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I"ve Got a Hustle in Mind
Chapter 2 (of 3)


After that night, something changed. Tobey still rushed into and out of the apartment on his errands, and he still came back from every trip with some kind of new food in tow. But now he didn"t always just set down the latest free sample of baclava or container of wonton soup and run off again. Sometimes, he"d sit on the kitchen floor with Lucky instead, his legs folded and his ears perked forward.

Lucky felt confused--was there really something so special about him wanting to do nothing but eat and eat?--and a little embarrassed. But then Tobey would put down a hot pastrami sandwich or a plate of bulgogi, and Lucky forgot every other feeling except the flavors in his mouth and the uncomfortable, mounting pressure in his belly. Until the ache became so bad that he had to stop eating and lie down, anyway.

Other times, Tobey left Lucky alone in the apartment to gorge as usual, but instead of coming back with both food and another find to sell later, Tobey came back with food alone. "I"m trying to cut down on my inventory a little, so I"m being pickier about the stuff I bring back. Now here. My mom"s best friend"s cousin financed a specialty donut shop that just opened, and they gave us a half dozen new flavors of donut to try. And then on the way back I passed a new empanada food truck. And this bag has macaroons."

Tobey did something else peculiar, too. He took a piece of butcher paper, taped it to the wall at Lucky"s eye-level just above the scale (which he never talked about selling anymore), and drew a line in black Sharpie parallel to its bottom and a line parallel to its left-hand side. The bottom line, he labeled "time", and scored it with a series of tick marks. The vertical line, he labeled, "whoa", and added a series of escalating numbers, starting with "55" at the bottom.

"You see that paper?" Tobey said cheerfully, as he set down a bowl full of Coco Puffs for Lucky and poured in the milk. "That"s our new graph. From now on, we"re gonna weigh you every week, so we can keep track of how fat you"re getting."

Lucky looked up from his cereal in alarm.

"Don"t worry," said Tobey sweetly. He stood and put away the milk. "I"m just curious."

Uneasy, Lucky nosed into the bowl of sweet, crispy chocolate and munched, ignoring the dull ache in his permanently swollen stomach. The weighing and measuring seemed like a lot of effort for curiosity. But then again, Tobey wasn"t the sort of dog who did anything halfway.

And besides, Lucky began to take an embarrassed pride in his gains. Every time he gained a few pounds (which was every time), Tobey would crow the number ("Two pounds up!") and wave Lucky off the scale, so Lucky could watch while Tobey took a red Sharpie, added the date under the next empty tick mark, and drew a bar--always taller than the one to its right--to represent Lucky"s latest heft. "You"re getting... so... cuddly!" the shepherd would squeal, and Lucky would squeal back in pleasure as Tobey grabbed his feral"s ever-increasing bulk and rolled him onto the floor in a part-tackle, part-hug.

And that was another thing that changed. The heavier Lucky got, the more Tobey touched him: not just in between his errands, with back scritches and ear flaps and forehead kisses, but while Tobey was at home working on his phone, with long, slow pets, entire body cuddles, and even--if Lucky was near-howling in pain with how badly he had overeaten--gentle, stroking belly rubs, and soothing whispers about how Lucky just had to hang on and let his poor tummy digest, and he"d feel better real soon.

And Tobey was right. Lucky did feel better. And slowly, the fatter Lucky became, and the more cavernous his stomach grew, the faster his bellyaches seemed to disappear.

When April came around again, just one short year after Lucky met Tobey, the lab mix"s physical transformation was astounding. A pair of thick rolls now hugged the collar that he wore (which Tobey had to keep swapping out for larger sizes), and the hefty casing of fat all over his body made him look like a half-deflated balloon. His belly began to droop, and as he grew fatter and fatter, the droop became a sag, and then a heavy, pendulous swing, until Lucky couldn"t walk without his swinging belly flopping against the inside of his knees, slowing his walk down to a clumsy waddle.

Not that he even wanted to waddle. With so much heavy bulk to haul every time he moved, Lucky moved as little as possible, preferring instead to lie on a feral bed that Tobey had bought and (thoughtfully) placed in the kitchen. Lucky only got up to eat, move to and from Tobey"s futon on the floor, and go outside with Tobey to the grassy area at the edge of the parking lot to do his business. And those trips outside were getting rough. By the time Lucky made it to the elevator, he was panting; by the time he made it outside, his heart was pounding; by the time he had to waddle back inside, he couldn"t do it without a break to sit down and rest his huge belly on the grass while he caught his breath.

Tobey didn"t mind. In fact, he told Lucky that he"d buy "a place that you can go on when you"re still inside--it"s like a big square of fake grass" and one day, as Lucky huffed during his difficult waddle back to the elevator, Tobey bent over and hefted up his feral"s sagging tummy in his big strong paws, as if to help him carry the weight. "You"re getting to be *such* a big boy," he said. "In fact, I think today might finally be the special day."

The special day? For what? thought Lucky, but the struggle to walk made him forget Tobey"s words immediately.

Lucky remembered those words that night, though, when Tobey returned from his final errand of the day.

"Oh lovely Lucky!" Tobey"s voice cut through Lucky"s grogginess. The lab mix lay on his bed in the kitchen, belching uncomfortably after his second dinner, a king-size platter of fried clam strips, cod, scallops, and shrimp with butter biscuits and coleslaw. He"d only just struggled through the last few bites ten minutes ago, and had hoped to lie down quietly for a while and allow his overloaded stomach to catch up a little. But as Tobey trotted into the kitchen, Lucky smelled grease and cheese and fried bread, and he swallowed a mouthful of drool.

"I"ve got something for you." Tobey stood over him, grinning. He held a book box in his arms, and on top of the box sat a paper bag whose bottom was patchy with grease. Tobey put the box on the counter so he could take the bag, open it, and hold it under Lucky"s nose. The smell of fried bread wafted out. "I got some artisanal grilled cheese sandwiches with your name on "em." Tobey jiggled the bag in enticement. "But to get them, you gotta get up."

Lucky whimpered. He half-rolled, like a fish flopping on land, and finally got his feet under him. His mass of fat sagged and pulled on his back, and he struggled into standing with a reluctant moan. The sandwiches smelled so good.

"Here you go." Tobey sat on the floor and held out the bag. Lucky pushed his muzzle right in and took a big bite, thick, toasted bread giving way to a melted blend of still-warm cheeses. How many sandwiches were in there, anyway? Lucky guessed it didn"t really matter, after all, where one sandwich ended and another began. He kept going.

"Good boy," said Tobey. He tried to scritch the back of Lucky"s neck, but his fingers kept getting caught on the rolls of blubber around Lucky"s collar. "You"re my big hungry boy, aren"t you? Eat it all up now."

Lucky proudly struggled through the last few bites. He felt like a water balloon, heavy and completely inflated.

"There," said Tobey, crumpling up the bag. "I think you"re ready now." He leaned back and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "It"s time for your weigh-in! And here I bet you thought I forgot today. But nope." Tobey bounded to his feet. "I was saving it." He stood by the counter and reached for the readout. "Well? Hop on."

Lucky was too fat to be capable of hopping now, but he knew what Tobey meant. Moving carefully, Lucky waddled to the scale. His water-balloon belly sloshed heavily back and forth with every step, making him wince.

"You can do it!" said Tobey. He clapped his hands. "Go, Lucky, go!"

Huffing, Lucky finally climbed onto the scale, then plopped into sitting with a relieved sigh.

Tobey clapped his hands again. "Haha! I was right!" The shepherd snatched up his red Sharpie and squatted next to Lucky. He wrote the date on Lucky"s weight graph and drew in this week"s bar. "You"re 170.2 pounds today, my friend." He patted Lucky"s bulging side. "That means... you weigh just as much as me now!"

Lucky smiled sheepishly. He wagged his tail, both embarrassed and proud at the same time. To be as heavy as an anthro many times taller than he was--that was really something.

"...But not for long!" Tobey pulled the forgotten book box off the kitchen counter, set it on the floor, and opened it. Lucky had thought that it contained one of Tobey"s finds.

But when Tobey opened the cardboard flaps, the smell of cheese and fried bread hit Lucky harder than ever.

"Check it out!" announced Tobey. "I got an entire box of these! It"s my newest hustle. I"ve made a lot of contacts in the restaurant industry from reselling all that equipment over the past year, you know, and they all have mistakes that they can"t sell, like orders that were made wrong or maybe part of them got burned. And fast food places especially have a lot of inventory at the end of the day that they"re just going to throw out. But I"ve been asking around and my contacts are gonna start saving up those mistakes and giving them to me instead.

"So from now on, at the end of every day, I"m gonna come home with a whole big box like this, and the next morning we"ll heat everything up and that can be your food for the day that you snack on in between all the other new stuff I bring home for you to try. You"re getting so big now, you know, we gotta be more aggressive about making sure you get enough to eat.

"So get ready for tomorrow! You"ll finally be able to eat as much as you want."

An entire box like this? Every day? Lucky"s head spun in anticipation and greed. How is my stomach ever going to handle it all? Lucky wondered, but immediately thought: Who cares?

He heaved himself off the scale and waddled back into the kitchen, his belly still sloshing. The grease on the sandwiches seemed to sparkle under the light. I have enough room for *one* bite, at least, Lucky thought, as he closed his teeth around a crisp crust.

"Atta boy," said Tobey. "You keep at it. You"ve got a big backlog to clear."

#

By October, Lucky couldn"t stand on his own anymore.

He could drag himself forward a few steps, though, once Tobey rolled him upright. But rolling over 200, barely-mobile pounds of doughy feral to his feet to eat a dozen times a day proved too much of a workout for his owner, so Tobey made a few adaptations around the loft.

Chair assist lifts placed under the feral bed and Lucky"s side of the futon, for example, rolled Lucky to his feet with a slap of his paw on a remote. The indoor patch of fake grass for Lucky"s business was purchased and placed between Tobey"s bed and the kitchen, with privacy screens on a few sides, to save Lucky the now-inconceivable struggle to the elevators. Tobey gave Lucky his daily brushings on the futon, to spare him the equally inconceivable walk to the bathroom. "Too bad you can"t admire yourself in the mirror anymore," said Tobey, as he lay next to his feral and ran the brush down his back. "How are you ever gonna know how adorable you"re getting?"

The loft underwent other changes, too. More and more of Tobey"s inventory disappeared, and a lot of his hustles now seemed to involve being some type of middle man over the internet. "It"s all about being the guy who knows a guy, which I guess is the kind of guy I am now, since I"ve been doing this for so long," he explained, as Lucky fought his way through the latest pile of free burritos. Tobey had stuck to his promise, and he came home almost every night with a full box of too many fast food meals for Lucky to possibly consume in one day. That never stopped Lucky from trying, though. "And you gotta admit, the loft is looking pretty nice now, with all the rugs and furniture and stuff, like a regular person lives here." Tobey patted Lucky"s tremendous belly, which now ballooned fully outward against all four of Lucky"s blubber-laden legs. "But don"t you worry. We"re keeping Ol" Faithful--" Tobey pointed at the futon--"right there on the floor, where you can reach it."

At night, when Lucky finally collapsed into bed with a satisfied groan, Tobey held him in his arms as always--though these days, Lucky was too wide for Tobey"s embrace to reach all the way around. "Who"s got a snow-white boulder belly now?" Tobey would ask, as he rubbed Lucky"s swollen side and kissed the back of his head. "You do! I have the biggest, goodest boy, and he"s growing as wide as a house."

And Lucky would perk his ears and wag his tail--the only parts of him that were still easy to move anymore--and think: I am getting pretty wide, aren"t I? I can almost eat all the food he brings home every day! I can"t wait until I can. I wonder if Tobey will give me *two* boxes every night, then? Lucky drooled just thinking about it. This is so good, I hope I do nothing but eat and eat and eat all day long, forever.

But Lucky couldn"t.

One night in December--when the latest bar on Lucky"s weight chart reached 241 on the "woah" scale--Lucky, to his horror, had to stop eating.

He stood in the kitchen, gasping in between nibbles of triple-layer strawberry-vanilla cake. Tobey had just set the entire confection down for Lucky on an end table he served all of Lucky"s meals on now, since Lucky could no longer bend his head past the ropes of fat around his neck to reach the floor. "Hey," said Tobey. "What"s wrong, buddy?"

Lucky whimpered. Sweat dripped into his eyes and his heart raced. No amount of squirming relieved the pain in his tremendous stomach, which had become so swollen after a full day of gorging, it pressed not only outward against Lucky"s legs, but down into the floor--and between Lucky"s own considerable gravity and the painful pressure of his own fullness, Lucky felt just one swallow away from bursting.

Tobey peered at the cake. "Is it burned or something? No?" He peered closely at Lucky. "Don"t you love your food anymore?"

Lucky yelped despondently. I want to eat, he thought miserably. But I can"t!

"Huh." Tobey cupped a hand on the lower part of Lucky"s over-stretched belly and gently probed. "Boy, you"re pretty tight, aren"t you?"

Lucky yelped again. He licked sadly at the cake.

"I think I know what the problem is. I"ll be right back." Tobey stepped away from the kitchen area and came back carrying a freestanding full-length mirror, which he set up facing the kitchen. He then grabbed a beanbag chair from another part of the loft and put it in the kitchen too, back against some of the lower cabinets and next to the end table with the cake on it. "The problem is that you don"t have any more room to grow," Tobey explained, as he maneuvered around Lucky. "But that"s only because when you"re standing up, you don"t have any more room to grow *down*. But if you change positions, you"ll have lots more room to grow *out*. Permit me to demonstrate." Tobey sat back in the beanbag chair and spread open his arms and legs in invitation.

Lucky gratefully flopped against his owner. "Oof! You"re getting heavy." Tobey tugged Lucky around. "Now work with me here. Put your back against my stomach... good." Tobey pointed in front of them. "This is your best bet, position-wise, going forward."

Lucky blinked. Tobey had placed the beanbag directly opposite the full-length mirror, and from where they sat, Lucky could see his reflection: a half-melted, tortoiseshell feral-blob, its doughy legs splayed around a rounded white belly that looked like the base of a snowman. Is that what I look like now? Lucky thought in disbelief. I can"t believe I"m so fat.

"And aren"t you the cutest?" said Tobey softly in his ear. "Aren"t you growing into the biggest, goodest boy? Like a barrel of flab with paws."

Lucky blushed. He tried to wag his tail, but because he now sat upright, the huge mass of his stomach had settled in front of him, pinning his tail beneath it. Lucky tried to curl his front paws shyly to his chest, but the thick brisket of fat there forced his arms apart, too.

"Here," said Tobey in his ear. With one hand rubbing his feral"s snowy, too-tight stomach, Tobey used the other to slice into the cake with a butter knife--where had that even come from?--and then pick up the slice and hold it under Lucky"s nose.

"Now," Tobey said softly, "your tummy can grow out in front of you, and you have plenty of room to keep going. All the way to the other end of the kitchen."

Lucky eagerly opened his mouth, even as his packed stomach gurgled uncomfortably.

Tobey pushed a big bite into his muzzle.

Flavors flooded Lucky"s mouth as he chewed and swallowed. Tobey, as always, was right. Lucky"s stomach still hurt, but not as much as it had a few minutes ago.

"Good boy." Tobey pushed another big bite into his pet"s mouth. "Eat it all up. I got it just for you, and now you"re comfy enough to enjoy it. So you eat as much as you want, okay?" Tobey pointed at Lucky"s morbidly obese reflection. "And you should watch yourself while you do it." Tobey kissed the top of Lucky"s head. "I want you to see just how cute you are."

Lucky obeyed. But somewhere after swallowing the first quarter of the cake, he could no longer focus his gaze, tears leaked from his eyes, and any cake that Tobey pushed into his mouth fell right back out.

But he could still feel Tobey"s body heat behind him, and he could still hear Tobey"s voice, speaking softly into his ear.

"You"re really making a pig of yourself this way, huh? Well, that gives me an idea. Actually a few ideas. In fact I think I"ve got a new hustle in mind."