But I'm Not Supposed To Be a Dog!

- 8 -

Henry frequently thought about his current condition. What had happened to him? Why did he remember being a man and a boyfriend, but was now a dog? A sudden itch shot through his ear, and he spent much time carefully digging in it with his hind leg. Finally satisfied, he sniffed the paw that had been in his ear and was about to lick it when he caught himself.

What is it with these disgusting dog urges? Henry never realized how much of a dog's life was ruled by instincts. He couldn't go more than five minutes without having to scratch something, lick something, or investigate a smell, sound, or something he saw out of the corner of his eye. He would be thinking of ways to tell Abby who he really was—something that weighed heavily on his mind—when he would suddenly find himself chasing a buzzing fly that had gotten into the house. It was infuriating.

Overall, life at Abby's apartment was definitely better than at the shelter. But still, it was a small apartment with no yard, and that ugly couch was still sitting there, tattered on one side, even uglier than before. What he hated most was having to hold his bladder. Whenever he needed to pee, he had to wait for Abby to take him outside. Sometimes, when she was working in front of her computer, she would lose all track of time.

Today she was especially absorbed. It had been hours, and he'd drunk more water than usual thanks to that delicious, enormous bone. His bladder was full and Abby was paying no attention to him. He even went to nudge her leg to remind her, but she merely pushed him away and continued tapping wildly at the keyboard.

Oh to be human again. It was the little things that made him miss it the most. Talking. Sipping coffee from a mug. Peeing in a toilet.

Henry paused.

Pee in a toilet! I could do that.

How hard could it be? You just aimed and went, just like when he was a man. He went into the apartment's only bathroom and examined the toilet.

I can definitely do this.

He stood up and planted his paws onto the seat to hold himself up. This looks about right, he thought as he looked down at the bowl. Henry let it flow and began to feel relief, only to discover that he was whizzing all over the seat and toilet tank. It was pointed in the wrong direction and he was streaming into the air like a water pistol.

The mechanics of this dog body confounded him. Aiming wasn't so easy. It wasn't as if he could grab a hold of it and point it in the right direction. He peered into the toilet and was glad to see some of the yellow liquid had gotten in. Maybe a tree would be better. There wasn't much geometry involved with lifting a leg.

The things we take for granted... like toilets. And votes. :)