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Isabelle grumbled. She was the only four-legger who'd shown up for the advertisement spot. This was a really big get, and could shift her modeling career into acting. The thirteen-year-old grey-furred Poodle looked great in clothing ads for other ferals, but there was an invisible barrier to get into television. Unless you were advertising something specifically for the twenty-percent of people with no hands, advertisers wanted two-leggers to represent their products.

That's why Isabelle hoped to break out in this role - an ad for flavored milks called "Blue-Moo" whose slogan she'd been practicing all day. "No need to wait - milk this good comes in every Blue-Moo". Milk was one product that everyone, no matter their number of hands, needed. This, she knew she was a long shot. The other girls who'd shown up were a little older and pretty cute, so she really had to nail her lines, and she couldn't show any negative emotions at all. A feral had to work twice as hard for the same opportunities.

She looked up as the young director finally walked in. They'd decided earlier than she'd expected. She'd have to wait for her father to arrive, and she fully expected to be disappointed. Reading from a clipboard, the German Shorthaired Pointer didn't even look up. "We're not doing callbacks for this spot, so...if I say your name, thank you so much for auditioning, but we're looking for someone else at this time. Jessica, Hailey, Monica...Rashiya, Danica. Please try out for future roles with the agency."

His voice droned, his heart clearly not in it. Isabelle shivered. Her name wasn't on the list. Had she gotten the part!? One by one, the other girls stood up and walked out of the waiting room, shooting the feral dirty looks. But Isabelle wasn't left alone. One girl, a Cocker Spaniel, was sitting just as excitedly, her long, brown ears quivering. Isabelle narrowed her eyes, but the other girl didn't even seem to notice.

Only once all the other girls had left did the director look up from the clipboard. He wrinkled his brown nose and adjusted his tie. "Isabelle, Melinda -"

"Just Mel, please," the girl chimed in. She was wearing an utterly ridiculous sun dress like she was going to church in the fifties, with a skirt that crinkled as she stood up. The girl didn't know the first thing about fashion.

"Fine. You two are the finalists, but the producer and I haven't been able to break the tie. If you could follow me in?" He turned and strode back into the little office studio, leaving the door open long enough for Mel to catch it. Smiling, the fourteen-year-old girl held it open for Isabelle, which was helpful but still rankled for the four-legged grey Poodle. She was this close to getting an acting gig, and here this girl was treating it like a game. "Thanks," Isabelle said quietly.

The studio was set up for shoots, with a stage and lighting equipment, and then a long folding table. They clearly didn't use these offices full time, because everything was easy to take down and put up. "Have a seat," he said, sitting back in one of the two office chairs.

Mel took a folding chair, but Isabelle wasn't about to perch on such a thing. She grumbled, but sat down on her hind legs, her own short, green skirt getting rumpled up beneath her. Her brother, Benji, had spent almost ten minutes lacing up her blouse just perfectly, the light green cloth neatly covering her smoothly trimmed underside. She looked truly radiant, grey fur in well-groomed tufts at each foot and at the tip of her long tail, as well as her perfect head of hair and long, fluffy ears that more than matched the cocker spaniel for beauty, and a poofy mane that only emphasized her slenderness down her shaved back and belly.

"Mr. Allen, they're here," the man said. The Shorthaired Pointer glanced back at an adjoining office, and sure enough, the producer appeared. Isabelle hadn't seen him during the shoot, but he must have been watching through that window. She was surprised to see that Allen was a four-legger. He must be the one rooting for her! He trotted out, looking fairly well kept. He was an all-white Bull Terrier, almost a foot shorter than the full-grown Poodle, his muscular, curved belly covered by black vest, a red dress shirt, and a light yellow tie. He, like many ferals, didn't bother with pants, which was certainly more awkward with a breed like his that featured short hair. His white rump was out in the open as he moved over and hopped up into the chair next to Mr. Darby.

"I'm gonna be frank," Mr. Allen explained, his smooth white ears perked upward. "I think it should go to Isabelle."

Mel whimpered, her silky brown ears curled back, but she gave Isabelle a small, slight (infuriating) smile. The Bull Terrier continued, though, "No slight to you, Mel, but the girl has a much bigger resume, despite being a bit younger. She's recognizable and fits the "Blue-Moo" specifications even better than you do - cute, young, and wholesome. But Darby thinks you deserve it. He says more people identify with two-leggers, and what you lack in experience you make up in innocence. But that puts us at an impasse."

"I suggested we flip a coin," Darby explained, "since you both tied on our review forms. But Allen here said that wouldn't really be fair."

Together, the two girls had to look up from Mr. Darby and then down as Mr. Allen said, "So we agreed to let you plead your cases. If you, Mel, can convince me..."

"Or you, Isabelle, can convince me..." the Pointer added.

"Then you can break the tie," Allen finished.

Together, the two males looked expectantly at the young, aspiring actresses. This was a big contract for at least a 4-part series of advertisements running in the whole region. To be this close to getting her big break was tantalizing! Isabelle had to convince him.

Mel might have looked innocent, but she knew the stakes, too, and suddenly both girls were speaking, rapid fire at the men, trying to explain how hard they would work for it, and how much they'd been preparing. The words fell on deaf ears as the two men looked unconvinced. Until Isabelle, in her frustration, gasped, "I'll do anything, Mr. Darby!"

"Anything?" the Pointer replied, and the room fell silent.

Oh. Isabelle froze. Now she understood. This wasn't really about their qualifications at all. They wanted to know which girl would be more 'pleasant' to work with. She would have balked immediately not more than a month ago, but now her heart was racing. Memories of the security terminal at the airport flashed through her head, Carl telling her "You'll probably find out it's easier to sell your looks if you'll also sell your body."

Shivering, the thirteen-year-old Poodle looked right up at Mr. Darby, in the fullness of the quiet in the room, and said, meaningfully, "Anything."