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# Part IV #
Lydia spent the next few days at home under a pile of blankets watching videos on YouTube. She started by searching for the northernmost city on Earth.

Then, the coldest city on Earth.

After that, the city with the fewest average days of sunlight.

Bundled up on her mattress with the curtains drawn, she immersed herself in the atmosphere of Norilsk, Russia (with temperatures reaching -50) and Barrow, Alaska (population 4,335.)

She imagined what it would be like to live in these places, spending entire days in total darkness, passing your time at the edge of the world.

Lydia had been a very shy child. When her dad would send her to the store on errands, she had a habit of circling the entire place once she had selected her items just to practice what she would say to the cashier. If the cashier did speak to her, she usually just looked down and held out the money.

For Christmas, which also happened to be Lydia’s birthday, her dad surprised her one year with a puppy. A German Shepard that quickly grew up to be as big as she was. She named him Oatmeal.

Oatmeal is just ok and that’s how Lydia felt about Oatmeal.

Rather than forming a loving bond, Lydia and Oatmeal developed something closer to a rivalry, which Lydia’s dad interpreted as a healthy competition.

“Look at that dog, Lydia,” he would say.

He would often say this out of the blue, regardless of whether Oatmeal was doing something remarkable.

“Just look at that damn dog.”

Lydia would look at the dog.

Her dad would let out a big, satisfied sigh.

“He’s not worried about a thing, just look at him.”

Lydia would sometimes study Oatmeal and inevitably conclude that her dad was right.

“He’s not trying to ‘be’ anything. He just ‘is.’”

Lydia would sit and puzzle over how Oatmeal managed to pull this off. She felt at times like everything was a problem. Even the laid back nature of her pet dog could become a source of conflict when she thought about it. There was Oatmeal, without a care to give, unconcerned with earning his place in the world or her father’s respect or affection. It all came effortlessly to him.

Plus, he could do cool tricks.

“That dog’s just got a way about him,” dad would say admiringly.

She thought about the time Oatmeal chewed up her favorite American Girl doll and the look he gave her afterward, this completely innocent stare. The same look he gave her when he wanted to go for a walk. No pretense. That was that.

What you saw was what you got with Oatmeal.

He just had a way about him.

Lydia packed up her bags and booked a flight to Fairbanks, Alaska. In a few weeks, she managed to secure temporary position as a trainer at Ruff and Tumble, the fastest growing dog training facility in town.

She dreamed of starting her own dog care business even further north, but for the time being, the built-in clientele of a large northern market like Fairbanks was convenient for an entry level trainer.

Lydia’s skills were average at best. Interaction with the dogs did not come naturally to her. Online reviews frequently noted her standoffish demeanor around her clients’ pets.

Some complained that if she didn’t like dogs, why would she even want to be a dog trainer to begin with?

Why indeed.

One dark afternoon in February, as she was struggling to engage with a precocious malamute, a new customer entered her class with a familiar face.

He sat his small self in the back of the classroom, patiently waiting for the end of the lesson before approaching Lydia, leash in hand.

Lady Von Champion greeted Lydia with no inhibitions, barking her head off and ignoring her sit commands.

“Hello, Li’l Binch.”

The small man curtsied.

Lady Von Champion barked.

“I’m not going to ask about ... all this,” he started, looking around.

“You must already know why I’m here,” he said.

Lydia shook her head. She offered a treat to Lady Von Champion, who just barked at her again.

“So where is he?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb, bitch. It ain’t cute. He said he needed to see you. He’s been missing for a week. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Lydia looked around for an exit in the empty classroom. She had no idea what he was talking about or why I would be interested in her.

“See me? I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You’re lying,” Li’l Binch sneered.

“You’re a liar. Fake as a two dollar bill. I know about you. You don’t even like dogs.”

“I am not!” she defended herself.

“I love dogs, it’s just ... complicated.”

“Bitch, please. Ain’t nothing complicated about a dog. Look at this one right here.”

Lady Von Champion barked.

“Look at that face.”

Lydia looked at Lady Von Champion, who stared back at her serenely.

“Look in her eyes. That’s all you need to know right there.”

Inwardly, Lydia agreed.

“Dogs don’t tell no damn lies. Unlike your lying ass. Now where is he?”

“First of all, two dollar bills are still in circulation,” Lydia said, pulling up a Wikipedia article on her phone and showing it to Li’l Binch, who examined it for a moment before muttering ‘well I’ll be damned.’

“Second of all, I don’t know what that crazy old man told you, but I don’t know anything about it. And that’s the truth.”

Lydia stared at Li’l Binch with a dog-like sincerity. He faltered, looking to Lady Von Champion for reassurance.

Lady Von Champion barked.

“You’re lucky I don’t burn this fuck shit dog class down,” Li’l Binch scoffed, lighting a cigarette.

Lydia pointed at a no smoking sign overhead.

Li’l Binch shot her a sneering little smile and lead Lady Von Champion out of the classroom. The door closed behind them and Lydia let out a deeply relieved sigh, lighting a cigarette of her own.

As she inhaled the smoke, a pulsing sound grew in the distance.

Chop, chop, chop.

Whop, whop, whop.

Windows shattered all around her.

Heavily armored figures rappelled in through the broken glass.

Screaming orders.

Pointing assault rifles.

“Where is he?”