Why Humans Make Bad Pets!

I'm A Xeno Dog

Dear Journal,

I'm a xeno dog.

Believe it or not, that hasn't helped my self-esteem issues. Good thing I don't have any. I came to the revelation slowly. After the two blue-giraffes (I'm rather proud of that name) finished up their spitting argument, one of the underdeveloped ones, which I'm now sure are children, clicked a few times. Apparently it was a sentence, because the larger two looked at him, then, despite the fact that it was just a bunch of clicks, one of the adults, a female I think, delivered what was unmistakeably a mother's lecture. The little one jumped up and down in his excitement, not listening to a click she was saying. Eventually she finished up, and it seemed as though something had been decided. Everyone vacated the room, except for the smallest one, who I quickly named Dinklage (not my best, but I was rushed). He moved closer, and I suddenly began to wonder what these creatures ate. They looked harmless enough, but then so had the grey Yodas.

Dinklage looked down at me, and once again I tried to move my limbs. Their only response was to twitch my smallest finger. Thanks guys. I needn't have worried though, because Dinklage suddenly scampered out of the room with the all the grace of a dying gazelle, where I was left to contemplate my immobility and the nature of my position. By this time I was pretty sure I was in space. I hadn't seen a window, but unless the Men in Black films had been documentaries, I doubted I was still on Earth. It was a shame, too, since no one would be looking after my house.

I didn't have much time to ponder my ruined estates, because Dinklage explosively burst back into the room, holding what looked like a speckled blue and yellow palm frond, which he promptly shoved unceremoniously into my face. I looked at him, hoping for some explanation, but his only response was to shove it further. We sat in that position for awhile, myself, lying prone upon the bed, palm frond in my face, child blue-giraffe looking at me expectantly. After about a minute of that he deflated, then turned and flailed out of the room again, returning a minute later with what looked like a black and rotting fungus. The newest plant specimen was also displayed for my inspection. Unfortunately the fungus smelled about as revolting as it looked. This process was repeated several times. After I was shown a lovely flower the color of bird s**t, Dinklage, who had been growing increasingly frustrated with the proceedings, snorted like a horse, and seemed to wither in defeat. He shuffled out of the room, and I was finally left in peace.

Vtv, shoulders slumped in defeat, sulked onto the bridge. Xkkrk, who had been worried this would happen, turned sympathetically towards him. "He won't eat any of the things I gave him," Vtv mumbled. "He even turned down the aged zrrks, and even Yxrrq will eat those. Why doesn't he like any of our food?"

"Maybe he just wasn't all that hungry. Maybe he was scared of you. Just think of what you look like to him. He's so much smaller than you. You loom over him. He just has to warm up to you. Why don't you go into his room and play a game of warrens with Piiqrrt. Maybe if the creature gets used to seeing you he'll trust you enough to let you feed him." Xkkrk smiled as Vtv, presented with a new course of action, regained his excitement and tore out of the room, the picture of a youth with too many things to do.

My peace was once again disturbed as Dinklage walked purposefully back into my room, followed by another child carrying what looked like a small metal clam. This new blue-giraffe was significantly larger than Dink, and I doubted the extra bulk was muscle. Both he and Dink sat on the floor with the clam in between them, and as the new child sat, his excess weight bounced, confirming my suspicions and earning him the christening of Jiggles. Jiggles opened the clam, and a holographic projection of what was unmistakeably a game board leapt into existence between them. It was a grid of hexagons, with different colored pieces on the two of the opposite sides, closest to the players. Dink seemed to have an unfair advantage over Jiggles, though, because his side had well over twenty pieces while Jiggles only seemed to have three.

It didn't seem to make much of a difference. Within minutes of the game's start, Dink's body language began to tell of a losing battle, which was confirmed by the quickly diminishing number of his pieces. Seemingly at random, certain hexagons on the playing field would glow brighter than the rest, then dim several turns later, for reasons I couldn't understand. Neither the glowing hexes, nor the greater number of pieces saved Dink. After only seven minutes of game play, all his pieces had been systematically removed from the board. The game was reset, yet this time Dink had the three pieces, while Jiggles had the army. I soon realized that the player with three pieces had to capture all the pieces of the other players before the other player was able to reach one of the glowing hexagons with one of his pieces. The glowing hexagons seemed to appear only in positions that were difficult for the defensive player to reach, and soon I was engrossed in the game, trying to parse out any remaining rules. Jiggles won most of the games, which allowed me to see how the game could be won by both sides.

It wasn't the most complex of games, but it did include a strategy. After five or so games, I began to see the flaws in Dink's strategy, and decided he wasn't the brightest blue-giraffe I'd ever seen. Jiggles wasn't even that good. I wished more than ever that I could speak to him, if for no other reason than to yell at him in frustration. His pieces were once again eliminated, and the game began again. I couldn't let him lose this one. I struggled against my paralysis, and managed to shift my arm until it fell off the bed, hanging limply by the side of the bed. My movement drew their attention. Dink sprang to his feet and excitedly scampered out of the room. He returned with the speckled palm frond from before, eagerly introducing it to my face.

"Get your leaf out of m-" I didn't manage to finish my sentence though, as with the opening of my mouth, he surged forward with the frond and managed to poke it past my lips. I tried to spit it out, but he kept attempting to feed it to me. That's when it dawned on me that that was what he was trying to do. With that realization came the second, significantly more profound realization. They thought I was an animal! They didn't realize that I was sentient. And what was even worse, I couldn't tell them. My speech would sound like so much grunting and unintelligible nonsense as their clicking. They didn't use the same numeric system, so I couldn't show them my powers of abstract reasoning through math, which, admittedly, were extremely lacking. I was an unthinking brute, and what was even worse, I had been given to Dink for him to take care of. I was Dink's new puppy, and he was trying to find out what I ate. Well, I was famished. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, which seemed to take on a greater significance in my new situation. I just wished that hand wasn't blue, or striped, or belonged to a giraffe child. It would have to suffice.

Armed with this knowledge, I took a bite from the tip of the leaf. I don't know what palm fronds taste like, but they probably would have tasted better. I spat out the bitter leaf, but this only seemed to make Dink happier. He bolted from the room, and returned with the rotten mushroom. I wasn't about to let that get anywhere near my tongue, and I firmly closed my lips against the melting brown mush. The next leaf he brought tasted like romaine lettuce, so I ate the whole thing. It only seemed to increase my hunger. Dink seemed overjoyed and next brought me a container slightly larger than a shoebox full of those leaves. I would have objected to his feeding me if I'd been able to move my arms, but decided that food was good enough. He seemed surprised when I finished off the box of leaves, but dutifully brought me another, which I polished off like the last one. He began to look concerned as I worked my way through the third and fourth containers. What can I say, salad isn't really something to fill a guy up.

Half way through the fifth helping my hunger was finally sated. Dink seemed to take the box away with relief, and returned with a small glass of water. After the salad I was even thirstier than I had been, and downed the water in a gulp. "You don't happen to have anything stronger than water, do you? Or maybe just a larger glass?" He didn't answer, obviously, and brought me another glass. I downed eight of those pitiful little things before I was quenched. Full for the first time in weeks, I contentedly closed my eyes for a nap, and Dink, thankfully, left me alone.

"How'd the game with Piiqrrt go?" Xkkrk asked as Vtv walked into her quarters

"I lost, but that's ok. Piiqrrt almost beat Fttfk last [week], and he's the best warrens player in the entire sector! Oh, I also found out what he eats." Announced Vtv, not needing to specify whom "he" was.

"Excellent. See, he just had to get used to you. What does he like?"

"He really likes Cqcq leaves. Really likes them. Really, REALLY likes them. He ate four and a half storage containers worth."

"Four and a half STORAGE CONTAINERS?! That's enough to feed a grown Vzk'tk for a week! Why did you feed him so many?"

"I just kept feeding him until he stopped eating."

"Vtv, you know better than that. Some animals don't know when to stop eating, they'll just keep going if you let them. You'll have to limit him to half a bowl a day. If you keep feeding it a weeks worth of rations, the hydroponics bay won't be able to produce enough to feed the rest of us."

"But I hate Cqcq leaves."

"Not everyone hates them, and they're one of the best sources of energy we have on board. How the creature managed to down four and a half containers of those leaves is beyond me. Did you give him something to drink?"

"Yeah, he drank [32 ounces] of water."

"And he didn't drown?"

"Come to think of it, he did close his eyes after the last cup, but I think he was sleeping."

"Well, You've done a good job of taking care of him. I'm proud of you." Vtv perked up with the compliment, and strutted proudly out of the room. Xkkrk wasn't as pleased though. She quickly sought out Tnnxz and told him of Vtv's discovery.

"Four and a half containers!? And [32 ounces]?! I don't care if the thing didn't know when to stop eating, that's impossible. It's so small, how could its stomach even hold that much? Does food just dissolve in it?" He clicked with a snort, scoffing at such a ridiculous notion. Not for the first time Xkkrk wished Tnnxz was wealthy enough to afford a proper biomedical scanner so she could see inside this creature, but wishes were all she had.

"What if that's actually how much it needs to eat and drink in order to live? We can't lose a week's worth or rations every day. We have enough water, but I think Vtv was exaggerating. Even if this thing really did eat four and half containers, it couldn't possibly manage [32 ounces] of something as dense as water."

"But if it truly eats that much, we can't keep it."

"Where would we put it? There aren't any planets below a level 12 within a week of travel, and we might as well kill it ourselves than put it on a deathworld."

"We'd put it down. We'd have to. There'd be no other choice."

"If it comes to that, then I feel sorry for Vtv, he's so happy with it."

"He'll have to become used to loss eventually. Has he even named it yet?"

"Yes. After he saw how much it liked Cqcq leaves, he called it Cqcq'trtr."

"Cqcq'[eater]? Does he have an imagination?"

"He was proud of it, so I suggest you don't mock his choice."

"Fine, but if it lives up to its namesake, it'll be a shame Vtv named it at all."