Pen in mouth, Jared studied the exterior wall of the doghouse. It didn't offer the best of writing surfaces, but it would have to do.
Of course, now he needed to compose a message. It couldn't be too wordy, but he needed to convey the full extent of his dilemma. The first word seemed obvious. Doing his best to manipulate the pen with his jaws, he scrawled a somewhat legible H on the wall as the beginning of the word "Help."
Dogs and ink pens, he soon discovered, had never been designed with the other in mind. Canine jaws were no substitute for opposable thumbs, but he pressed ahead with the motivation of his increasing desperation not far from his thoughts. He whimpered when he dropped the pen and had to retrieve it, but he remained focused. His rear swung from side to side in happy excitement as he made progress with the message.
"Help. Me Jared. Ask Kevin. He knows."
He backed off and studied his effort. It wasn't enough.
After the word "help" he inserted the phrase. "Not dog."
He was considered revisions when he heard an unwelcome laugh. "I knew when the first Sumerian picked up a reed and scribbled on that pathetic clay tablet that writing could be trouble," Wepwawet said upon reading the poorly executed words scrawled on the wall. "Well, not the most eloquent of messages, but I suppose you should be praised for the effort."
Jared barked agreement at that sentiment.
"But what do you think it will achieve?" The being asked.
Jared, now that he had to think on it, wasn't sure what his parents could do to help him. Take him to a doctor? Use a high-priced attorney to sue Wepwawet's sorry ass?
"The sad truth is that you, a human," the entity began, then paused and gave a critical look at his canine listener. "Well, within reason..."
Jared growled.
"It doesn't matter, you see," Wepwawet said. "I've told you this! You agreement was with the dog, and you'll have to convince him to rescind the deal."
Jared whimpered miserably. He'd let his hopes run away with him as he'd worked on his message.
"How is the new you?"
"Not me," he barked. "Me Jared."
"Such unfounded optimism," Wepwawet said. "I feel underwhelmed."
Jared whimpered. He had difficulty following the strange thing's words to him.
"You know, I think you deserve your chance," the entity said. "Who knows? I could be mistaken. It's never happened, but..."
Jared barked and he felt his tail wag. Wepwatet wasn't going to eradicate his hard work.
"It should be entertaining," Wepwawet said and contracted his presence until he vanished with a slight "pop" that left a trace of mildew and moldy plums in the sheepdog's sensitive nostrils.
"He wrong!" Jared thought to himself. "Someone help me."