McWuffins

By Jon Wesick

Three Dog Years Ago

As usual, the departure lounge smelled of sour breath, burnt coffee, and grilled onions. Then McWuffins sniffed something more appetizing than a fire hydrant on Christmas morning. He looked up and saw her. She stood 28 centimeters tall and her curly, hypoallergenic hair was clipped in a Lion style. She was the most stunning poodle he’d ever seen. Even though he was on duty, McWuffins dropped in a play bow.

“Allo, mon cher. I just adore those floppy ears,” the poodle muttered in a sexy growl. “When I get back from Marseilles, maybe we can chase a stick or something.”

“You bet,” McWuffins barked.

His handler, Jody, led him through the secure doorway. Something smelled different about her, today, an odor like sea urchin and rice vinegar. Of course, she was going to have a puppy. McWuffins thought of all he could teach his new cousin, like how to play tag and tug of war. Nails clattering on the tile, he followed Jody down the stairs to the screening station in baggage handling. A whiff of dampness rose from the concrete floor. He smelled baggage handlers’ sweat, ozone from an overheating electric motor, and the mineral oil lubricating the conveyor.

“McWuffins, seek!” Jody pointed to the suitcases arranged in front of the carousel.

Nose quivering, he sniffed each – perfume, newspaper, fabric softener, dirty laundry. Where should he take the poodle for the best sticks? The compost pile, maybe. He smelled roast coffee with a hint of ammonia. Probably just some new flavor for the trend setters. He and the poodle would have a great time rolling in the grass and chasing each other’s tails. If he caught frisbees, would she think he was showing off? He continued smelling backpacks and bags – gin, lipstick, a baby’s spit-covered toy. After McWuffins’ go-ahead, ramp agents stacked the bags on trailers for transfer to the airplanes. Federal regulations mandated a break and Jody’s scratch behind McWuffins’ ear was as rewarding as the first time.

“You’re extra clingy, today,” Jody said as McWuffins circled between her legs.

A distant explosion sounding like a thunderstorm or the Fourth of July startled him but there was no couch big enough to hide his guilt as Flight 153 fell from the sky.

Present Day

The August sun cut through the blinds like a dull machete to wake him. A hangover pounded McWuffins’ head like a series of pats from a titanosaur’s giant paw.

“Might as well have some hair of the dog.” He rolled off the couch, exited the doggy door, and lapped at his bowl of Jack Daniels, spilling as much on the porch as he got in his mouth. The distinctive aroma of spirulina biscuits alerted him to a visitor.

“How’s it going, McWuffins?” His German shepherd rival ate those tasteless things due to his gluten intolerance.

“Here to gloat, Barksdale?”

“Nothing like that. Just here to see how you’re doing.”

“Want a drink?”

Barksdale stuck his snout in the bowl and took a healthy swallow.

“Want play a little tug of war like in the old days?” he said.

“Did she send you?” McWuffins asked.

“No.” Barksdale chewed at a flea on his bum. “I was worried about you but now that I see you, retirement looks pretty sweet. When I’m sniffing bags in some basement, you’re out here enjoying the sunshine. You ought to make it permanent. Hell, maybe I’ll fake some PTSD bullshit so I can get a month off, too.” “What do you know about it? Three hundred eighty-three people died because of me.” McWuffins growled. “You always wanted to be the alpha dog. Well, now you got it. Get out of here and let me finish my drink in peace.”

“McWuffins, you have a visitor!”

Nails clicking on the hardwood floor, he dashed to the foyer. Even though he tried to play it cool, McWuffins couldn’t control his enthusiasm.

“Jody’s here! Jody’ here!” In a burst of joy, he sprinted around the living room, cut between the coffee table and easy chair, and paused on the couch digging his nose between the cushions before starting again. Tail wagging like a frenetic semaphore he returned to the foyer, jumped into Jody’s arms, and smothered her face with dog kisses.

“Come back to the airport.” She scratched him on the bum making his hind leg thump. “You have the best nose on the East Coast. I remember how you found that firecracker in a wheel of Parmesan cheese at the academy. I need you.”

***

Familiar smells welcomed him to the departure lounge – stale sweat and greasy food along with lemony floor wax and the noxious stink on smokers’ clothing.

“He’s cute. Can I pet him?” A girl who smelled of bubblegum reached.

“Leave him alone, Stacy.” Her mother pulled her back. “He’s working.”

As Jody used her key card to buzz them through the secure entrance, McWuffins felt a terror powerful as a visit to the veterinarian’s office. All the memories came flooding back – the smells of alcohol and disinfectant, that strange man in the mask probing him in places that shouldn’t be touched, his scrambling feet finding no purchase on the metal table, and the stab of the rabies shot. How could Jody betray him like this? McWuffins locked his front legs and pulled against the leash as if resisting a dreaded bath. Concern in her eyes, Jody knelt beside him.

“Not ready yet, buddy? Okay, we’ll try, tomorrow.”

***

McWuffins gobbled the peanut butter and realized it tasted funny only after he swallowed. An hour later with his emotions secured in a drug-induced puppy crate, he followed Jody into baggage handling.

“McWuffins, seek!” Jody pointed to the suitcases.

Something was off as if the whole world was shrink wrapped in plastic. No matter. This time, he could not fail. He would not let anyone die on his watch. Nose and cheeks puffing as if out a car window, he went to work. The green backpack smelled of woodsmoke. Better not chance it. He alerted and Jody pulled if off the shelf. The weekender smelled of lipstick and talcum powder. Okay. The duffel smelled of wax and tobacco. Can’t be too careful. He alerted. The hardshell roll-on smelled of chemicals. Could be medicine or it could be a bomb. He alerted. Overall, he alerted on one hundred fifty-two of two-hundred-twelve bags. Security delayed Flight 98 for hours while the TSA searched luggage only to find a single nickel bag.

“We can’t go on like this,” Jody’s supervisor said. “It’s time for McWuffins to retire.”

“I know he can still do it, Steve,” Jody said. “He’s been through a lot.”

“This isn’t a charity. I’ll give him one last chance. If he screws up again, it’s the farm.”

***

McWuffins took the peanut butter from his keeper’s hand. Saliva filled his mouth and he longed to swallow but something troubled him. The other day, Jody scratch behind the ear had seemed half-hearted. When his keeper wasn’t looked, he spat the peanut-butter-covered antidepressant into a potted plant.

The smells of spilled beer, overcooked chicken breasts, and the sweaty fear of anxious flyers greeted him in the departure hall.

“Allo, mon cher. Did you miss me?” the poodle asked from a line of travelers waiting for boarding passes.

Jody and the poodle’s owner looked away as the two dogs smelled each other’s butts. To McWuffins, the poodle smelled of bacon and fried liver but there was a hint of something troubling. What was it? Before he could answer, McWuffins smelled coffee and ammonia on a bearded man in a trilby hat. He growled and lunged.

“Sorry, he never does that.” Jody pulled him away.

Following her through the secure entrance was more terrifying than facing a vacuum cleaner with its beater-bar brush snapping like a Doberman’s jaws and suction that could swallow his very soul. McWuffins’ pulse raced and his breath came in shallow pants. Somehow, he had to make it through. Then it hit him. That troubling smell was spirulina, just like Barksdale’s dog biscuits. The bombing and his PTSD had been a setup.

“Seek!” Jody pointed to the waiting baggage.

The smell of coffee and ammonia came from a pink knapsack but McWuffins was wary of alerting too soon. The same smell came from a rolling upright and a makeup case. He smelled it all over, on backpacks, boxes, and suitcases. A steamer trunk had a different smell, gasoline and baking soda. McWuffins alerted. When security opened it, they found sixty kilos of fentanyl.

***

“I’d like to award this medal to Jody Filner and McWuffins for exposing drug smugglers corrupting our colleagues.” Steve placed a ribbon around Jody’s neck.

The fentanyl belonged to the man in the trilby. When police searched him, they found a receipt for one-hundred-thousand dog biscuits deposited in a Cayman Islands bank account belonging to Barksdale. The bombing had been his attempt to sideline McWuffins so Barksdale could let the drugs though. The German shepherd and his poodle accomplice ended up at the pound where no adoption would save them from the needle.

“Good doggie.” Steve handed McWuffins a biscuit. Thank dog, it wasn’t spirulina.