Faulty enhancement
“I, Missy Aschenbrenner, a Samoyed, female, born on the second of January 2040, Imperial ID —
FndR0ysI84YK1ErQOov8MxGxZgw7m07wsY4vt6mZudpfVKwnWH6aHVwkrlE0D7C6GeXhpwWIdlpJaCbgXqTrAaXS7geYVxaxO9W4cuGtQPThGlsyDbtn6tZfk1vXgUeH433KqY3cnzeihvJD5GyTbTLOgx17SMuPc6GBHkmLzemMi6TwopPUKtjPzkHLKUd3mBGeBfUZgnyFRO6iwzVmLTeBpIVOrkFV7VJrCtlEU3b4NVgXohLFb0blLpWarvHXiZNjesj3zr2MB7luRf9aNcjAnAVu0cG4hFYNZDgca7xPToOxbSg8rV0UOu6XHlqt
— file a complaint with the Constitutional Court of the Federal Empire of Europe to claim back my normal dog life.
I never agreed to have any enhancement implants and I want them removed from my head as I do not want to constantly register and comprehend all the human bullshit I am confronted with every single day since the procedure.”
I sent the form and closed the clumsy, old comm-book with my paw. I looked at my human mom, who had raised me since I was a small and clueless puppy. She now lay in her sleeping spot with her back turned to me, sobbing after the heated conversation we’d just had over my implants.
“I did it,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“ I sent an appeal to the Constitutional Court.”
I had grown up as a normal, non-enhanced dog. I had a vague memory of my biological mom: something fluffy and white and playful, like myself.
But then a small human pack, a male and a female, took me in. When I became a young adult, my human dad left us, and Mom had been taking care of me alone since then.
Even back in my normal dog days, I noticed that something was wrong with her. When other humans gathered and exchanged friendly barking, she stood aside, silent, but as if boiling inside. She would attempt to join the communication from time to time, but always failed. It was as if she was either ignored, or reluctant to stay plugged-in: disoriented, disinterested, and disengaged in the end. Something just did not work on a very deep level.
Mom was not stupid. She never left us without food or roof above our heads. Even as a pet, I could see that she was trying to learn to understand other humans, to make contact, but it all ended up in either escalation, being ignored, and a lot of sadness sooner or later.
So, afterwards, she just stayed alone all the time. And when she met another lonely human, she did not want to build a new pack with them, even though she obviously suffered from her own loneliness.
So she needed care herself. And she could only rely on me.
I tried to take care of her. I tried to lead when we went for a walk. I tried to warn her of dangers. I tried to bring her closer to other humans by making contact on her behalf.
But I had little clue how the human world worked. I got scared of many actually harmless things, hence, created even more trouble for Mom. I did not like loud streets, forcing her to arrange our walks exclusively outside of the City, which prevented her from meeting new people.
Then she went to a doctor who diagnosed her with a severe depression and a few mental issues, some of them apparently caused by family abuse in her early years, while others were naturally a part of her mind since birth. It was however an edge case where you could apply for disability status or could chose not to, and even if you applied, the medical insurance often tried to stall you until you gave up. She did apply since she had a private insurance and a good chance of getting through quickly and painlessly. And she stood a good chance of getting an enhanced service dog for free.
That’s how I became such a dog.
I was never a good fit for this kind of duty. My breed’s most famous characteristic is stubbornness, whereas service dogs are meant to be servants. But Mom convinced everyone that I was the best candidate since I was already with her and knew her habits and moods, which was not untrue.
She made the insurance pay for my surgery and service dog training.
The manufacturer’s brochure stipulated that the main purpose of my implants was to enable a better understanding between me and my human. They should help the dog understand human language and emotions, as well as human social rules and the technical inventions that surround us. On the other hand, the brochure continued, the enhancement package would help the dog communicate in a human manner: in spoken human language.
There was no growth, no gradual development into a human. All those human emotions just came crashing down on me.
Some of them were already familiar, but the implants made them sharper. They also made my negative emotions sting more. And on top of it, I started to feel emotions about my past that I’d never experienced before.
When I was just a dog, I lived in the moment. I felt joyful when I saw a friendly human or dog. I felt sad when they had to leave or did not want to play with me. Or when Mom did not allow me to play with them. But such sadness faded quickly, and I was soon busy again with all the smells and noises of my surroundings. I lived in the present.
As the implants made me more human, I started to live in the past, like my Mom.
After the surgery, when we went for a walk and Mom kept me on a leash instead of letting me run around and bark, that sadness would remain in my head, clinging to me. We would come back home and I lay on the floor and thought about the unfairness with which she treated me. I felt self-pitying and even started to weirdly enjoy it.
During our daily walks, I watched other humans playing with their dogs or letting their pups play with each other. I felt pity for myself that my Mom was not interacting with me, that she just walked next to me, absorbed by her thoughts. I found myself wishing for another Mom.
I started to feel regret. I started to think about an alternative life I could have had, like leaving with my dad—leaving her.
And I regretted I didn’t prevent my human dad from leaving. I did not visualize any details about what I could have done, but I still felt guilty for it. I used to feel bad about him leaving even when I was still a dog, but with my new enhanced brain, that feeling haunted me. Blurred pictures of me jumping on him and holding him back replayed in my mind over and over again.
Finally, I regretted not giving my Mom enough attention and comfort when she needed it. And the reason I did not do so was that I was consumed by my own regrets and self-pity all the time. I got locked into a spiral of remorse.
I felt like my life had become something independent from me and started to rush past me. Like I was not living, I was observing. I failed to process those feelings in a timely manner. I fell behind schedule—behind my own life. I failed to catch up.
Indeed, these changes enlightened me on how Mom was struggling too. I knew she still had a more advanced brain than mine, but she also had more demons to deal with.
