Sigmund's Shrink

Written for Writer's Cramp. Prompt: Your dog is going through a mid-life crisis... you know this because the animal shrink at the local mall has told you this... what does this "professional" fraud tell you how to cure your dog.

         “Stop!”
         I stopped. Sigmund didn’t and jerked me face-first toward the sidewalk. I flung my arms over his neck as I plummeted, catching myself inches over the cement.
         A tall man in a mint suit jacket scooped me back onto my high-heeled shoes. “Oh, oh, oh, I’m terribly sorry. I should have known better, especially in light of your poor dog’s symptoms. Can you possibly forgive me?”
         ”Yes, if you'll take your hands off me. Was that you yelling back there?”
         ”To my shame, I must admit to the positive. But when I spotted you and your lovely animal passing, I was overwhelmed with trepidation for her condition and couldn’t help myself.”
         Lovely animal? I was proud of Sigmund for politely overlooking this comment. He sat at my feet and nosed at a little sun-baked caterpillar. “What condition?”
         The man gasped and jerked a hand to his mouth. “Can you possibly mean that you don’t see it? I’m shocked that such a kind and gentle owner (such as you obviously are) has missed it.”
         “Missed what?”
         ”Why your dog is—“ he suddenly dropped his voice. “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.” He pointed to a frosted door next to Aggie’s Minute Hotdogs. “It might not be prudent to air this in such a public setting.”
         My eyebrow arched, but I followed him anyway through the suspicious little door and into a closet sized waiting room.
         ”This way, please,” he encouraged, pulling my arm and gesturing to another door.
         ”I’d rather not, thank you. This is quite far enough, and if you don’t mind I’d rather you just say what you want to say and have done with it.”
         ”Of course, I should have thought about that and been more considerate of your time. That’s a pretty Labrador you have there, by the way.”
         ”He's a Great Dane.”
         ”Of course I meant 'Great Dane.' They’re related you know. But perhaps you didn’t know that your poor dog is going through a mid-life crisis.”
         ”Excuse me?”
         ”I’m sorry to inform you in such an abrupt fashion, but it’s true. Perhaps you’ve noticed recently that your little gal here has been hanging her head in such a way that her nose touches the ground. A classic symptom, which I observed repeatedly as she passed my office.”
         If I’d been in full possession of my vocal muscles then I would’ve burst out laughing. As it was I just stared at the little balding man.
         ”And, of course, the incident just now where she nearly toppled you. Now, she probably didn’t mean to do that, but melancholic distraction is an indication of life-crisis related depression. Has she been behaving puppy-like recently?”
         ”He is nine months old. Of course he’s behaving ‘puppy-like.’”
         ”Well, sometimes these kinds of things set in earlier with larger models. But I’m very glad to hear that she’s so young. That will drastically speed her treatment. And because we’ve caught her at such a pliable age, there’s a good chance that she’ll make a full recovery. Would you like to have a list of our treatment programs?”
         I paused open-mouthed before declaring,”Absolutely not.”
         ”Ha, ha! You’re being facetious, of coarse. Please sit down.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a black book, the type that old-school college guys use to collect phone numbers. “It’s a simple treatment, really. Have you heard of the healing potential of magnets? Ah, of course you have. Now, since your dog is so young, I believe that if you make her stand upon a magnetic table three times a day for half an hour, that’ll do the trick. Of course, if you want to fully solidify her recovery you may want to spoon-feed her deionized peanut butter and rub her flanks with star fruit leaves and cherry extract.”
         "Deionized peanut butter, star fruit leaves and cherry extract?"
         He nodded and grinned. "Yes, I know it might sound a bit complicated, but I assure you that the application process is very simple. Only external rubbing around the face and major muscle groups is necessary."
         ”How interesting. Good day and thank you so much for your time. Come along, Sigmund.”
         ”Wait, wait just a moment. Don’t you want to know where you can obtain these items?”
         ”Oh, we have all that at home. Thank you.” I gently yanked Sigmund’s leash to stand him up.
         Just before we escaped, he grabbed my shoulder.
         ”Wait, please, just a moment. Perhaps you have them at home, but have they been canine processed to ensure their quality? Our products use, what we call, Thermodeline Processing which means—“
         ”Thermodeline Processing? How about that. I told my husband when he invented that process that he’d never be able to convince anyone to develop it into anything serious. I guess I was wrong. But, maybe I should tell you, after you’ve taken so much of your valuable time with us, that Thermodeline Processing utilizes plain olive oil. It isn't even virgin. But please keep that to yourself. If its popularity has spread it this far, than it'll probably give us a nice little side income. Maybe even enough to supplement what we lost in that civil lawsuit. People are much too sensitive about dog bites these days. Let’s go, darling.”
         I zipped out the door with my furry child and we jogged to the opposite side of the strip mall. “Well, Siggy,” I puffed when we stopped by the Fabric And More, “I hope you're satisfied with yourself. Let's work a little more on 'heel,' shall we."