Dogsbody

It was on the night of the great thunderstorm that George finally
decided to become a dog. He was used to sharing the marital bed with
Topsy the poodle and Flopsy the Clumber spaniel; but when, frightened
by the thunder, Mopsy the old English sheep dog joined them as well it
all became too much of a crowd and George was summarily ejected onto
the bedroom floor.

'That's it,' George thought as he curled up in Mopsy's basket. "I've
had enough. I'll make an appointment first thing in the morning.'

The doctor, when George eventually got to see him, was dubious. "It's a
major procedure, a species-change operation. Have you discussed this
with your wife?"

"Of course," lied George, suppressing a smile. The thought of
discussing anything like that with Beryl was out of the question. No,
it would be a nice surprise for her. He hoped she would like him better
as a dog. Certainly she did not have much use for him as a man.

"I'll get you an appointment with the specialist," said the doctor,
"but it might take a while. I believe the waiting list in this area is
about two years."

George stared in horror. Two years!

"Though of course," went on the doctor, "you could have it done
privately . . . "

It was rather more than George could afford, but he thought it well
worth the money. A few weeks later Beryl's dog-walking friends in the
park were able to admire the new addition to the family.

"Yes, this is George," Beryl told them. "I've never been very fond of
small dogs, but I have to admit, he's a perky little fellow."

George settled easily into his new life. He was slightly disappointed
by his breed - he had fancied something like a Doberman or German
Shepherd, but the specialist had explained that his new form had to
reflect his former personality and physique, and being a Jack Russell
terrier was not too bad. His small size meant that the double bed was
now big enough for all of them, and George felt welcome there for the
first time in years. The food was good - gourmet dog-food was a
distinct improvement on Beryl's cooking. She still expected instant
obedience, so there was nothing new there, but at least now he got a
pat on the head and a murmured "Good boy!".

Of course, life wasn't all walkies and doggichox. The other dogs did
not take easily to his new incarnation. They had always despised him,
and now they were all much bigger than him; but he was used to female
domination. They were not the real problem. No, what lay at the root of
his trouble was sex.

He had been warned that there might be some increase in libido, but had
not paid much attention. He had never been terribly interested before,
but now he was a Jack Russell he thought of little else. Topsy, Flopsy
and Mopsy were no use to him at all in that department. They had all
had the operation. As for getting out to search for more accommodating
bitches, Beryl was even more strict about that sort of thing than when
he had been a man. She totally refused to let him off the lead in the
park, after the unfortunate incident with the Great Dane.

This continual sexual frustration led to a serious deterioration in his
temper. He became irritable and snappy, aggressive towards strangers,
especially visitors to the house. No postman dared approach the door.
There were outbreaks of mindless vandalism directed against Beryl's
clothes and soft furnishings. However his anger was never aimed at
Beryl herself. Her, he adored. Completely.

He had never appreciated the true meaning of the phrase 'dog-like
devotion' until he became a dog. He had always admired masterful women,
that was what had drawn him to Beryl in the first place, but now he
worshipped her. Praise from her set his tail wagging in ecstasies of
delight, while a harsh word reduced him to abject misery. To share her
with others became a torment to him. He was her knight, her protector,
keeping the world at bay. He could not see, in his blind infatuation,
that it was the very excess of his devotion that was alienating her.
After all, he was only a dog.

And so at last the day came when Beryl went to the park accompanied as
usual by Flopsy, Mopsy and Topsy - but no George.

"It all got too much for me," she replied to the enquiries of her
friends. "You know how fond I was of the little chap. But he became
impossible, so jealous, always picking fights. It was starting to
affect the others. I couldn't have that. We used to be such a happy
little family. And he was destructive. I tried taking him to a canine
psychiatrist, but there was nothing to be done. He was too old to
change, he could only get worse.

"Found him a new home? Oh no, that would have been cruel. He was
strictly a one-woman dog. He would have pined away. No, it was a hard
decision, but in the end I really had no choice. It was the kindest
thing to do, for George and me."

Beryl wiped away a tear. " I still have him, in a way. I couldn't bear
to part with him completely, so afterwards I took him to that place off
the High Street, and they did a marvellous job. He does look sweet on
the back shelf of the car.

"Yes, that's right. I've had him stuffed."