My son was taking Lacy’s loss pretty hard. From the moment they met, they were best friends, and she quickly left her post by the foot of our bed to sleep in his at night.
My wife started getting targeted ads for “pet clones”, where they promise a bespoke stuffed animal based on your dog.
I rolled my eyes, certain this was a gimmick, that they’d just send us a chocolate lab and say “yep, that’s Lacy”. But as she started filling out the form, I saw thatt hey were asking for a lot of detail (give us 12 pictures of your dog from various angles. Which best shows off her color? Which has the most accurate eyes? What’s her eye color?). It had large text fields asking waht makes our dog unique, it asked for detail around ear shape and tail position, and on and on.
I relented a little. Okay, it’s not just a gimmick or a cash grab.
The dog came in the mail. It’s bigger than I expected. A lot bigger. I thought it would be a 12” stuffed animal. It’s almost 3 feet long! It’s huge!
Courtney tells me to open it up, to tell her what I think. I peak in the bag and I immediately notice it’s chest. At the end of her life, Lacy’s chest hair started to thin and gray, and they PERFECTLY captured the white fading hair there. THen I saw the snout, and same thing. They got her exact gray snout coloring. I thought “This is my dog!” And then I saw its face.
“It looks just like he—AAAGH!” I cried.
“Yeah, that’s what I said!” Courtney replied.
The eyes are wrong. Lacy’s eyes were big and expressive. These are beady, lidless, and dead.
I reach further into the bag and realize that the animal isn’t soft and yielding, it’s stiff and rigid. It feels TAXIDERMIED! I pull it out to tool at the tail (Lacy’s was very distinct). As I’m wrestling to pull this huge animal out of the bag, it shifts sno the terrible face is just inches from my own.
The dog rides high in the uncanny valley, and I feel its gaze upon me. Despite myself, my eyes wander over and Ir ealize that the tongue isn’t felt! It’s a thick, rubber insert.
This thing is creepy as hell.
“Can we give this to him?” My wife asks, a mix of horror and amusement in her voice.
“Maybe with sunglasses?” I offer.
“And an apology,” she says.
I start cry-laughing, which sets the big, new dogs barking at me, unsure what’s going on.
From the top, it looks just like her.
And then it gets worse.
