The Snip Clinic

Do they know what they’re lining up for, every morning, first thing, whatever the weather, always the same, as many as twenty deep, winding through the parking lot, tails wagging, tongues flapping, barking at each other, like any other day?

When do they figure it out?

When their owners, bleary-eyed and indifferent, checking cell phones, clutching leashes and travel mugs of coffee, lead them inside once their number’s called? Is it not until they step into the sterile operating room, jump onto the table, right before they go under?

As I pass the Snip Clinic on my drive to work, I clench my thighs in empathy.

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(A version of this short story was originally published in 101 Words.)