WE FOLLOW UNCLE DOUG into his kitchen, and my nostrils are filled with the spicy-greasy smell of chili and frying bratwurst. Uncle Doug snatches up a long wooden spoon and gives the bubbling cauldron on the stove a quick stir.

“I hope you boys brought your appetites.” Uncle Doug sips some of the chili from the spoon, his eyes going instantly wide. “Whoa! Hello! That’ll put some hair on your taste-icles.”

Matt, Coop, and me share a nervous look as Uncle Doug leans down and peers through the oven window.

“Ah, yes, my little sweltering wieners,” he says. “Roasting nice and leisurely in there.” Uncle Doug stands and pulls off his apron. “You’re in for a treat. I only make this meal for my loved ones. Slow-cooked chorizo slathered in chili, chicory, and Cheez Whiz. Let me tell you something: you haven’t lived until you’ve chowed down on a Doug’s Dirty Dog.”

“I know Sean’s excited.” Coop waggles his eyebrows. “It’s all he could talk about on the way over here. Filling his mouth with your dirty dog. Isn’t that right, Matt?”

“Yup,” Matt responds. “We couldn’t get him to shut up about it.”

Uncle Doug smiles proudly. “I bet you’ll be the ones talking about it on the way home.”

“Oh, you can count on it,” Coop says, suppressing a laugh.

“So.” Uncle Doug glances nervously at the animal carriers in the corner. “Shall we, uh . . . get things set up down in the basement so we’re all ready when the cast arrives?”

“Good idea,” I say, leaping to my feet.

The plan is to shoot the scene where Rogart and Nashira happen upon Dr. Schmaloogan’s lab and learn all about his evil plan. Unfortunately for us, Uncle Doug is terrified of animals. He says it’s because he’s highly allergic but Mom’s told me it’s really because he was bitten on the penis by a hamster when he was a kid. Honestly, though, I’ve never delved too far into it because I’m afraid to find out why there was a hamster anywhere near his penis to begin with.

For that reason, and the fact that we have to get Leyna and Hunter out of here by noon, we’re going to have to film this section as fast as we can.

“Hey, so, Uncle Doug,” I say as we descend the stairs into the cellar. “We were wondering if we could get the second half of the thousand dollars you said you’d give us.”

“Oh, really?” Uncle Doug doesn’t look back. Just keeps focused on the steps ahead of him. “I’d like an expense sheet first. See what you’ve spent the first five hundred on.”

I shoot the guys a panicked look.

“You’ve seen what we have so far,” Coop responds. “Monkey costumes. Blood makeup. And . . . other stuff. It goes a lot faster than you think.”

The four of us get to the bottom of the stairs and make our way into the unfinished basement. Uncle Doug has already set up a “lab table” in the middle of the room.

“Yeah, well.” Uncle Doug runs his hand down his beard. “Unfortunately, Uncle Doug’s a little strapped for cash right now. What with the stock market shitting the bed and . . . other losses. So, I’m afraid I’m going to have to change our business arrangement. Five hundred’s all you’ll be getting. I do apologize, but that’s the way of things in the business world.”

Coop turns and shoots me a wave of fury. And I don’t blame him. I’m pretty pissed myself. Our super-low-budget movie’s just become a no-budget movie.

I’m just about to open my mouth to protest when there’s a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it!” I offer, already scrambling up the stairs.

I hustle to the door and yank it open. It’s Leyna and Hunter. Together. Which annoys me a little bit, though it’ll annoy me a whole lot less if I find out Leyna sent me a picture of her Bermuda Triangle.

I send Hunter down to the basement, tell him they need his help setting up. And ask Leyna if I can speak with her for a second.

We go into the family room and sit on my uncle’s ratty old dust-billowing sofa.

“What’s up?” Leyna asks, not looking anxious or embarrassed at all.

I take out my phone and call up the picture of her Fur-tress of Solitude. I need to do this quick before I lose my nerve.

“Oh, hey, you got it,” she says, smiling and sounding relieved. “I wasn’t sure it went through, when I didn’t hear anything from you.”

“Um, no. Yeah. I got it,” I choke out, feeling sweaty all over. “It’s just . . .”

Oh, jeez, Leyna looks adorable. And she smells spectacular. Her almondy-sweetness. God, it’s like a drug or something. The scent of her makes me light-headed and tingly all over. I just want to nestle into her and never leave.

“So.” She gestures at my phone. “Have you had a chance to look at it?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure. I’ve been looking at it a lot.” Oh, come on. Just ask her what it is and be done with it.

“Well, what’s your diagnosis?” Leyna giggles and gives me a nudge. “Doctor.”

Doctor? Is that what we’re playing here? So this is what I think it is? Holy crap.

My heart takes off like a jackrabbit, my breath all shaky.

“Well, um, it’s, uh.” I gulp. “I mean, I’m glad you sent it to me and everything. . . .”

Leyna places her hand on my thigh, which sends a rush of excitement right into my lap. “Do you want to see it in person?” she asks. “I know the picture’s not very clear. It wasn’t the easiest thing to get that shot.”

“No,” I say. “I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

“Maybe you could come over to my house to have a look? I don’t want to impose or anything, but I seriously think it needs some attention.”

My leg begins to bounce, and I find I’m chewing my tongue like a maniac. “Yes,” I say. “Of course I’ll come over. Just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet. What about next weekend? Would that be okay?”

“Okay? Absolutely. Yes. That would be very okay.”

“Thank you, Sean.” Leyna leans over and hugs me. “And my little Muff-Muff thanks you too. I mean, she would.” Leyna laughs. “If she could talk.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Coop says, sticking his head in the door. “But we’re on a bit of a time crunch here.” He looks at me knowingly. “I think we should get started.”

Forty-five minutes later and we’re still down in Uncle Doug’s dimly lit basement trying to get him to hold Buttons on the “lab table” so he can use the fake needle and pretend to draw some blood from her. She’s the most docile cat you’ve ever met, but Uncle Doug’s acting like we’re asking him to handle a Siberian tiger.

“These things carry all sorts of diseases,” he says, holding his hands up high and close to his lab coat. “There’s a reason they don’t want pregnant women going anywhere near kitty litter.”

“Well”— I take a furtive whiff of my palm —“It’s a good thing you’re not a pregnant woman.”

“Anyone can get sick from cat feces,” Uncle Doug argues.

Coop sighs. “We’re not asking you to stick your finger up its ass. We just want you to hold it. Like a billion people do a billion times a day.”

Leyna and Hunter are crouched outside, looking in the open basement window and laughing. They’re supposed to be catching Dr. Schmaloogan in the act of doing evil experiments. But the only thing they’re witnessing is my uncle’s breakdown.

“It’s not just their excrement.” Uncle Doug tugs on his bushy beard. “It’s their saliva too. These things bite. They carry all kinds of pathogens. Staph. Meningitis. The plague. Not to mention, cats are one of the main transmitters of rabies. Believe me, I’ve done the research.”

“Buttons doesn’t have rabies.” I start to chew my tongue nervously. “Look at her. She’s a sweetie. Besides, I have her trained. She won’t move unless I tell her to.”

“Be that as it may.” Uncle Doug steps back from the table, looking flustered and sweaty. “Cats are unpredictable. I’d just as soon do the scene with some kind of replica. I’ll put up with having the animals in cages in the background for verisimilitude. And I’ll deal with the aftereffects of all the fluff and dander. But I am not about to have my penis bitten off by a venomous disease-ridden feline, thank you very much.”

“Your what?” Hunter calls from the window.

“I just don’t want to be bitten. Or scratched. Anywhere. Okay? So”— Uncle Doug wafts his hands at Buttons —“take this thing away from me. Immediately.” He grabs his pack of American Spirits and taps one out. The cigarette’s in his mouth and lit before I even have a chance to move.

“We don’t have any animal models.” Coop checks his cell phone. “And we’re running out time. You don’t like cats? What about the ferret?”

Uncle Doug sneers and puffs on his cigarette. “I think I’ll pass. The last thing I need is a feral weasel wriggling out of my hands and sneaking down my pants. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“The dog then,” Matt offers. “I’m not even a dog person and I think it’s cute. And you’d have to work really hard to get it down your pants.”

Uncle Doug picks a fleck of tobacco off his tongue. He studies it while seeming to consider this latest proposition. “What kind of dog is it?”

“A Maltipoo.” I slide Buttons back into her cat carrier. “He’s around six pounds.”

“Dogs are much more obedient than cats,” Uncle Doug says. “You have a muzzle for it?”

“A muzzle?” I move over to Jo-Jo’s kennel and take him out. He’s a gray fluff ball barely bigger than my hand. “I don’t think they make muzzles small enough.”

“Come on, Uncle Doug,” Coop pleads from behind the video camera.

“It’s pretty cold just squatting out here,” Leyna says from outside.

Uncle Doug gestures at me with his cigarette. “How well you got that thing trained?”

I place Jo-Jo on the floor and show my uncle all his tricks. Ballerina, play dead, flip, lie down, roll over. By the time we’re done, his tiny little tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants.

Finally Uncle Doug sighs and crushes out his cigarette. “Okay. But I want that beast to lie stock-still. In total submission. If he even flinches, I’m gonna hurl him across the room.”

“You will not,” I say.

“Okay, then, I’ll hurl you across the room. How’s that?”

“Fine.” I scoop Jo-Jo up and put him on the table. I get him to lie down and roll over. “Stay, Jo-Jo. Stay.”

“Look how adorable,” Matt coos.

Uncle Doug shuffles cautiously up to the table. “Yeah, that’s how they get you. Kill you with cuteness. Sucker you in and then go right for your nuts.”

I laugh. “I can guarantee you he’s not going to go anywhere near your balls.”

“You think it’s funny, but go ask any emergency-room physician how often she sees pet-incurred testicular injuries. You’d be mighty surprised how common it is.”

“Yes,” I say. “I would be incredibly surprised. Now, can we get on with this?”

We have to do at least a dozen takes of the scene because Uncle Doug is simply not believable as an evil mad veterinarian who experiments on animals. Sure, he looks the part. Big and gruff, hairy, rubber gloved, lab coated, and red eyed. But he’s barely touching the dog with the tips of his fingers, and his scrunched-up face completely betrays his absolute revulsion.

For twenty minutes straight, Jo-Jo doesn’t move a muscle. He is being such a good boy. There’s no biting. No scratching. No ball-sack lunging. Not even a whimper. Just a frozen little Ewok-faced puppy with his tiny furry paws stuck in the air.

“Look,” Coop finally says, his face red from frustration, “grab the dog like you mean it. You’re a vet, for fuck’s sake. You’re not scared of animals. Just jab it with the needle and take the goddamn blood. You wanted to be in the movie. So be in it.”

Uncle Doug takes a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Once. But you better make sure you’ve got that camera rolling, because it’s the last time you’re going to see this.”

“Thank you.” Coop nods to Leyna and Hunter at the window, then hits the record button and points at my uncle.

Uncle Doug quickly grasps Jo-Jo by the belly and raises the collapsible hypodermic. “All right, you mutt,” he grumbles his dialogue. “Time to do your part in my grand experiment.” Uncle Doug cackles evilly, then leans over the dog and prepares to stick him with the needle. “I’m going to need a nice hefty sample from you.”

And, as if on cue, Jo-Jo sends a streaming spout of whiz straight into Uncle Doug’s face. Dog pee soaks his mountain-man beard and cascades down the front of his lab coat.

Leyna and Hunter bust into hysterics.

Matt and Coop’s jaws drop in sync as Uncle Doug leaps away from the lab table and unleashes the longest string of curses I think I’ve ever heard. He grabs a soiled rag from the workbench — which, truth be told, is probably way more bacteria laden than Jo-Jo’s pee — and swabs at his face and neck like a madman.

“YOU!” Uncle Doug points at me with the dirty cloth.

My eyes dart to Jo-Jo, still frozen in place on the table. He looks at me for some sort of guidance. Can I move yet? Sorry about the pee, dude, but he squeezed me like a sponge.

I have several options here. Run away and leave my dog to the mercy of my foaming-at-the-mouth uncle. Dart in to save him and risk being beaten to death with any of the numerous blunt objects — baseball bat, pipe wrench, bong — that are in grabbing distance.

Or try to reason with a raging zoophobe who’s just been whizzed on by a dog.

“It was an accident,” I try. “He didn’t mean it. You just spooked him. When you grabbed him so suddenly. He’s a little dog. He’s got a little bladder.”

“Not. So. Little.” Uncle Doug swipes at his face again with the rag, glaring at me, breathing heavily and loudly through his nose, like a speared bull that’s getting ready to charge.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “At least he didn’t bite you.” I catch Matt’s and Coop’s looks. At any other time, with any other person, we’d be screaming with laughter right now. Just like Hunter and Leyna are doing at the window.

But this is Uncle Doug we’re talking about. And he is royally steamed. And he is three times my size. And he could snap us all in half in the blink of an eye.

Uncle Doug closes his eyes. He takes a deep, deep breath, his hand strangling the filthy rag. “Okay,” he says. “I need a smoke. And I need it now.”

“Your cigarettes.” I dart over to the workbench and grab his pack of American Spirits. “They’re fine. They’re not wet. See? You put them down over here. They’re safe.”

Uncle Doug slowly opens his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. A cigarette is not going to be strong enough. Not by a moon shot. Uncle Doug needs to forget this little . . . incident. In fact, we’re all going to forget this.” He waves his hand in the air. “Wipe it from our hard drives, so to speak. Understand?”

We all nod vigorously, though I can tell by the expression on Leyna’s and Hunter’s faces that they’re never going to forget this.

“If Uncle Doug ever finds out that anyone else has found out about this”— he laughs, but in a really scary way —“well, let’s just say the person who leaked it will regret they were ever placed on this little planet we call Earth. Are we crystal on this point?”

Suddenly Leyna and Hunter don’t look quite as amused anymore. And Coop totally ignores the “leaked it” bait. The five of us nod like bobblehead dolls in an earthquake.

Uncle Doug takes another deep breath. “All right. Good. Now, you guys go upstairs and take my sausages out of the oven. I’m going to take fifteen in my trailer.”

And just as I’m starting to relax, feeling like we dodged a major laser blast . . .

There’s a loud thumping at the front door.

Matt, Coop, and me whip our heads around toward the stairs.

My stomach plunges hard. Because there’s only one person in the world I know who knocks like that.