“Regrettable,” the laboratory’s head scientist told the man in his office.
“I want the puppy as is,” the client demanded.
“I’d advise against that,“ the scientist cautioned.
“I paid your damn lab to give me another Machiavelli, a dog that had been part of my family for fifteen years. A precious dog that protected us and asked nothing in return but our love,” the client said, angrier than he could ever remember being.
“I understand you are deeply disappointed, but the cloning process is not without its flaws and occasional mishaps,” the scientist said with an arrogance that infuriated the client even more.
“You and your damn Immortal Pet Laboratory cheated me,” the client yelled, looking upward, as if the dog for which he paid nearly three months’ salary was hovering close to the ceiling.
“We can arrange a full refund, sir. Please calm yourself. Nothing is gained from emotional outbursts.”
“All your advertisements proclaim Satisfaction Guaranteed.”
“I want my dog. I paid a great deal of money to your deceitful, corrupt Immortal Pet Laboratory,” the client screamed and made threatening gestures with his fists.
“Okay,” the scientist said, leading the client to the nursery, where the genetically bred dogs were kept. He pointed to a cage containing a deformed dog that looked little like Machiavelli.
The scientist opened the cage for the client. After petting the dog, which he sensed was temperamentally similar to his vicious old dog, the client said, “Attack,” and Machiavelli II lunged at the scientist’s throat.