"I’ll have a mug of your Red Dog beer." You reply.
The bartender’s eyes went wide as he smiled knowingly at you before pouring your drink and setting it before you.
"So you are looking to be your own dog then, huh?" The bartender playfully teases you.
Not really sure what he’s talking about, you ignore him, pick up your glass and glance about the room. You feel a bit out of place from seeing so many boys with their shirts off in a place like this. And what’s with all of that strange noises echoing from the rooms back in the distance? But you put aside your concerns and your curiosity about this place, and look back at your glass. You take a long, slow sip of it.
And as you do so, you begin to get a nice warm, happy feeling all over your body. A feeling quite unlike anything you have ever felt before. You take a couple of more sips before setting the glass down in front of you. You feel so relaxed in your alcoholic buzz that you don’t realize what is happening to you or around you. You don’t hear the confusion and chaos of the bar patrons as they change into all kind of animals. Nor do you seem to be bother by the bar staff as they come in to take the newly changed bar patrons away to some unknown and hopefully happy fate of theirs. You find what’s happening around you and to you to be completely normal. Nothing for you to really worry about. Oh, yeah, nothing to worry about.
"I’ll have another Red Dog beer, please." You ask the bartender.
"That good, huh?" He asks you with another of those friendly smiles of his.
You nod your head as if you are in a trance. You begin to sweat heavily as the bartender hands you your second mug of beer.
"Got to take off my shirt." You think as you watch the bartender go about his business. "He’s certainly a nice fellow. I wonder if he’ll allow me to stay with him after he goes home for the day?"
You pull your shirt off, barely noticing the thick, rugged black fur spreading over your chest and down to your belly button.
Without really thinking about, your reach down and gently brush your fingers through the mass of shaggy fur. Your mind saying that you always had fur there and that it is no big deal if you hadn’t noticed before now.
"Well, I guess the saying is really true now. Beer does put hair on you chest and then some." The bartender remarks to you as he stands across from you.
Halfway through your second glass, you look up at him and smile. It is then that you feel your ears moving to the top of your head as they grow longer and pointy. Your tongue lengthens as you begin to pant contentedly from the pleasant buzz of alcohol and the pleasant attention you are receiving from the bartender. Flecks of your own drool drip to the bar table from your new canine tongue.
"You’re definitely right about that, my friend." You tell him between pants.