You start by reading the letter. It's from the police academy. It says they are sorry but you did not score high enough to enter their regular cadet program, but that since you had checked the box about willing to serve the force in another capacity the Academy had forwarded your application to the Canine Corps Training Center. Blah, blah, blah history of Canine Corps and Police Academy.
Ah, the meat of the stuff.
"Due to increased terrorist threat, the force has begun an active recruitment program to increase the number of trained canines to detect explosive devices and assist our officers in the field. If you choose to accept your new role in the Canine Corps you will be working daily in the field with trained peace officers to keep our community safe from criminal and terrorist threat.
"To Accept your new role in the Canine Corp simply fasten the collar to your neck. The transponder in the collar will relay a message to the Canine Corps HQ and a vehicle will be dispatched to pick you up."
Weird? But even if you didn't make the cadet program, they still want you to help with the police dogs. You wonder why that entails wearing a dog collar. It is kind of cute. It has a little badge shaped tag with your first name on it. What the heck, you aren't doing anything else with your life. So you fasten the collar to your neck, and feel a metal needle prick you. OUCH. Must be that transponder the letter mentioned. The thick leather collar in fact contains more than the transponder. It contains a special "recruitment agent" which the needle has just pumped into your body. The chemical disperses causing a tingling sensation. You feel weak in the knees , and sort of dizzy. You squat on your haunches and breathe slowly. What's happening? Your vision blurs, and everything seems to fade to a colorless shade of grey. You blink as a police van rounds the corner. Tbere is a tracking dish on the top of the van. It slows in front of your house.
A burly man followed by a nervous young rookie walk up the path to you and your doorstep. You want to say something but you are unable. You sit there on your haunches feeling queasy.
"There, boy, nothing to worry about it's just your normal transformation into a canine."
You raise and eyebrow and it feels like your ear moves too. You look questioningly at him.
"Dang, I told the commandant to make "Put the collar on" the last line in his form letter, nobody ever gets passed that to flip it over and read what will happen if they do. I half suspect that's the commandant's intent. Come on, Rudy, help me get this new canine corps recruit inside and naked. It'll make his transformation easier."
The sergeant takes your right arm and leg and lifts as young Rudy cautiously touches you on the left side.
"Get a grip, Rudy, he's giving his all to provide us with canine tactical support, and it's not like he's contagious or anything."
They lift you and carry you into your living room. The officers lay you on the couch. The sergeant's pager goes off.
"Rudy, you go bring that box in. I'm going to have to leave you with this recruit. Another "volunteer" for the canine corps just triggered their collar. You've been with me on three of these pick ups, I think you know what to do. I'll be back in a couple hours with the other new recruit to pick you both up. Make sure he's harnessed and in his new uniform. If he's hungry, here's a pull top can of dog chow. Little Caesar's the good stuff." He pats your head tossling your hair, "There's a good boy, mind Rudy, ok, fella."
And he takes off. Rudy unbuttons your shirt, and loosens your belt. Your smooth chest is covered with tan and black hairs. You are becoming a police dog.