You look yourself over again, thoroughly humiliated, reflecting glumly on the full power of the "magic trick" you mocked the witch for earlier. Your black and white spotted fur covers almost every square inch of your skin, a pair of fuzzy ears hang over the sides of your head, your tongue slowly drips dog drool as it hangs from your open mouth, and now you even have a tail hanging limply over your waste band. You try your hardest not to move it: you don't want to be reminded that it's there.
You moan softly, fighting impulses that your new body is giving you. It's so tempting, with your new sense of smell, to wander around sniffing everything in sight, exploring where some of these scent trails lead, maybe even check out some of the unfamiliar odors wafting in from outside. But that's what DOGS do, and you don't want to be a dog. It's tempting, with your new sense of hearing, to lash out loudly at the animal sounds around you, the high-pitched squeaking sounds in the walls, the car sounds outside and especially the dog sounds that are probably coming from miles away. But that's what DOGS do, and you don't want to be a dog. It's especially tempting to take off your underwear and start peeing in different parts of the barn (an urge that's never occurred to you before), just so you can smell your own urine in here with all the other urine smells. But (YUCK!) that's what dogs do, and you DON'T want to be a dog!
And yet you ARE a dog, at least very nearly. You're basically a slightly humanoid Dalmatian at this point, desperately clinging to the hope that the "slightly humanoid" part won't vanish in the next few minutes.
Cue the abdominal pain as the curse flares up again. You don't even fight the impulses to yelp and tuck your tail between your legs (these come too suddenly and automatically). You do burn with shame as a tingling feeling washes over your genitals and all sorts of weird shifting feelings happen inside your underwear. Oh no, oh NO!
"This is the last straw," you think, whimpering as you pull down your underwear--your last article of clothing--to check out the damage.
You immediately release a long, moaning howl seeing the black and white sheath hanging from your lower belly and the fuzzy scrotum under it. You've inevitably witnessed, in passing, what male dogs have between their hind legs, but never never really bothered to notice. The slow changes you witnessed on your own crotch at puberty once seemed like part of what it means to become a man. Like a good man, you always kept those special human parts carefully tucked away except for very special moments with very special humans. Now they are gone, replaced by what a dog never bothers to hide.
You hate the sound of your own howl. You hate that you can't form words anymore or even a human scream. But staying quiet just won't do. Your hands and feet may be human, but you're not sure you feel like one anymore.