You yawn and smack your lips. You feel stiff and groggy. Is this a hangover? Are you drunk? No. Worse? Headache. Hard to think. Oh, booming voice.
It's uncle on the phone, "...well, no I cannot do that now, Mr. Damaclese, your assistant was insistent that I have the pup fixed. I explained that he would never be human again after his nuts were cut off. No, I was very clear, I repeated he would remain in canine form forever after being fixed. He never mentioned you wsnting me to change John back to be your eunuch houseboy. Now you can pickup your pup, when you like, but after I get the money. If you have a problem, it's with your assistant, and you told me to follow his instructions. What do you mean you will think about it?!"
CLICK.
Wait a minute. You're John, but you're not a dog. You open your eyes, and see your furry paws. There is a plastic cone around your head. You try to stand. Your four legs are wobbly. The cone makes it hard to turn your head. You want to lick your sore balls, but you cannot. Maybe they're not there? You notice a mirror on the wall behind the door. You nose the door part way closed to see your reflection. There is a bandage between your furry thighs. Damn, he really fixed you, and now you're a dog forever.
You hear your uncle muttering, "first rule of custom orders get the money up front. Grr."
The door swings open. You yelp and jump back from the mirror.
"Oh, John, didn't know you were up," uncle says in a forced happy tone, "ah, you were admiring your fine canine body in the mirror. You are a handsome dog, yes you are."
He turns to face Bruno, who had silently followed him into the room. He is silent and hunched in a sulky manner.
"Bruno, John's bladder must be full. Take him walkies."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir," he yaps, and leaps to action. He grabs a leash off a hook on the wall and fastens it to your collar.
He pulls on the leash saying, "Come, John!"
Once outside, and clear of uncle's place, Bruno begins to talk and talk.