To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1
‘They added some shredded book pages to your sawdust, didn’t they?’ I asked with a smirk slapped across my face.
‘They were the classics, man’, Bifidus went.
‘That doesn’t make them right, though.’
‘Thousands upon thousands of novelists and poets can’t be wrong about love’, he protested.
‘Really? Well, since we’ve decided on establishing truth by sheer numbers, I guess you’ll be having lunch with the flies then. No reason why you should object to their culinary preferences’. I felt very smart.
‘What are you talking about? You’re a dog, you eat your own shit.’
I stopped feeling smart.
‘Besides’, she added, ‘they know what’s right for them.’
‘Right, so why should you listen to some mucky human scribblers telling you what’s right for us?’
‘But…’ she protested weakly. Which is the best way to do it when you don’t really know what you’re doing, but don’t want the other party to know, but still want to sort of hear what they have to say. Everyone’s happy that way.
‘Look, just try common sense for a while, will you? We don’t do love. We are anim…’ I trailed off, feeling the full blow of… should we call it irony?
‘But I want to!’ Bifidus said, tears welling up in his eyes. He looked so uncomfortably vulnerable. No, wait. She looked so vulnerable. Ah, that’s alright then. Moving on.
I had my reasons, of course, to be the cynical one in this business of love. After my mostly disappointing experiences as a human, I was glad my new form acted as a powerful ward against such foolish impulses.
‘But don’t puppies fall in love?’ I hear you ask. Stop it, you’re disgusting! Animals are too practical about these things to mess with things like love. There is no vertical expression of a horizontal desire. There wouldn’t be enough space for that in the dog kennel. It’s also notoriously difficult to do romance when both parties know it’s strictly business. Actually, come to think of it, it’s rather counterintuitive humans should be at the very top when they are ever so often paralyzed by desire. Although I’ve heard many in the animal kingdom strongly suspect that might be due to them sleeping their way up to the top.
It was getting dark and rather chilly. The moon was up and my bra felt really tight. I realized there was no reason for us to continue this serious argument with our clothes on. So we looked for a phone booth and shapeshifted back. No one seems to second guess what comes out of a phone booth or if there is any major difference between the thing entering or leaving. Maybe it’s because phone booths are so anachronistic nowadays that you half expect something weird to come out of what is essentially a state-licensed time machine.
Gosh, it felt good to be back on all fours! You know what the best part was? No more freed-up hands. No more hands, no more opposable thumbs… the number of things you are expected to be able to perform just plummets to what I’d call a reasonable level. That in term has the wonderful side-effect of relieving one of oh-so-many responsibilities. What? I’m just a dog… what do you want me to do?