You crane your neck toward the old-fashioned clock that's fixed on the far wall to your left. Squinting, you can just about make out the positions of the hour and minute hands. Seven...forty-nine. You sigh, as you're supposed to be hanging around until ten or so to close up. Truthfully, being a manager at a local grocery store isn't the worst occupation you can imagine, but it surely has its ups and downs. Discounts on food are pretty nice, and your place is considerably more laid back than the others in town. However, you're not a big fan of toting around pallets of soup cans for restocking or waking up for the real early shifts, and the fatigue can be imposingly strong when you work late into the day. But hey, it's pretty comfy, so who are you to complain outside the confines of your own mind? You idly twiddle a pen in between your fingers, gazing over the inventories of the baked goods that are out on the floor. As you take mental notes of each item's supply, you lazily scratch the data onto a sheet of paper fastened to the clipboard in your other hand. Okay, so we got...seven loaves of whole wheat bread left, a couple of those pumpkin pies that are in season, five or so of the bran muffin packs that taste flat out awful...what else is there-- "Excuse me, sir?" You whip around to face the customer who is calling for your attention, your standard greeting already primed for delivery. "Hi, how may I help you this evening?" You barely utter the last word before your mouth goes dry all of a sudden. It's not like you don't see your fair share of attractive girls around the store; hell, some of them are weekly or even daily customers. But you're not quite certain you've come across one that looks like a goddamn human-sized collie standing on two feet. "Well, I was looking to buy a carton of coconut milk tonight during my shop, but I think you guys might be out of stock or something," she says, putting on a cheery smile as she finishes her sentence. "I was wondering if you maybe had any in the back?" With what looks to be her thumb, she gestures over her shoulder toward the storage area. Huh, those are absolutely paw pads on her palms... "Uh, sure, lemme check on that for you, ma'am," you blurt out. Swiveling on one foot, you immediately begin walking swiftly toward your intended destination, not once looking back toward the canid customer. You part the doors in front of you with a level of force that even Moses himself could not summon forth, and you stumble inside to quickly get out of sight. "Jesus, am I hallucinating out there or what?” You take a moment to shakily set down the clipboard and pen on a table close by, and you grimace as your eyes dart about the room, as if trying to find a hidden answer that would explain what you think you saw. "I swear I just had a dialogue with a dog with tits. Like the tits you see on a woman, not a dog", you remark to yourself. You shake your head vigorously. Did you fall asleep on your shift and enter some fantasy land inhabited by animal chicks? Sounds like the kind of shit that happens in one of those half-baked sci-fi movies. Suddenly, you have a stroke of genius that restores your sense of confidence. "Hold on, I know how to get out of here. If you wanna wake up right away, you're supposed to close your eyes real tight." Without hesitation, you do just that for a few seconds before reopening them. Much to your chagrin, the fluorescent lighting of the storage room fills your vision once more. "Aaaaaand I'm still here. Maybe I have to do it twice?" No dice. "What about third time's the charm?" You keep your eyes closed for a little longer than the prior two attempts and squeeze extra hard, but you find yourself planted where you were before. You purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the sensation of panic bubbling up inside you. If this is real, you're keeping her waiting outside, and she's not gonna be one bit pleased about it. What did she want again? Coconut milk? Does the store even sell that? You don't remember getting a shipment of it in any of the truck deliveries as of late... You know that you can't possibly search all of the wares in a short period of time, so you resort to the directory contained in the three-ring binder sitting right near where you left the clipboard. Rapidly, you thumb through the plastic sleeves to see if there's any record of the product and its possible whereabouts. Apricots, dried...broccoli, frozen...coconut butter...coconut flour...coconut oil...wait a second... Along the left margin of the current page, you see the words "coconut milk" scrawled in ink near the other printed cells that contain coconut products. In addition, there's a hastily drawn circle right below that contains the symbols "3C". You immediately recognize the encoding--the item must be kept on the third aisle in section C in storage. "That's one of the refrigerated areas, right? Let's see what we have, then," you think to yourself as make your way over. Sure enough, there's a carton of the stuff you need. Your face gets blasted with cool air as you reach for the item; not questioning your stroke of good fortune, you scurry back outside, lest you face the wrath of an impatient dog...thing. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, ma'am!" you nearly yell, forcing your voice to carry from the entrance of the storage room so as to catch the attention of the customer. She wasn't facing in your direction initially, but she gracefully turns around to do so, wearing an expression no less jolly than the one you saw before. Smoothing out your shirt with your free hand to look less disheveled, you thrust forth the carton toward her as you come close. "It seems it's your lucky evening; we had just this one left," you say, shaking the milk lightly for emphasis, and her eyes light up. "Wow, thank you so much!" she returns, taking the item and placing it delicately in the basket in her grasp. "I'm glad I asked. I appreciate the help!" She's still very much a canine, at least by your estimations, but she has other characteristics that confound your hypothesis. She doesn't exactly have hair, the kind you'd expect on a person's head, but some sort of makeshift likeness of bangs formed out of her fur. Oh yeah, and you can't help but notice that fluffy-looking tail coming out from behind her. It's definitely wagging, isn't it? She peers at your nametag. "Well, Anon, I hope you enjoy the rest of your night!" She gently pats you on the shoulder before letting her hand settle there momentarily. Right away, you can feel pure, unadulterated warmth penetrating the thin fabric of your shirt and radiating throughout your skin. There's something that's inexplicably relaxing about the sensation, which is one you can't say you've ever experienced before. The pads feel extremely soft and delicate, too, as they rest against your body, kinda like she's had a full-blown manicure...or is it a pedicure? Just as you're starting to grow accustomed to the contact, she retracts her hand. You almost feel a tinge of sadness as she strolls over to the self-checkout machine, her basket swinging in sync with her step. You rub your eyes as you watch her slide her items along the scanner and bag them; she's far away, so you can't quite hear the customary beep that accompanies each scan. Your mind begins to race. "Am I the only one seeing this? Walking, talking dogs would be cool and all, but I don't think I'm living in the right era for that..." Your attention drifts briefly, only for you to realize your vision has shifted towards the ceiling in turn. Blinking a few times, you focus toward the checkout stations once more, only to find that there's nobody in sight. You place your hands on your hips, trying to assess the situation. "Do I really want to bring this up to my co-workers?" you ask yourself. It doesn't take you very long to come up with an answer. You can only imagine the grief you would get for trying to depict how you practically serviced the humanized version of Lassie during your night shift. Tired of racking your brain for an explanation, you attempt to take a step forward, but you find that your balance is rather unsteady as you plant your foot. Straightening yourself out to avoid stumbling, you stand nearly still once more. "But I can't say that I wouldn't mind seeing her again..."