This Dog's Life

Ben Morson was eleven years old when all this started. Before the incident he was an average kid, into films and TV, and playing out with my friends. One afternoon in May, it was half-term and he was on the park with his friends. They were tearing around on their bikes pretending to be spies or action heroes. As the afternoon went on, his friends were all called in for tea. As one by one, they were called home for their dinner, Ben waited for my name to be called, for his parents to come and shout him. When his time came, his mum or dad would come to the park gates and call out, Ben, come on, are you right?

If it was his dad he would go straight away, if it was his mother, yeah, he knew he had another five minutes without getting into trouble. This particular afternoon, he found he was the last one out. He pulled a few wheelies on his bike, and was just debating if he should head home, when a dog ran across the field. The dog was some kind of Alsatian cross-breed, that these days would have a really complicated name, but to him it just looked like a rather shaggy German Shepherd. 

Ben decided to play with the dog until his parents called him in for tea. He jumped off his bike, dropping it to the grass, and while scanning the field for a stick to throw, approached the dog, hand outstretched, here boy.

The dog walked slowly towards him, eyes locked on Ben’s. He moved towards the dog in slow steps, suddenly hoping his parents didn’t call for him anytime soon. 

He found a stick, a nice chunky stick, perfect for playing fetch. As he reached down for the stick, the dog darted forward, bouncing towards him. 

Before Ben could move, the dog snapped and sunk its teeth into Ben’s forearm. Ben cried out in shock and pain, dropping to the grass. The dog turned and trotted away across the field and out of sight. 

Minutes later, Ben’s mother appeared. Her son cried and called out for her. She rushed over to him, cradling him, tears in her eyes, asking what had happened. Ben managed to explain that he’d been bitten by a dog, gesturing with his bleeding arm.

As she helped Ben across the park, she scanned the field looking for the animal that had attacked her son. There was no sign of the dog. She shook her head in disgust and frustration, and hurried Ben on, to go and get his arm checked out.

Ben felt rather strange as he sat beside his parents in the hospital Accident and Emergency. His mother placed her hand on his forehead, and asked again how he was feeling.

‘I feel a bit weird, actually, and my arm is killing.’ Ben said.

‘You are very pale.’ She said.

‘Maybe you’re in shock.’ His dad suggested.

Ben shrugged and tried not to think about his arm and the make-shift bandage his parents had applied. 

A woman came teetering into the emergency room in high-heel shoes. She headed to the reception desk and explained in a loud voice that she needed to see the doctor as she thought she’d broken her big toe at her Karate class.

Ben’s dad gave him a nudge.

‘Hear that?’ He whispered. ‘She’s broken her toe but still wearing her high-heels. You’d just throw some flip-flops on, wouldn’t you?’ 

Ben laughed, agreeing, he would have worn his most comfortable pair of slippers if he thought he’d broken his toe.

Two hours later, they were leaving the hospital with Ben’s arm all patched up. The nurse had confirmed that the bite was nothing serious, but given him a jab to make sure. He was to go and see the doctor a week later to have the dressing removed and the wound looked at, to check it was healing okay. 

As they got to the car, his father said he needed to make a stop on the way home. 

‘Why’s that?’ asked ben.

‘We need to get you some dog biscuits.’ his dad laughed.

‘Very funny.’ said Ben with a smile. 

Over the next week, Ben almost forgot about the incident with the dog. His arm stopped hurting and apart from the bandage to remind him, put the bite completely out of his mind. On Friday afternoon, his mother took him to the doctors to have the dressing taken off. He was shown in to the doctor’s room and the doctor, a smiley woman in her forties, asked how he was getting on. Ben insisted he was going well, and just wanted to put the dog bite behind him. He was looking forward to playing out with his friends on his bike at the weekend.

‘Make sure you keep away from any wild dogs.’ The doctor said with a smile. 

She then picked up a pair of scissors and said let’s take a look, in a soft voice. Ben held out his arm, and she cut away at the dressing, pulling the bandages away as she went. Ben stared at the scar the wound had left. Was that normal? Should it look like that? 

He glanced up at the doctor. She was staring at his arm with confusion. Ben felt himself panic. The wound was now scabbed over, and white at the edges, and had a line of thick dark hair protruding from it. 

‘Is that normal?’ His mother asked. Ben sensed she was trying to keep the alarm out of her voice.

‘It seems to have healed somewhat unusually.’ the doctor admitted. 

The doctor got in touch with the hospital to take X-rays of the wound, just in case, she said.

At the hospital later that afternoon, the doctor returned with the X-ray results, a matter-of-fact, hurried expression on his face. 

‘The X-ray results show everything’s as it should be. There’s nothing sinister.’ He said.

‘But surely that’s not usual, is it? What would cause the hair to grow like that?’ His mother asked.

‘We do know that when patients have limbs covered in plaster, the hair does grow quicker and thicker than before.’ 

‘But surely that’s not right, he’s only had a bandage on a week.’

‘I can assure you, it is nothing to worry about. Now, I really must get on.’

Before his mother could ask any further questions, the doctor tucked his pen in his pocket and hurried away down the corridor. She forced a smile on her face and playfully punched him on the arm.

‘There you go, Benny. Nothing to worry about. Come on, let’s get you home.’

Ben nodded, happy that the doctor hadn’t said anything about not being able to play out with his friends. 

He joined his two best friends, Harry and Dylan. They had been friends for years, since they were little kids. They had a great afternoon tearing around the park on their bikes. Dylan seemed a little bit quieter than usual, Harry simply called him a moody so-and-so and all three of them laughed. 

One evening the following week, he was reading in his bedroom. As he read, he absently ran a hand along his scar, tickling the hair protruding from his injury. It was then he started to feel strange. The room around him went blurry, swaying this way and that. He felt dizzy, like he was on a funfair ride. He gasped at the air, his breathing suddenly becoming heavy, chest heaving. 

He dropped his book to the floor. Ben felt really unusual. His skin seemed to be moving, as though there was something underneath the surface, trying to get out. He tumbled from the chair, and landed face down on the carpet. 

His hands and feet felt strange, like they didn’t belong to him. He tried to speak, to call out for his parents, to call for their help, but his voice came out a strange howl. It was then he noticed his hands and his arms. His arms were covered in thick dark hair, and his hands, they were not hands any more. He stared in shock, if he had been able to speak he would have cried out in horror. His hands now had pads and claws. They had become the paws of an animal. 

His clothes hung loose, suddenly not fitting his transformed shape. He shook himself, and his t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms fell from him. He caught sight of his reflection in the television set. He stared at the glass in complete shock. What was happening? Surely this wasn’t possible. 

In the dark glass reflection of the television screen, Ben was no longer an eight year old boy. He was a dog. He tilted in his head in confusion, an automatic animal gesture. He turned and looked at the bottom half of his body. He was now fully canine. The distress caused his tail to droop between his legs. 

He padded around in a circle, trying to take it all in. He could hear his parents downstairs. He could actually hear them chatting as though he was in the room next to him. He heard a guy walking down the street outside, whistling to himself. And the aromas and smells, they came flooding to him, almost overpowering. He could smell the couple next door frying bacon as though the pan was right next to him. He raised his head, craning his neck and took a long sniff. He could feel his nostrils twitching as he fully took in the scent of cooking. It then occurred to him why his senses were heightened. His senses were no longer human but rather canine. 

He crossed to the window, finding that he moved in a different way. The clumsy boy who had a tendency to trip up, was now an agile hound that moved with a grace and animal athleticism. He hoped and placed his front paws, what were his hands, on the windowsill and peered out at the gardens below. He had the urge to get outside, to be outdoors and run, just run and run, keep going, bouncing and ballooning around. 

In his excitement, he turned and bounded giddily around his bedroom, before hopping onto the bed. He bounced around on his bed for a moment before stopping to scratch an itch on his ear with his back leg. At that moment two things happened, there was a popping sound in his ears, like really bad airline travel. That sensation that your head could explode from the pressure of taking off or landing. The second thing that happened was that his bedroom door was flung open. 

His father looked around the room, his face red and angry. He glared at Ben on his bed.

‘What’s all the noise? Sounds like there’s a football team playing up here. And put some clothes on, will you?’ He gestured to his son.

Ben, now back to his human form, pulled the bedsheets around his exposed chest.

‘Yeah, sorry, dad. I was just messing around.’

As his father stomped back downstairs, Ben tried to process what had just happened. Had he really transformed into a dog? It had seemed as real as everything else, but had his over-active imagination run away with him? He stared at the strange scar on his arm. Had the scar caused this strange new ability? Or was his mind playing tricks on him?

The next afternoon, while his mother was busy working on her laptop, Ben retreated to his bedroom to try again. He sat on the carpet, in the middle of the room, and ran his fingers along the scar. Nothing happened. He was about to try tracing the scar again when it started. The same sensations washed over him, like he was about to burst out of his skin. 

This time, Ben knew what was happening. He dropped forward, on to all-fours, and tried to brace himself for the transformation. Just like the last time, he changed into a canine, his clothing falling from his frame. He was a dog. It sounded crazy, just thinking those words to himself, but he was actually a dog. He chased his tail in delight, spinning around and around in a giddy circle. 

He picked up a toy football in his mouth and tossed it up in the air. The ball bounced on the rug and rolled across the room. Ben wagged his tail in sheer delight as he pounced on the ball, before chewing it in his mouth. 

He noticed that while he was in this form, his mind seemed to take on a more canine thinking. The pleasure of playing with a ball was just out of this world. It was an absolute delight. What a rush. He understood why dogs would bound across the park to retrieve the thrown ball or stick. It was like playing the best game in the world. 

Finally, he decided it was time to change back, to get back to normal. How had he managed it previously? He had been on his bed and had gotten an itch. Yes, that was it, and he had scratched his ear with his paw. He scratched at his ear, trying to replicate the motion exactly as he had done it.

Sure enough, a moment later, a popping sound burst in his ears. And then he was back to the boy. He got to his feet and dressed in his discarded clothing. So, whatever was happening, it would seem that he could transform into a dog. 

That evening as he played on his games console, his mind raced with the possibilities. The adventures he could have seemed to be endless. There were things he wanted to try, like running down the beach and playing the sea. These things were great as a kid, but they would be out of this world as a dog. 

The next challenge would be to do the transformation outside. There was still a part of him that wondered if it was all in his head. If he tried it outside, then he would know for certain. If he attracted strange looks when he gallivanted around as a dog, then he would know he had lost his mind completely. If, on the other hand, outside world saw him as a dog, then he would know one hundred percent that this was actually happening.

Early on the Saturday morning, he told his parents he was playing out on the park. He ran down the street, eager to get to the park, his jacket flapping behind him as he went. He felt like a mad scientist in a film, about to start a new experiment. Maybe, he thought, that was exactly what he was doing. 

Once inside the park gates, he ducked behind a row of thick hedges. When he was properly concealed behind the shrubbery, Ben removed his jacket. He ran his fingers along the thick hair sticking out of his scar, just as he’d done at home. 

Sure enough a moment later, the familiar change started. Ben felt himself transforming into the canine, his clothes falling to the dirt as he changed shape. With his tail wagging, and excited to get to exploring the park, in his new form, he came creeping around from the other side of the bush.

The smells all around were just mind-blowing, there was the scent of other dogs all around, plus a kid was eating an ice-cream over on the playground. He pottered and scamped and trailed over the park, enjoying the difference his new form made to the familiar surroundings. 

A man in his sixties crossed the park, the morning newspaper tucked under his arm. He reminded Ben of his grandfather. Ben decided to test out how this guy saw him, if he really had changed into a hound. He padded softly over to the path. As the man was walking by he leaned down and patted Ben on the head.

‘He’s a good boy, good dog.’ He said.

Ben couldn’t help wagging his tail wildly at the confirmation. He wasn’t losing his mind, whatever was happening, as bizarre as it was, it was happening. 

He spent the next few hours messing around on the park. Lots of sniffing, weeing up lots of trees, and one kid threw a stick for him a few times too. Finally, when he was ready to head home, he made his way back behind the bushes. He scratched his ear, just as he’d done the previous times, and sure enough, the popping sound burst in his ear.

As soon as he was back in human form, he grabbed his discarded clothing from the floor and quickly dressed. He stepped out from behind the bushes, a different person than the animal that had just been parading around the park. His mind was racing. So, it was happening. He could change into a dog. This was like something from a film, this was a real-life adventure. 

That afternoon, still buzzing from his new gift, he joined Dylan and Harry darting around the park on their bikes. He was tempted to tell his pals of his new super power, but decided against it. They would either not believe him and think he was crazy, or tell everyone of his talent. He really didn’t want to shout about it to everybody. This was strange enough as it was, without telling the world. 

He had a nice afternoon with his friends, a good laugh. Dylan was still quieter than usual. He would smile and laugh along as best he could, whereas usually he was the silliest one of them all. As they were playing on the swings, Ben turned to face his pal.

‘Are you okay, Dylan, mate?’ he asked.

His friend sighed, staring at the scuffed toes of his trainers for a moment before replying. 

‘There’s these two kids giving me a hard time. They push and shove me around, and call me names.’

Ben and Harry swore. Harry said they should go and find them and kick their heads in. Dylan shook his head. 

‘They are older than us, bigger lads. They smoke and everything.’ said Dylan, with tears in his eyes. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

Harry swore again and kicked an empty cola can as hard as he could. As they made their way back home, something occurred to Ben. 

‘Next time you see those lads tell them you’ll set your dog on them.’ he suggested.

‘They’ll never fall for that. I don’t have a dog.’ Dylan said.  

‘Where do they normally get you?’  

‘At the row of shops across the road from my house.’ Dylan replied. ‘They hang around outside the shops and I always cop for it when they see me.’

Ben’s idea formed in full as they headed home.

‘Will they be there now?’ he asked.

‘Yes, probably. They just lurk around the shops giving everyone a hard time, me especially for some reason.’ Dylan said sadly. 

Harry bid them good evening, and turn down his street, Dylan and Ben called out See ya, as he left. Ben insisted he would walk back with Dylan. His friend tried to protest, not wanting Ben to get involved, dragged into the misery he was going through. 

They turned the corner, the row of shops up ahead. Ben saw them straight away. The two older boys, dressed in dark hoodies, were calling out insults to passers-by. Most people ignored them, or shook their heads. Dylan stood frozen to the spot, watching in trepidation at the lads. He knew the torment was coming. 

Ben spotted an alley on their left, a row of industrial rubbish bins lined the wall. He nodded to himself. Perfect. He told Dylan to walk by the bullies, and when they abused him, tell him he’d set his dog on them.

‘I don’t understand.’ Dylan said.

Ben grabbed him roughly by the arm, just do it. He gave his friend a shove to get moving, and ducked down the alleyway. He squeezed in the space behind the large metal bins. He had to work fast. He rubbed the bristly hair on his scar quickly, eager to initiate the transformation. With concern for his friend foremost in his mind, the change started. 

Moments later, his clothes had been discarded and he was the canine version of himself. He bounded out from behind the bins, and darted along the pavement. Up ahead, he spotted Dylan. The two lads were pushing and shoving him against the roller-shutters of a closed shop. 

Dylan raised his hands and pleaded for them to stop. As he saw the dog approaching, Dylan pointed.

‘Stop, or I’ll get my dog on you!’ he called.

Ben felt a growl come from deep within himself, low and loud, like an earthquake. His lips curled and twitched, bearing his fangs. He started barking, a menacing, threatening sound, and galloped towards them. 

The two boys released their grip on Dylan and turned to face the dog. Ben charged at the boys, barking, snapping, growling, biting. The lads turned and ran off down the street. Ben chased them until the end of the block. Panting hard, from the exertion, he padded back the way he had come. He quickly dashed by Dylan, who was standing outside the shops, stunned by what had just happened. 

Ben ducked back down the alley, and behind the bins. Eager to change back, he scratched and pawed at his ear. 

A few minutes later, he jogged to catch up with Dylan, who was continuing his way home.

‘Alright, Dylan. Did you sort those scallies out?’ Ben asked.

‘Mate, it was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. This dog appeared from out of nowhere and chased them off. It was like something from a film.’ Dylan said, smiling more than he had done in weeks. 

‘Dylan, that’s fantastic. They’ll leave you alone from now on.’ Ben said.

As they neared Dylan’s street, his friend spoke.

‘How did you do that? How did you arrange for the dog to be there? Whose dog is it?’ Dylan asked.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ Ben laughed.

Over the next few weeks, Ben spent his free time playing out with Dylan and Harry, but also made sure there was time to go what he called scamping. He would take himself off to the park, duck behind the bushes and spend the next few hours in canine form. He would run around on the park, scavenge discarded donner kebabs from outside the take-away shop, and generally enjoyed the freedom of a dog’s life. While he was on the park he was often befriended by some kids or by a couple, who would fuss over him and throw a stick. 

The only annoying thing was that the changing process had seemed to slow down. At the start, the transformation would begin straight away, whereas recently it could take upto an hour to change into a dog, and the same time to turn back into human form. He would wait and wait, and just when he was giving up hope, he would change. 

One afternoon, he changed into a dog and charged out from behind the bush as usual. He scamped across the grass, eager to see what the afternoon had in store. He reached the path and stopped suddenly. He stared at the two figures walking towards him. He recognised them immediately.

It was the two boys who had been picking on his friend. Unfortunately, they recognised him too. Before he could get away, the lad nearest him lashed out with his boot, kicking him hard. Ben yelped as the blow connected, and lost his footing. He hit the tarmac path hard. 

The other boy landed a kick of his own. Ben whined in agony and struggled to right himself back upright. A couple in their twenties hollered and called out for the lads to stop. The boys gave one last look at Ben, before running away, out through the park gates.

Ben hurt all over. He winced and yelped in pain. He tried to scurry away, back behind the bushes, to transform back, and then to get home, so his parents could check him over.

The couple watched him in concern. Before he could get away, the man scooped him up.

‘Come on, feller, let’s get you checked out.’ He said gently.

The next thing he knew Ben was in the waiting room of the vets. He struggled to get away. He would be fine, he was sure. He just needed to rest up. Once he was back in human form, he could go to the pharmacy or the doctors if he was still in pain. His parents would sort him out. Ben had tried protesting, but they had bundled him into the car, and whisked him off to the vets.

This was all so surreal. He had been to the vets before, with the cat he’d had when he was younger, but never as the actual patient. He was ushered into the examination room. Ben scratched at his ear, panicking. He had to change back. He wanted to be back in human form, he wanted to be at home. Maybe he’d stop changing from now on. Things seem to have got very complicated all of a sudden.

The vet, a balding man somewhere in his fifties, poked and prodded at him. Ben winced as he hurt him. He struggled and wriggled. The vet patted him on the head and the couple a practiced sorrowful look.

‘I think we need to put this poor feller to sleep.’

Ben barked and yelped, scratching at his ear, trying to start the transformation process. He had to get back to his human form. Then he could explain the recent events and deal with the consequences. He scratched and clawed at his ear but nothing happened. 

Ben barked and barked, backing away. He tried to get the point across, that they didn’t understand what they were doing. He wasn’t really a dog. This was all a mistake. His protests came out as barks, howls, yelps and whines. The vet stepped forward, needle in hand.  

Ben was still growling and snapping when the vet lunged forward, needle poised. Then Ben felt the needle break his skin.

The next morning, the vet winced as he rolled over in bed. He looked down at the wound on his arm. Then he recalled that the poor dog he’d had to put to sleep yesterday, had bitten him in the struggle. He stared in confusion at the thick hair sticking out of the wound.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom