Side Chapter 4: Instincts and Desires.

It was a bit alarming how much each day blended into the next. You look up from your desk and it's noon on Tuesday, and you can't exactly remember what you did on Monday. It all just blends together.

This was becoming increasingly apparent to Quin, a twenty-nine year old male Border Collie. He put his computer to sleep and apathetically walked to his locker to retrieve his lunch of salad topped with boiled egg and half of a sandwich. He barely registered the food as he ate it and absently scrolled through social media. Everyone he saw was so happy and excited. They grinned out at him from pictures where they worked high-profile and important jobs that were exciting. They went on nice vacations and had glamorous lives. Quin worked as a sales rep in a call center. He woke up every morning at six thirty to make coffee, take a shower, eat a piece of toast with strawberry jam, and commute to work. When he was finished with work he went home to a simple meal prepared by his wife, who would talk about what she needed and wanted and what her sister and her rich husband were up to. He went to bed by nine.

Quin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had the same problems gnawing at him every day. The bills kept coming in, and he didn't make enough money. His wife always reminded him of that. Especially now that their son was turning two. Apparently he was a lot of trouble, something he also was reminded about a lot. When he had been young he had thought about how amazing being an adult would be. Having a family, working a fulfilling job, and having money to spend on nice things. He had been wrong. Being an adult was hard, repetitive, boring, and most of all stressful. Every day when he looked in the mirror he saw more and more gray hairs in his fur coat.

He paused as he saw a post that wasn't the usual stream of everyone else's better lives. There was a post talking about the Holistic Contentment Clinic. It described itself as "a clinic specializing in treating stress, anxiety, and melancholy in a natural manner." Quin frowned as he read some reviews.

(I was a bit skeptical at first, but the specialists here really helped me with my anxiety. And the best part was that I didn't have to take any pills!)

(I was miserable before I tried this clinic. I felt unfulfilled and depressed. But this place really made me feel better. Thanks, Holistic Contentment!)

Quin rubbed his shoulder as he looked at the Clinic's website. They advertised an alternative method of stress-relief based on years of research. Quin shook his head. It clearly was a scam. One of those phony courses of something like that. Or worse, some weird cult. Without a second thought, Quin kept scrolling.

The rest of his day was uneventful. His tiny cubicle confined him in a way that was more mental than physical. Looking out to see rows and rows of identical cubicles stretching like a chain link fence through the office building didn't improve these feelings. It had begun to rain when Quin walked through the door to his apartment. He was greeted by the exhausted look of his wife.

"Quin, did you get lightbulbs like I asked?"

Quin blinked, coming out of his stupor.

"Hm? What was that?"

"Lightbulbs. Did you get them?"

"No, I forgot."

"You'll have to get them after dinner."

"…Okay."

Quin sat down at the table with a groan, his shoulders and back stiff. His son sat babbling in a high chair to his right, covered in baby food he was playing in. Quin would be in charge of giving him a bath while his wife cleaned up after dinner. Whatever food he ate didn't even register as he thought about what needed to happen next. He needed to send the payment for the rent and phone bill tomorrow. The hinge on the refrigerator needed to be fixed. The radiator was leaking again.

"Quin."

He needed to trim his claws.

"Quin!"

There was also a weird smell in the entryway. Maybe a leak.

"Dammit, Quin! Are you listening!?"

Quin blinked.

"What was that?"

"I said that the microwave stopped working today! We need to get a replacement."

"Oh, I'll take a look at it and see if I can fix it."

"Why not just save us all some time and buy a new one?"

Quin frowned. He had always been good with tools. As a child he had imagined he would be a mechanic or handyman, but those jobs didn't pay enough. And he didn't have much time to fix anything recently, nor the energy. But despite all that he felt like he needed to at least try. He shook his head.

"It might be something simple. I'll take a look."

She gave an exasperated sigh and began to clear the dishes while Quin got his son out of the high chair and brought him to the bathroom. He set the messy puppy down and began to fill the tub with warm water. He noticed the sound of running water coming from the toilet and sighed. The toilet was running… again. He had just fixed the chain last week. While the tub filled, Quin took the top off the toilet and fiddled with the chain. He was just about to get it fixed when a loud thud came from behind him, followed by loud crying. Quin whirled around to see his son sprawled on the floor wailing.

"Hey, calm down. It's okay. You're fine."

The child cried anyway. His wife's voice came from beyond the door.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! He just fell over."

"You're supposed to be watching him!"

"I'm fixing the toilet!"

"You can play with the toilet all you want after you've given Todd his bath!"

Quin sighed and turned the water off. With a bit of difficulty he got the wailing pup into the warm water and began washing him. He was rewarded with several splashes to his face and more crying. Quin closed his eyes and huffed. Why did this always have to be so difficult?

With bath time out of the way, Quin sat down on the couch and let out a weary sigh. He reached for the remote and turned on a baseball game. He wasn't exactly interested in the game itself, he just wanted something to watch. His wife walked over and crossed her arms.

"Well?"

He looked at her.

"Yes, Judith?"

"Lightbulbs? And the microwave?"

Quin sighed. He was tired. His eyes hurt from looking at a screen all day. His back hurt. And it was raining. But it was his responsibility to do these things. Slowly he got to his feet.

"I'll go get my coat…."

His trip to the store was wet and unpleasant, even with a raincoat and umbrella. And he spent the rest of the night fixing the microwave which had a loose wire in it that was making it turn off part way through heating food. He used a bit of electrical tape to secure it, happy to not need to buy another appliance. As he finished putting the microwave back together his watch chimed the hour. He glanced down and looked at the digital watchface.

(9:00)

Quin ran a hand through his fur, watching as a few strands came loose. Slowly, Quin brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. Six thirty came early, it always did. And he would be tired no matter what time he went to sleep. The problem was that he was a different sort of tired these days. When he had been in school, he had often gotten physically tired. This was different. He felt tired deep in his being, somewhere in his soul. He felt worn down and strained. There was always more he had to do, another chore, another call, another problem. The stress was getting to him.

(I can't go on like this…. I'll push myself to an early grave.)

He rolled over in bed and sighed. Thinking about high school brought him back. He had been the funny friend of his group. The boys had always loved his jokes. Especially that one time when he'd drawn eyes on his stomach and gave his bellybutton lipstick lips to prank one of his roommates who had been sleeping. He'd also played baseball back then. He'd played shortstop. Back in high school, he'd been young, energetic, and so bright.

(What happened to me. I'm miserable. And I don't even have friends anymore. Not that I could when my whole life is work and then more work at home. Why did I even get married? She doesn't love me anymore, which is obvious. And… I'm not sure if I love her either. We're just… going through the motions.)

Something had to give. His mind returned to what he had read earlier that afternoon. About a natural way to relieve stress.

(Yeah right. I'm not that desperate.)

Quin's alarm cut through his sleep like a knife through butter. Quin rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes and turned the alarm off. He sat in bed for a minute or two, savoring the warm comfort of his blankets. If only he could roll over and go back to sleep. He was so tired. All he wanted was a little bit of sleep. But that wasn't in the cards for Quin. He needed to go to work. He had a family to provide for.

Shower, breakfast, train. The predawn world sped by in a blur of gray and fluorescent yellow. The train was crowded even at this hour, commuters beginning to make their way into the city as the sun lazily climbed into the dark sky. Quin slumped listlessly against the side of the train and gazed out at the city through heavy eyes. What he wouldn't give to still be in bed.

By ten in the morning, Quin didn't think he could feel anymore worn down. He hated his job. Sales, it was probably the worst thing he could think of. He wanted to fix things, not sell them. But he needed the money. He had only managed to get this job because of his wife's father. He didn't exactly have better options. His supervisor, a stocky beaver with small, round glasses stepped into his cubicle.

"Quin, the entire sales team is staying late tonight. We need to hit our numbers by the end of the quarter. So expect to stay late every day the rest of the week."

"Yes sir."

Quin's heart sank even deeper. Overtime. Not that he would get paid much more for it. Commissions were where the money came from. Unhappily he called his wife and told her the news. She didn't seem to care. They could use the money. And so, the worst week of his job so far began.

Quin had felt tired and stressed before. He wished he could go back. It felt like part of him had shut down, unable to deal with the stress. He was teetering on the edge of exhaustion and frustration constantly. As far as Quin could tell, he was dangerously close to losing it. He felt like either punching a wall or screaming into a pillow, and he didn't know which would help him feel better. It was during one of these days that he found himself back on his phone during lunch. And he remembered the clinic he had read about.

(No no no, it's a scam! It sounds like a load of crap!)

But some part of him, some desperate little scrap of being that was begging for help made him look up the clinic again. He typed in the search bar.

(Holistic Contentment Clinic. Let's see what comes up….)

The clinic had a website. And it detailed their hours of operation, fees, and some other miscellaneous stuff about their mission and whatever else places like this always had. But what caught Quin's attention was something at the bottom of the page.

(Satisfaction guaranteed or you don't have to pay. Feel free to book your session with no strings attached.)

Quin scratched his chin. They didn't charge up front. That was actually a good sign. But no, it sounded so ridiculous. He wasn't dumb enough to mess with that.

But then again… it was free. It wouldn't hurt to try it. Or even just to call them and see what they said. Swallowing his pride, Quin dialed the clinic's phone number. It rang a few times before a pleasant feminine voice answered.

"Hello, this is the Holistic Contentment Clinic. How may I assist you today?"

Quin hesitated. Was he really going through with this? He wasn't even entirely sure what this entailed. It could be sketchy, or illegal! What if this was just a front for a prostitution ring?

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Quin caught a look at his reflection in a mirror he kept in his cubicle. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. His fur was dull and lusterless. He took a deep breath.

"Ah… hi, hello. I, well, I was wondering… when you… have any times available. For the, uh, stress relief whatever it is?"

"Let's see…. We have a slot tomorrow afternoon around one. And another opening next Monday at three."

"Tomorrow could work. I could come during my lunch break."

"Okay. Can I get a name for the appointment?"

Quin hesitated. He still felt a little embarrassed about this. But it didn't hurt to try.

"Quin."

"Okay, and what is your gender?"

"Uh… can you not tell?"

"I have to ask."

"Oh, male."

"And species?"

"…Dog."

"Okay, Mr. Quin. You're scheduled for tomorrow at one p.m. See you then!"

"Yeah, thanks. Uh, bye."

Quin had to admit. He was having second thoughts. This was all a bit new-age and hippy for him. Holistic anything was usual stuff for grannies and trendy tween girls. Not serious adults. But then he looked at his haggard reflection once more.

(Honestly, I'd try dipping my legs in glue and walking through an ashtray if it helped. I feel terrible.)

And so, he made his way to the address for the clinic the next day. He was pleasantly surprised to find it was a clean looking building with a sign on the front. He had been worried it was just a run-down warehouse filled with stoners. A bell attached to the door chimed as he entered. A pleasant looking female flamingo sat at the front desk. She inclined her head as he entered.

"Welcome to the Holistic Contentment Clinic. How may I be of assistance today?"

Quin hesitantly approached the desk.

"I… have an appointment."

"Name?"

"Quin."

"Alright, I'll get you checked in. Please have a seat in the waiting area."

Quin sat down in one of the indicated chairs and idly stared at his hands. He wasn't sure what this place was all about, but so far it seemed legitimate. After a moment, the flamingo walked out from behind the front desk and beckoned for him to follow. Quin stood and trailed behind her as she led him into the clinic.

While the waiting room and reception area had been pretty typical for some sort of clinic, the interior was definitely unique. The walls were bright yellow and decorated with pictures of landscapes and scenic vistas. Pleasant music played from some unseen speaker overhead, and the lighting wasn't the harsh fluorescence he was accustomed to at the office. Instead, whatever lights they used seemed to mimic sunlight very well, even giving off pleasant warmth as they illuminated the space.

They stopped at a plain looking door labeled "Room 2" and the flamingo ushered him inside. Quin stepped through the archway and got his first glimpse of a room that seemed very out of place. The walls were covered in wallpaper decorated with flowers, like his grandmother used to have. There was a large, overstuffed couch with a matching armchair sitting perpendicular to each other around a large shag carpet. There were several closed baskets around the room filled with who knew what, and some bookshelves of small, thin books. The flamingo shut the door behind him and Quin moved to sit in the very squishy armchair.

As he sat down, he felt himself sink a good way into the cushions. It was just as comfortable as he could imagine. He sat and looked around with some growing disappointment. Was this it? Was the whole thing to have him sit in a comfy chair in a room decorated like his grandmother's house?

(Yeah, I'm not satisfied. Time to go.)

As he stood to leave, the door opened again. He turned, expecting to see the flamingo here to perhaps bring him a drink or something. But instead he saw a middle aged female sheep with kind eyes. She was wearing a green sweater and brown skirt, and had oval glasses on. She smiled at him, her eyes creasing as she did.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Quin. I am Doctor Sheila. How are you feeling?"

Quin stood frozen. This "Doctor Sheila" did seem professional. But he had no way of knowing if she was legit. He licked his lips.

"You're a doctor?"

She nodded.

"That is correct. Well, to be precise I have a doctorate in psychology."

"So you're a shrink?"

"Psychologist, not psychiatrist. I studied behavior psychology. However, using that information I'm trying a new approach to common mental health issues. If you want to take a seat, I can tell you more."

Quin considered this and sat back down. The sheep smiled.

"Thank you. Now, my main course of study was on the psychology of stress and what tends to cause increases in stress levels in creatures. Actually, I wrote my doctoral dissertation on the psychological bonds between certain dog breeds and certain herbivore species. For example, the bonds between sheep and herding dogs. But I digress, I'm getting off topic. Tell me, what brings you here today?"

Quin clasped his hands in his lap and looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm just… not feeling very good lately. I'm tired and I'm stressed about everything."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, my job, my marriage, my kid, bills, my health, you name it. I worry constantly."

Sheila crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward slightly.

"So why are you so stressed about all these things?"

Quin frowned and looked her in the eye.

"I… what?"

"What about these things is stressful to you?"

"I… well… that I have to make sure I take care of these things. I need to make more money, but my job is stressful. And then because I don't make enough money my home is stressful."

"Your wife, has she said that you don't make enough money?"

"Well…."

Quin paused. As he tried to remember, he realized that he didn't exactly know if his wife had ever said he didn't make enough money. She'd mentioned her sister and her husband before, but that was really the extent of the conversation as he recalled it.

"I… maybe not. Wait, I thought you said you weren't a shrink?"

"I'm not psychoanalyzing you, just trying to understand what is stressful to you."

"Everything, I guess. I just have so much to worry about."

Quin shut his mouth abruptly, surprised at how much he had suddenly been saying. Sheila just steepled her hands and smiled.

"Don't worry. Everything you say here is protected by client-patient confidentiality laws. I can't tell a soul."

Quin shrugged.

"So what. Is the solution to my stress just to not be stressed out about it?"

"No, nothing so unhelpful as that. But… I do want to know more about some details regarding you as an individual. May I ask you some questions?"

Quin nodded. He was expecting the typical diet and exercise questions, but instead she asked,

"So, when did you really start to feel stressed? Generally speaking of course."

Quin frowned.

"I… well… I don't know specifically. A few months ago? Maybe a year?"

"I see, how would you describe your marriage? Happy? Unhappy? Something else?"

Quin pursed his lips. He had been feeling pretty bad about his marriage earlier. But was it really that bad?

"It's… not great. We don't really seem to like each other much anymore."

"Have you stopped being intimate?"

"Uh…. Like, as in—"

"Any form of physical intimacy."

"I mean, sort of. We're both too tired to do anything like that."

"Even simple gestures of affection like kissing?"

Quin rubbed his thumb across his palm. It had been a while. He changed the subject.

"Doc, you can't really think my stress is because my wife and I aren't being romantic enough?"

"That's not the sole contributor, but it is a stressor. Do you want to know something about dogs?"

Quin was thrown by the sudden change in topic but nodded.

"Uh, sure. I guess."

"Everyone knows dogs tend to naturally be very friendly and good natured. However, data from multiple psychiatric studies have found that dogs have almost double the levels of stress than other animals have. This made me wonder, why does the seemingly happiest and friendliest species have such high stress? And so I studied the phenomenon, and do you know what I discovered?"

"Uh, no."

"That it was only adult dogs who were stressed. And specifically, adult dogs who felt isolated and alone."

Quin scratched his head.

"I mean, that sounds great and all, but what does it mean for me?"

"Young dogs have something in common across the board. They are very tactile beings. They like to chew things, wrestle, and hug people they like. Their instincts tell them to touch and be touched, and thus they create bonds. I believe that many adult dogs become touch starved due to societal pressure to deny their instincts. We tell puppies not to chew things, not to wrestle, and finally not to encroach on anyone's personal space. But what was your first instinct when you saw your friends back as a child or even as a teenager?"

Quin looked at his hands.

"Well… to put my arm around their shoulder. Or to clap them on the back."

As he thought about it, the more it made sense. Why he felt so distant from others suddenly. And why he didn't seem to have as many close friends as he used to. As weird as it sounded, there was something to this theory. Sheila gestured towards the couch where she was sitting.

"May I offer you a demonstration of my touch therapy?"

Quin hesitated, but slowly rose and sat near her on the couch. He gulped.

"Fine, but no funny business. I'm a married dog."

She nodded and slowly reached up and scratched under his chin. Quin's eyes fluttered and he unconsciously leaned a bit closer. She then used her other hand to rub one of his ears. He whined.

"Oh… that feels nice."

"Feel more relaxed?"

"Mmmm… a bit."

She scratched his scalp and watched as his tail wagged happily. Quin wasn't sure how long he the "touch therapy" session lasted, but eventually his watch chimed the top of the hour. As if knowing that the session was over, Sheila smiled.

"Society has something fundamentally incorrect in what it teaches. Instincts are not to be repressed. They are not shameful. Our instincts are part of us, both the good ones and the bad ones. To deny our instincts is to deny ourselves. By embracing the good ones and ignoring the bad ones we can live more at peace with our true natures."

Quin had flopped over onto his back at this point so she could scratch his chest. His tongue lolled out happily.

"Ooooh, Doc. You're onto something."

She smiled.

"I'm glad you think so. As such, I'd recommend getting your wife to perform touch therapy on you, and vice versa."

Quin seemed to realize he had put his head in her lap so she could give him belly rubs easier and immediately got up, blushing in embarrassment.

"Eheh, sorry about that."

"It's okay. It won't leave this room."

Quin cleared his throat.

"Well, I appreciate this. But I have to go back to work now."

"I understand. Allow me to see you out."

Quin nodded and followed the sheep back to the front of the clinic. As he walked, he asked her,

"So, out of curiosity. What are some instincts you have as a sheep, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sheila shook her head.

"I don't mind at all. Sheep tend to be very cowardly by nature. We're practically defenseless on our own. However, we instinctively seek out and trust certain types of dogs like sheep dogs and herding dogs. We instinctively trust them, and they instinctively feel protective of us."

"Huh, you know, now that you mention it there was a sheep in my elementary school class who always wanted to play with me and be my friend. And one of our neighbors was a family of sheep who we were pretty close to. I guess I'd never noticed that."

Sheila smiled.

"Very few people do. But, I did write a research paper about it if you would like to read more."

Quin gulped.

"I think I'm good."

"Very well. Have a good day, Mr. Quin."

"You too. Thanks, Doctor Sheila."

That night, when Quin got home, he set his bag down like usual and entered his small apartment. His wife was feeding their son as he entered. She barely turned to him as he entered.

"I've been keeping dinner warm for you. I didn't know if you were going to be late again."

Quin smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

She looked surprised, but smiled as he helped her set the table.

"What has you in such a good mood?"

"I got some pretty good advice from a very smart sheep."