So yeah, the story is fucking crazy, like I’d expected. Wizards? Curses? Wanting to be a fucking dog? Well, I believe that last part, given the suit he’s wearing. I keep trying to interject and get out of here–I do have a train to catch, after all, and a conference call to make, but the guy talks so fast, and with such energy–it’s like he desperate to keep me from getting a word in at all…so I end up just listening. I don’t notice the sun setting outside, the street getting dark, until another voice pipes up beside us.
“Sir? Sir!”
The dogman I’m with actually stops talking for a second, and I blink a couple of times, then look over. There’s a woman in a fast food uniform looking down at us–well, down at me really, scowling a bit. The badge on her shirt has the name Courtney, with the title Assistant Manager.
“Yeah? What is it? You don’t have to yell.”
“Sir, you can’t have animals in here. It’s against the law.”
I just stare at her for a second, then look over at the other guy, then back at her.
“Look, I know he’s a bit of a freak, but that’s fucking mean.”
“Is it a service animal?”
“No, it’s a fucking person, ya cunt!”
The anger in my voice surprises even me–especially when I stand up, ready to get in her face over some homeless guy’s dignity, and she backs up a step.
“I will call the police sir, if you don’t leave the premises right now.”
“It’s ok, let’s just go, sir. I can tell you the rest on the way home!”
The man in the suit is still grinning through all of this–if anything, he looks even happier.
“Fine, let’s go then.”
He gets out of the booth, and I notice that there seems to be…a lot more trash on the table than there should be–at least three or four hamburger wrappers, and two bags which might have contained fries at one point, which were now empty. But I swear I’d just had a salad–a salad I don’t even remember eating, but whatever. We leave the joint, I look down at my watch, and curse under my breath–it’s quarter to eight–there’s no way I can make that call now, and I can’t do it on my cell phone. I need to get going, and quick–maybe I can hail a cab?
“So where are we going now?”
“We aren’t going anywhere–I have to go home.”
“But I’m not done with the story yet! We’re getting to a really good part. I know you want to hear the rest, right?”
He sounds…almost desperate, in a really strange way, and lets loose a whine that actually is a pretty good imitation of a dog–but even if I am curious, I don’t have time.
“Look Fido–”
“Is that my name? You gave me a name!”
He’s jumping around like a fucking idiot again, and I have to actually grab him, and settle him down, before someone starts staring at us.
“Calm the fuck down!”
“I just get really excited when I hear my name, is all! But the story! Let me tell you the rest of the story–you have to hear it all now! You gave me a name!”
I scan the road for a cab, but there’s none in sight; a cab wouldn’t even get me home in time for the call anyway. I get out my phone and send a text, feigning an emergency and asking a partner to handle it for me.
“Fine, Fido, but I have to catch the next train so I can get home. You’ll have to walk and talk.”
“Ok! I like walks, walks are awesome!”
So off we went, and Fido figures out where he left off in his tale, but I’m having a hard time focusing on him, as we walk–mostly because I feel a bit…sick. Bloated even. I rub my stomach, and it definitely doesn’t feel right–kind of swollen, and even a bit soft, like…like a gut.
I stop walking and look down at myself, and sure enough, where there had been gym toned abs not hours before, I now had a sizable paunch–enough that it has untucked my shirt, and I could see my undershirt peeking through the gaps between the buttons. The rest of my outfit is tight too–my suit coat isn’t sitting right on my shoulders, like they are wider all of a sudden, my tie is too tight, even my shoes are hurting my toes, which feel like their curled up against the end of the shoe. I walk over to a shop window and look at my reflection, and I start to freak out even more. I have at least six or seven days of stubble all over my face–and my face looks as chubby as my gut. It’s no wonder my tie is too tight, with how much my neck has grown, and my usually well groomed hair is too long and shaggy–greasy even.
“You’re not listening to the story, sir.”
Fido is beside me, looking a bit concerned.
“But–I didn’t look like this before. What happened to my body?”
I don’t know why I’m asking him, exactly, it’s not like Fido would have an answer, right? But he gets close to me, and looks me in the eyes, and it’s really intense, his stare.
“Just relax, sir. You already started listening to my story, and once I get to the end, everything is going to make complete sense. You have to trust me, though. You do trust your doggy, right? I’m the best doggy in the world, after all.”
“The best…doggy in the world…”
“And I’m your doggy. I’m Fido.”
“Mine…Fido.”
He lets me go, and I realize I blanked out for a second, but I do feel a bit better. Fido…really is a good dog, you know? Still, I–we–have a train to catch, so we keep going. I do my best to ignore my uncomfortable clothing, and focus on listening to what Fido has to say, as he continues his tale, and by the time we’re sitting in the train, my attention is with him completely, as he tells me what happened when Master Joel found him one afternoon in that park, a few months later.
Bracken's Corner 