Daniel Mackie discovered that he’d turned into a dog at roughly the same time that he found he could lick his own testicles and was rather enjoying doing so. Also, this ‘Dan’ thing was interesting. ‘C’mere, Dan, and get your collar’ or ‘Dan….Dan...DAN...over here boy’. What was he, the family pet? To be summoned and stroked and chided according, it seemed, to human whim?
This diminution of his social position was alarming to him. As far as he could remember he’d been a senior civil servant in Scottish Government responsible for Media and Communications and now he was shitting on the beach and licking his balls.
A metamorphosis of Kafkian proportions had occurred. Some sort of osmosis: a physiological transmogrification on quite a staggering scale. Anthropomorphism of existential dimensions. Changed from a human man to a dog.
And his new owners? Why they were his own wee family, his wife and his two wee bairns. Did they not realise it was him, husband and father both, that was now supplicating himself shamelessly in the hope of chicken scraps?
Didn’t they miss their dad at all? Didn’t she miss her loving husband? And who was this fella that was visiting more and more? First chance I get I’m going to lay into his bollocks whoever he is. Bite them right off. That’ll take care of any licentious thoughts he may be harbouring.
Why were they always whispering in his presence? Surely, if they believe me merely canine, they can’t think me capable of understanding their human words no matter how loudly they speak.
‘Humanely’ and ‘put to sleep’ seemed to feature quite a bit.
Surely not!
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