#039; the otter offers an exaggerated kiss to Lorelei&#039;s forepaw. ``Atcher service,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Handler Jones,&#039;&#039; reiterates Hartmann to us, ``Is a fully licensed warden who used to be a talented swim instructor and competitive swimmer before joining our faculty. He has won several medals in statewide events and is the best match for Lori&#039;s water development,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />``Aw, stoppit - you&#039;re making me blush,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Jones, these are the auditors we&#039;ve hired - Morris Salvador and Atticus Fitch,&#039;&#039; We offer our paws to be pumped several times by the over enthusiastic otter. ``The Smalls you&#039;ve already met,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Lawyers, eh? I used to study law, back in college. Never made it further than Intro 101 though...&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``We should probably be moving on,&#039;&#039; Hartmann&#039;s reply has me glancing at my watch. Has it been over an hour already? Bidding farewell to the Smalls, we dispose of our ponchos and head out.&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /><br />Chapter Three<br /><br />``Penny for your thoughts,&#039;&#039; the fruit medley is sheer ambrosia, perfectly paired with the sober notes of a dry martini as counterpoint. It is nearly as good as restaurant fare; enough to excuse the unusual manner of its presentation and our surroundings. <br /><br />The room in which we currently sit to dine resembles more of an amphitheater or lecture hall rather than cafeteria; with tables and benches layered in concentric rings going down to a stage platform at the very bottom. Seats are slowly filling around us as more and more people arrive to be shown to their tables by loitering cubs. The orange jumpsuits they wear appear almost florescent in the gloom of evening, making them easier to spot in this dimming light. Hartmann&#039;s own nephew is the one to take our dinner orders - grub stroganoff for Morris, salad for me - which arrives in individually wrapped foil portions that come with plastic spoons. Wine is available upon request; by the cup and not the bottle, however. No sharp utensils or cutlery, no bottles that could otherwise break or be pressed into service as improvised weapons. Such would be too great a risk altogether, regardless how `trusted&#039; our waiters might be. It has been a while since I&#039;ve dined with plastic cutlery in place of silverware. On the whole, an interesting experience. <br /><br />``What kind of open event comes with a price tag?&#039;&#039; Morris spears a caterpillar, munching it with evident relish. ``Good grub, though,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``This kind,&#039;&#039; I wave the skunk kid over to clear our trays. ``Gotta admit, it&#039;s pretty smart. Make something free and no one wants it - but once you tack on an exclusive price tag...you get curious people lining up outside your door. You also attract someone other than the penniless public, I suppose... See that chap over there?&#039;&#039; Morris turns in the direction I indicate, taking in the imposing wolf currently enjoying the company of a preteen waiter in his lap. ``He&#039;s some kind of mogul, I think. Hotels, or some such - runs one of those off-the-book places where all your dreams come true for the right price. Didn&#039;t catch his name; Om-something...but he&#039;s definitely a fellow you wouldn&#039;t want to get mixed up with. And that couple over there?&#039;&#039; I point at a pair of elderly beavers on the wolf&#039;s left. ``I know them; they&#039;re good people - came to consult us over the legal process for adoption once, since they can&#039;t have cubs of their own. These events attract all types; nowhere else will you get to see mobsters mingle with schoolteachers. And they&#039;ll HAVE to play nice, whether they want to or not; or run the risk of being blacklisted. Nobody wants that,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``The event&#039;s that good?&#039;&#039; there is skepticism on Salvador&#039;s face. ``What&#039;s it about anyway...some kind of performance? Tasty as their stroganoff is; I somehow don&#039;t see mobsters being interested in paying the cover charge for just the food alone,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You&#039;ll see, college boy. Now hush - the show&#039;s starting,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />An expectant atmosphere is settling over the auditorium, with last-minute stragglers squeezing by to locate their seats. Conversation peters out as the overhead lights dim further, leaving only the stage illuminated. Everyone is gazing at the central platform and catwalk leading up to it, far as I can tell. Our unfortunate seating arrangements situate me behind some lady with a bouffant hairdo, and eventually I resign myself to watching one of the projector screens rather than the live performance. <br /><br />We do not have to wait long before the curtains part to reveal our evening&#039;s entertainment. I draw in an intake of surprised breath and am vaguely aware of Morris doing the same. It is the white fox we encountered earlier. He is attired in a strange costume consisting of top hat and open-front vest. A native-style linen wrap girds his loins, preserving their modesty. Music starts playing as he approaches the stage; one of those newfangled rap numbers that&#039;s more rhythm than anything else. <br /><br />It is then that the performance begins. <br /><br />I see Morris goggling with his jaw wide open beside me and am vaguely aware that I&#039;m doing the same. Before our eyes the arctic fox becomes a white blur of motion, tossing and catching his hat as he does so. The choreography that follows has some resemblance to breakdance or capoeira in the flowing nature of his movements as he turns and pivots, balancing top hat on one paw before spinning it by its brim, letting it roll along his arms and paws before catching it on the toe of an upturned foot. There it teeters for a moment, before a casual kick rockets it upward again to land square upon his head. The black hue of hat and vest is a good contrast against his white fur and, I confess; is the only way I have of following the cub&#039;s dizzying movements. More than once I find myself reminded of the Stances we saw earlier while watching the kit at his routine; juggling his hat even as he attains the front of the stage, hurling it skyward even as he launches into a graceful forward roll that somehow ends in an upside-down pawstand, top hat falling to rest at the intersection of legs parted in a perfect split. <br /><br />The crowd goes wild, exploding with cheers and catcalls. My pants feel unreasonably tight. Over the course of the act Morris has been scooting closer and closer; now he sits perched upon the edge of his seat, staring in fascination. Down on the stage, a fox boy continues to maintain his inverted pose; the tension in the air around us suggesting to me that the show has yet to end. <br /><br />The report of gunfire; when it comes, takes almost everyone by surprise. I fall backward in my chair. Morris manages an undignified squeak. There is a scream or two as others quicker on the uptake piece together what I&#039;m only just seeing: the top hat previously balanced upon a cub&#039;s spread legs now lies a distance away smoking, a red splatter upon its brim. Only the relative calm upon the performer&#039;s face and the chuckles of veterans around us keep the audience from fleeing in a mass exodus. For this too, is somehow part of the performance; part of the show. I&#039;m reassured of this when gunshots thunder again, this time splattering a section of the stage in garish red. <br /><br />Paint pellets - not actual bullets. Merely blanks and paintballs, nothing more. None of us were in any kind of danger, but what on earth...?<br /><br />Another shot; this time at the location of the fox&#039;s former pawstand. I say `former&#039;, because by the time the projectile bursts in a shower of red the boy is no longer there - having flipped neatly back a distance away before bouncing back to the balls of his feet. He has shrugged out of his vest and is seemingly using it in matador fashion, whipping the fabric about in attempt to parry or counter each shot. Perspiration starts to build, matting fur to his body as he pirouettes and darts, the vest he holds in his paws getting ever more paint-stained as it wards off each `bullet&#039; before being entirely shot out of his grip to join abandoned hat upon stage floor. <br /><br />There is a heartfelt sigh from the crowd as the fox boy picks himself up, newly parted from his makeshift shield. It is followed by a hush of anticipation as his paws dip to his waist, as if to - but surely not...?<br /><br />``Walrus Almighty,&#039;&#039; mutters Morris in a strangled croak, knuckles whitening on the edge of his seat.<br /><br />Not the most articulate, perhaps...but it does sum up events rather well. All of a sudden the act is now a striptease, with the cub slowly unpicking the knot of his wrap and allowing the cloth to fall free. It unravels in a long pale ribbon that he wields with artful precision, every twitch of an arm causing ripples in the folds that both obscure and expose his now-naked form to view. The performance continues, this time with fabric as a prop - teasingly cast in semi-modest fashion to hide-then-reveal parts of the cub&#039;s body; a shield against occasional `shots&#039; made by the unseen assailant, and even pressed into service as a jump-rope at one point before joining vest and hat in ruins upon the floor. <br /><br />``Is...is the show over?&#039;&#039; Morris is panting now, question loud in the silence that descends, tie lying askew around his neck as we watch the cub return to his feet with nothing he can use this time against his unknown attacker. <br /><br />``Not on your life,&#039;&#039; from somewhere ahead, I hear a spectator&#039;s throaty chuckle. It&#039;s that wolf businessman I pointed out to my colleague earlier; and he&#039;s sounding honestly amused. ``The best is yet to come,&#039;&#039; <br /><br />So we watch, glued to our seats as the fox boy turns to face both us and his opponent - unabashedly naked, sweat-slick fur plastered to his frame like a second skin. Though he is standing still, there is a bristling in his person that suggests readiness to move at any second, alert for what may follow next.<br /><br />Another gunshot has us cover our ears and draw in a collective `ahhh...&#039; at the sight of stains upon the floorboards. In the interim our fox has moved, body twisted in the attempt to dodge the projectile. He maintains that pose, allowing us the audience to admire the semi-sensual attitude he freezes himself in...muscles flexing under his fur in their effort to bear the strain.<br /><br />A second shot rings out, and now the boy has adopted a new pose - this one more suggestive than the last. His breath issues in small clouds of steam in the evening&#039;s chill, lending to the allure. Old as I may be, it is taking most of my self-control to keep my paws away from that irritating tightness in my trousers. <br /><br />And now a third, followed by a fourth. The shots are becoming faster, with less intervals between them spacing them apart. Stances are adopted one after another, falling into a seamless pattern of fluid movements as the cub twists, stretches, and strains to avoid every shot while the floor below becomes ever more coated in paint. By the time of its denouement it seems that every patch of flooring is covered, apart from the small portion of stage upon which our fox stands. The boy is breathing heavily now from exertion but savagely triumphant, casually stretching and turning in a slow circle for his audience to verify his unmarred form. Although drenched in sweat, his fur remains pristine white; having avoided every single one of the pellets. The projector screens zoom in for the benefit of those like us seated far away from the action, showing heaving ribs as the child pants. Zooms out again for a full frontal body shot of the cub standing alone on the stage that leaves nothing to the imagination<br /><br />The last bullet takes all of us by surprise; those among us who foolishly assume the performance over. This time the cub does not dodge. Instead, his arm sweeps up in a dramatic arc...a catching gesture; coming to a halt with the clenched paw facing towards us. Slowly it unfolds, and we see the round ball of a paint pellet cupped within a pawpad before his fist enfolds it again, arm raising higher until it is overhead. In that position of victory, he crushes the pellet in his fist - allowing the liquid contents of its paint to trickle out in runnels down his upraised arm to the remainder of his unstained form. There is something savagely erotic in how the paint spills from his fist to spread, gradually turning the white fur of his pelt a bloody red. He smears the remainder of its juice upon face and torso, where it takes on the appearance of tribal war paint. <br /><br />``Walrus Almighty,&#039;&#039; says Morris again, but this time he is drowned out by the cheers and applause that resound throughout the auditorium as the fox kit bows solemnly to us and finally takes his leave. Tributes are being tossed heedlessly to the stage in his wake - mostly in the form of coin currency and notes that the staff will retrieve later for safekeeping. ``No way that was real,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``It&#039;s not,&#039;&#039; I try to sound nonchalant though the performance has left me just as overwhelmed. ``It&#039;s choreography. An act - the cub practices the movements beforehand, and the hidden sniper is a confederate who takes advantage of the rote practice. Paint pellets or not, they&#039;re either blanks or they&#039;re shooting to miss. That bit there at the end? He has the paintball palmed all along, only showing us for dramatic effect. Unless you actually do think that kits can dodge bullets now?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Morris considers this for a moment or so. ``Well, I&#039;m still impressed. Something like that would&#039;ve taken a whole lot of coordination,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``You&#039;re meant to be. That&#039;s how they win sponsors. Damn smart method of doing so too, if you ask me,&#039;&#039; the hall is awash in conversation now as our fellow patrons engage in discussing the act just as we are in amazed and reverent tones. ``I&#039;d say that kid will end up with more than a few applying to sponsor him, after his performance tonight. Room and board settled at least for another six months or so... Maybe there&#039;ll even be a bidding war. It&#039;s how they afford to pay for the orphans&#039; upkeep - by auctioning off sponsorship rights to clients after shows like this one. It&#039;s different from adoption; sponsors don&#039;t get all the guardianship rights, but they do receive free passes to visit their sponsored cub anytime they like instead of paying the cover charge to see the shows. It&#039;s also a way for the kennel to `screen&#039; potential parents, or for potential parents to opt for a trial period to see if parenthood is something they want or not - sponsorship buys you six months of access under supervision, which should be enough time for parents to make up their mind and for the management to determine if you&#039;ve what it takes or not,&#039;&#039;<br /><br />Around us the lights are slowly coming on as we make our way up the stairs and out the auditorium doors. Cub ushers at the doors are handing out cards to people as they emerge blinking to the lobby, simple designs sporting the kennel&#039;s enquiry hotline and the date of the next orphan auction. I take one for Morris, stuffing it into his shirt pocket despite his protests. ``Keep it, sport. Might come in handy if you and that Giselle have problems in kid development, eh?&#039;&#039;<br /><br />``Uncle!&#039;&#039; <br /><br />I hold out both paws in mock surrender. ``I&#039;m kidding. Now what say we try to get a bit of shut eye? 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