Sammy

At first I think it’s the upstairs dog, the one that’s always running around, so I yell “Shut up!” at the ceiling. I’m still half asleep, and don’t know whether or not I’m dreaming. The barking continues. A few minutes later, when I’m convinced it’s not going to let up, I rub my eyes and listen more closely. That’s when I discover that the barking’s not coming from above my apartment, but that it’s coming from within.

I get out of bed and arm myself with a billy club, which my dad gave me when he retired from the Force. I edge to the door, holding the knob while thinking about what to do. I conjure images of Rottweilers, Dobermans, Pit Bulls, and other vicious breeds of dog, but unless I want to call Animal Control and risk sounding like an idiot, there’s nothing I can do except confront the barker head-on. I’d figure out how it gained entry into my apartment later. I always lock the windows and doors when I go to bed, though. I even double-check them if I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or get something to eat.

I raise my club and pull the door open a smidge. Nothing. I open it a little wider. Still nothing. I force it wide open in one, swift motion. Again, nothing but an empty hallway. The barking has ceased for the moment, but I stick close to the wall in the hallway like I’m about to confront an intruder. The bathroom is next, so I first glance around the corner when I see a small, shadowed figure in the opaque, shower stall door, which intentionally obscures whatever’s behind it.

What the? I whisper, unsure about what I’m up against. I notice the figure shift its weight from one side to another and back. It doesn’t move like a dog. How’s it going? I ask to break the ice.

Bark bark bark bark, it yelps. Now I’m positive it’s not a dog, and sure enough, when I slide the stall door to the left, there’s a full-grown seal in the bathtub. Its body is dark and speckled. Its face is irresistible, the proof being two, big dark eyes and several, lengthy whiskers—like a cat’s face, really, sans ears. I lower my club and repeat my query. It answers in English this time, admitting that, I’m good, but I could use some water, so would you mind filling up the tub?

No, I don’t mind, I say. I assume the seal is okay with cold water so I turn the C knob to the left and block the drain. Once the tub’s full—I let it get near the brim, which is stupid of me, and leave the stall door open—the seal starts splashing around, spilling water all over the bathroom floor, which leaves me no choice but to sop the water up with a bunch of dirty towels from the hamper.

The seal apologizes and admits that it didn’t mean to cause such a mess.

It’s all right, I say, but how’d you get in here?

Your door was wide open, so I just waddled in here.

That’s impossible, I say. I never leave anything unlocked—much less wide open.

There’s a first time for everything, the seal says, and do you have anything to eat?

Probably not anything you’d like.

No fish or squid?

—Fraid not. I can go get you some, though.

That’d be awesome.

Let me call in first. Then I’ll go get you some food from the fish market.

When I call in and tell them that I’m vomiting every hour on the hour, Target understands but still isn’t happy about it. I’m a cart attendant, and they’ll have to get somebody else to cover for me since I’m the only one scheduled to work tonight. Tuesday’s always a slow day, so they shouldn’t have any problems if they send a cashier out to the parking lot once in a while. In fact, later this week I think I’ll quit, lie to them, tell them that I’ve been offered a job elsewhere for more money, see what they have to say about that.

I could ask the seal what kinds of fish it wants, but I think it’d be a dumb question, so instead, I quickly check Wikipedia for seal diets before I drive to the fish market. There I pick up a few different types of fish—anchovy, sea bass, herring, and cod. I buy some squid, too.

$

When I get back, the seal is still in the bathtub, and I toss it a couple of each fish, but place the rest in the freezer for later.

Thanks for the food. It rocked.

You’re welcome, but we’re gonna have to get a few things straight. First, you’re gonna have to get outta there at some point because I’ve gotta take a shower every day. Second, you’re gonna have to keep the barking to a minimum if you wanna stay here. They allow dogs, but if they find out I’m harboring a seal, they’ll call Animal Control.

What’s Animal Control?

It’s these people who come and take animals away from people who shouldn’t have them, usually because they either abuse or neglect them. Sometimes they’ll come if an animal escapes, or if there’s a wild animal on the loose. You’d probably go to a zoo.

What’s a zoo?

A zoo is where animals are kept so people can observe them in their natural habitat, even though it’s not really natural because they’re confined, you know? In cages and whatnot.

Sounds bad.

You’d be safe, but you’d also be in captivity, so it wouldn’t be the best situation. Anyhow, you can stay here, but since you’d be my roommate, I’d expect you to split the rent with me, which is 800 dollars a month. But then again, you probably don’t know what money is or why anyone would need any.

No. Can anyone go to the zoo?

What?

Can anyone visit the zoo?

Well, yeah. But you have to pay money to go for the day. It’s not free.

Would people pay to see me? Especially if they could pet me?

Definitely. Wait a sec. That’s a great idea. We couldn’t advertise or you’d get taken away. Let’s see. We need money. The people who’d want to see you and touch you would be kids, mainly. Kids have parents. Parents have money. So, kids would have to get money from their parents, but without telling them what it’s for.

Where are kids?

Kids are at schools. We’d have to keep this a secret, and make sure they keep it, too. I’ll have to scare ’em. Tell them if anyone finds out about you, they’ll take you and kill you, turn you into shark food.

Sounds like a good idea.

Indeed. There’s still time for me to get down to the elementary school on Walnut before it lets out for the day. I’ll tell any kids I see to come tomorrow.

$

Sitting in my car in the parking lot of Walnut Elementary, I feel like a child molester. Of course I’ve never done anything of the sort, nor would I ever as it’s revolting, but I feel like I’m preying on children even if they will get the bang for their buck. I’ve decided that’s how much I’ll charge—one dollar for thirty minutes with the seal. I need a name for it, something to make the package more alluring. Something catchy. Sammy the Seal has a nice ring to it. So, one dollar for thirty minutes with Sammy the Seal. I come up with all this while I’m in the car, waiting for the crowd to die down, which is when I’ll swoop into the playground and try to get a few kids whose parents aren’t able to pick them up until later in the day, and who obviously don’t take the bus.

When the coast is mostly clear, I make my move. I walk over to the bench at the edge of the playground and sit down, like I’m completely relaxed and everything’s ordinary.

Hey, kid. C’mere, I say when a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy comes within earshot. He walks closer, but stays a few feet away.

My mom told me not to talk to strangers, he says.

Normally that’s good advice, I say, but I’ve got something you’ll want to see. Do you have a dollar?

Yeah.

Show it to me.

He pulls a wrinkled bill out of his shorts pocket and holds it up.

For that dollar, I say, I’ll let you see and touch a seal—a real, live seal. Its name is Sammy.

You don’t have a seal. The only seals are at the zoo.

Tell you what. You tell four of your friends that tomorrow after school they can see and pet a real, live seal for one dollar for half an hour, and I’ll let you go for free.

My mom picks me up at 4:30.

That’s fine. Just make sure your friends don’t get picked up until then either. And if anyone asks, tell them I’m your Uncle. Uncle Don.

Okay. See you tomorrow.

He starts walking back in the direction of the swing set.

What’s your name? I ask.

Michael.

Your mom’s right, Michael. You shouldn’t talk to strangers. Except me. I’m okay. I’m telling the

truth.

He doesn’t say anything, and the look on his face lets me know that he’s honestly unsure as to whether I’m lying or not. He’ll see, though.

$

The next day I’m in the same spot, biding my time while the school parking lot becomes less dense. I see Michael standing around with a group of kids. I count eight—twice as many as I told him to bring—but that’s no problem as it’s more money in the bank.

Hey Michael, I say when I approach the group.

I put my arm around his shoulder like I’m totally comfortable. There are girls and boys of many colors and sizes.

Did Michael tell you what we’re gonna do?

Yeah, says a brunette girl. See a seal for a dollar!

That’s right, I say, and if anyone asks you who I am, what do you say?

You’re Michael’s Uncle Don! the same girl says.

And what did you do after school today?

Played on the playground!

Exactly. Let’s go.

I lead them to the car and tell them to pile in. I consider arranging them for comfort and safety, but I can’t afford to waste time, so I let them sit wherever and on whoever they want. It takes a few minutes to get back to my place. Once we’re there, I turn to them and say, You all need to be quiet so you don’t bother the neighbors. If you’re too loud, people will wonder what’s going on, and if they find Sammy, they’ll take him away from me, and you won’t be able to visit him anymore. I still don’t know the seal’s gender, but I decide to refer to it as a male for simplicity’s sake.

They all nod.

Luckily no one’s around to notice me and the line of children enter my apartment. I shut the door and lock it. The children gather around, waiting for instructions. I tell them that admittance is a dollar, so they each remove a folded, wrinkled, or wadded up bill from their respective hiding places and give them to me. Michael gives me his as well, but I wink at him as I take it, attempting to signal that I’ll give it back to him later since he fulfilled his end of the deal.

When the children see Sammy the Seal floating in the bathtub, looking as cute and docile as ever, the girls squeal in excitement and a few of the boys say, Wow. I remind them that they have to be quiet, and aside from a couple shy ones, all the kids squeeze around the bathtub, petting Sammy on his head and belly. I notice that most of the kids are rapt, judging by the looks in their eyes and the way they talk to Sammy. Sure, they’ve seen seals through a thick pane of glass before, but they’ve never gotten up close to a seal and actually touched it. At that age, anyone would be awestruck.

After the thirty minutes is up, I announce it to the group. Some say, No, as if they don’t believe it, or at least don’t want to believe it, but I repeat myself, hammering the point home

that we have to get back to the school before anyone gets suspicious.

You all can come back tomorrow, if you like, I say, as long as you have a dollar. Tell your friends, too.

A fellow tenant gives me a strange look when the kids and me are getting into my car in my complex’s lot, but everything else runs smoothly. In the school’s lot the kids escape from my car like bees from a hive, still chattering about Sammy.

Remember what I told you! I say before my car’s empty. I hope no one spills the beans. Otherwise, Sammy’s screwed and I’ll probably be slapped with a molestation charge, even though I didn’t do anything.

$

Thursday arrives and I call in to Target and officially quit. I can tell my manager Wanda is annoyed, but I don’t care. On the phone I lie and tell her it was fun while it lasted, but I’m getting a dollar more per hour, so I’ve gotta take this new job in the produce department at Meijer. She tries to convince me to stay, that I can get a raise if I ask, but I politely refuse.
I feed Sammy afterward with the fish and squid from the market, and then head out to the school, where I’m alarmed to see that the crowd has expanded from nine to the low twenties. I can’t ever reach a definitive number because the kids keep walking and running around.

All right, I say when I get to Michael and his friends. This is getting out of control, so this is gonna be the last day until next week. I’ll only be able to allow a certain number of you from this point on. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Let’s get loaded. Walk around the back of the school and I’ll meet you back there. I don’t want anyone to see us.

When the last of them are out of sight, I get back in my car and drive home. Sammy gives me a look of surprise when he sees me without a bunch of kids in tow.

Where are they?

I think we screwed up. There were too many of them. Word’s spreading fast. It’s only a matter of time until someone finds out and the police will come looking for me, probably with a search warrant. Those kids can’t be trusted. They won’t keep quiet.

Maybe you’re just being paranoid.

Maybe I am. Still, the only way we can avoid this kind of thing is if I go to a different school, convince a kid to bring a few of his friends once, and then move on to another one before word spreads too quickly. Eventually we’ll run out of schools.

There are other places to pick up kids.

Yeah, but not the volume we need. For now, we may have to part ways until further notice.

Where will I go?

The ocean. I’ll drive you to the beach and set you free.

Okay.

Lay low for a while. Who knows, you might like the ocean and not want to come back.

Maybe we should’ve done this in the first place.

We could always meet back up at a later date. You know where I live. Plus, someone’s bound to start sniffing around with your bark being so different from a dog’s. I’ll feed you the last of the fish and we’ll head to the ocean tonight.

Sounds good, I guess.

$

It’s 4 a.m. and we’re on the beach saying our goodbyes in the dark. There are so few people on the beach in the middle of the night, and that works to our advantage in giving Sammy a clean getaway. He throws himself into the cold, ocean water and swims until he’s out of sight, which takes a mere second with visibility as low as it is.

In the morning, I’ll get up and drive to the zoo where I’ll apply for a job, as Sammy suggested. I’ll apply for third shift security. I’ll tell the interviewer that my father was a police officer, and that, yeah, I plan on joining the Force sometime in the future, but for now, I’d like to cut my teeth on security. Once I’m hired, I’ll walk the grounds listening to the animals, pretending I can’t understand what they’re saying to each other. I’ll make a list—least dangerous to most dangerous—so I’m able to prioritize. When the time is right, I’ll set them all free. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just eavesdrop to see what they think of us, the ones who imprison them. Myself included.