Phoenix

"I wouldn't do that if I were you.", said Phoenix.

The young technician stopped dead in his tracks, his semi-outstretched arm frozen like a statue. Did he really just hear that? No. Surely, it was a trick of the brain. Dogs do not speak, let alone speak English. This was some kind of endoplasmic event that had been inadvertently brought on by a nasty hangover from the night before. He was dehydrated. This was the aural equivalent of a mirage. Combined with the fact that all day, everyday, he was dealing with dogs and cats and the like. An imagining such as this was bound to happen.

The syringe the technician had just filled moments before, with a steroid designed to treat Phoenix for inflammation, stood upright in his hand. His fingers gentle upon its plastic surface, ready for use.

The technician stared in astonishment at Phoenix, the seven year old mixed-breed miniature Alaskan husky sitting on the table in front of him.

Phoenix stared right back.

"The dosage is incorrect.", Phoenix added, sounding a lot like the late actor Sean Connery did in the very first James Bond film.

The technician closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to reset reality for himself and then opened them again.

"This is not a dream, I promise you.", Phoenix declared with an effortless charisma that only a certain kind of secret agent might carry.

The technician broke out of his seemingly cryogenic state into a fit of laughter, scanning the room for an audience that he hoped would bear witness to this absurdity.

Phoenix stared at him in silence.

The technician's expression shifted again, the humor vanishing from his face. He put the syringe down and tore off his plastic gloves, quickly disposing of them before nervously opening the door leading into the corridor.

Standing in the open doorway, the technician pursed his lips in preparation to say something, to call out to his teammates down at the front desk reception. But what on Earth would he say?

He looked down the end of the corridor in each direction but no one was about. Phoenix sat comfortably on the table and continued to stare at him, and the technician felt his eyes upon him.

"One moment.", the technician said as he rushed out from the doorway and disappeared into the corridor.

Phoenix watched him leave, then let his tongue hang out of his mouth for a moment. He didn't want to have to say anything at all, but one can never be too careful when dealing with one's health. Phoenix yawned. He hoped he'd get to go home soon.

The technician reappeared in the doorway, with a bottle of water in his hand. He trembled as he lifted it slowly to his mouth so that he may take a sip. Soon enough he was sculling the entire thing. It was just what the doctor ordered. The technician re-entered the room and closed the door.

"Refreshed?", asked Phoenix.

"God dammit!", the technician shouted as he threw the empty bottle onto the floor. "Yes! Yes! I'm refreshed!"

"Oh goody.", said Phoenix. "Then you can take a moment to get another syringe and fill it with the correct dose."

"What are you talking about!?", exclaimed the technician. "What am I even saying!?", he added in disbelief.

Phoenix held firm his gaze, and then ordered: "Check it again."

The technician stared into Phoenix's eyes, entranced. He then turned to grab a clipboard hanging from a wall behind him and examined the pages it held.

Perhaps it was the hangover? Perhaps it was the penmanship of whoever had completed the form? Or the faint, nearly imperceptible dot that sat between the three and the zero that meant to indicate a dosage of three point zero milligrams instead of thirty.

"Jesus.", whispered the technician. He then turned to Phoenix. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm not sure how I missed that. Thanks for letting me know."

Phoenix licked him. All was forgiven.