Dog Boy

45

I... was a dog. My hands were now paws. My arms had become forelegs, and with my hind legs changing as well, I was only able to walk on all fours. It felt weirdly natural.

What did not feel natural though was my voice. I wanted to say something to Ashley. I wanted to just say anything - but I couldn't. All that came out were barks, growls, or wimpers. To pile on top of this discomfort, while we slept, they had somehow removed our clothes - I suspected that the drugs they were giving us also put us out cold. It felt horrible being around Ashley like this, and I knew that she felt the same from the look in her eyes.

My eyes... even they revealed that I was no longer human. I'd thought my whole life that dogs saw in black and white, and my vision hadn't changed substantially when I'd become canis - but as a full dog, I realized that I could only see in hues of blue and yellow. I was grateful to see some color still - but now with washed out colors everywhere, the red in the carpet and the brick wall now gone, our prison felt even more dark and dreary.

And yet, after all the crushing fear that I had felt in the past, that the virus would advance me to this state... the reality didn't feel as awful as I'd imagined it. I had already been living with fur, a snout, and floppy ears for a while. I'd grown to even like how I looked when I was just canis. The full change then, wasn't as big of a leap as it had seemed before.

Maybe I'd just given up hope. Maybe my mind had deadened. Whatever the cause, being a dog, walking around on my paws... it felt natural, somehow. I could tell, in some ways, that my mind had been altered. While I had sniffed at the air occasionally as a canis person, now fully canine, I felt a compulsive urge to sniff everything.

On top of that, I was feeling restless. I had been stuck in this room for... for a week? Or was it just a few days? I felt so pent up. I wanted to go outside, I wanted to run, bound across some grass... chase something.

When I focused really hard, I knew deep down that those weren't my real thoughts. They were canine instincts creeping in. But I was a dog now. Did it matter really whether those were my human thoughts or my dog thoughts? It sounded fun, and if it was fun, did it matter?

I shook my head, snapping out of the trance I was in. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate. It had been this way for a while. I hoped that it had stabilized. I'd been able to think long after my physical changes had finished. Maybe we would at least retain our intelligence.

I got off of my dog bed and walked over to where Ashley lay on hers. I nudged her with my snout. When she didn't get up, I barked softly. That woke her up. She sat up on her haunches, where she used one of her hind legs to scratch an itch on her neck.

I stamped one of my forepaws down on the ground. A moment passed, and Ashley did so as well.

It was our only way to communicate that we were still mentally alert, able to actively choose to do something not based on instinct.

Despite my relief that Ashley was still okay, she let out a very, very pained whimper. I licked her face. She licked me back. It was the only reassurance that I could provide to her now. I couldn't read her thoughts, I couldn't telepathically tell her we'd get through this.

All we could do was hold on.

I tried my best not to let the dog conquer me by trying to do as human of things as possible - and the most human thing I could do was read the books. Getting them open and trying to turn the pages with my paws was difficult - but reading them was getting just as hard. I wasn't sure if it was my eyes or my mind, but I had to think a lot more about what I was reading.

At least it was a way for me to fixate on something that felt human. It was a way for me to practice concentration. I was not a dog. I was Matt Hewitt. I had a sister named Ashley. I had my parents who were looking for us. I had a girlfriend named Jackie. I loved her.