Lamont trotted down the side of the highway on is four legs, just as he had for the past half hour or so. He didn't understand how he could really be a wolf now, but the patter of his broad paws on the wet asphalt, its moisture tickling his sturdy pads along the way, constituted a persistent and inescapable confirmation. Every click of his claws against a hard surface was like the bang of a judge's gavel reminding him of his permanent sentence. His bushy tail he still felt dangling along behind him was like a ball and chain.
It just wasn't fair! All he'd done was go after his step-son--who deserved to be punished severely for his little stunt of running away, by the way--and tried to put that meddling busybody in her place like he would anyone else who questioned his fitness as a father, or as a man. How was a guy supposed to keep control of his household without tough words and a strong fist? Especially when he was anchored down with his greedy wife's weak, womanly son that he thought was probably gay and still wasn't tough enough take his punishments like a man. It's survival of the fittest out in the real world, and the better man always wins. How could it be, that this time, the better man was a crazy old lady with funny-looking stick?
Now Lamont was having to face the fact that he was never going to be a man again--never win another bar fight, never earn another dollar, never show his woman who's boss, never drink another beer or watch another game, never get his annoying step-son under control, never wear pants or boots or other clothes again. He'd never even see his balls again or pop another boner!
Getting evicted from Circe's mansion under threat of amnesia was about the lowest experience since the time he actually did spend a few months in jail on a domestic battery charge. "Fuckin' college-woosified judge with with cops at his beck and call," Lamont thought about that. "I'd've show him if I he'd met him one on one out in the street like a real man!" Circe's front yard was a lot louder and smellier when he came out than when he had gone in. He couldn't help but stop and pace a while, looking at his new body from different angles and desperately searching for some hint that it wasn't real. He was shocked by how easily his new body could bend and circle itself around now, but there wasn't anything comforting for him to look at when he got his face near his hind-paws or his rear parts. Finally getting a hold of his new tail by using his sharp teeth had been a wake-up call: he realized now that it was never coming off--at least not except maybe in some kind of painful mutilation someday--and incidentally he could finally relate to why Malt had always thrown such a fit whenever anyone pinched his dog tail just a little tightly by mistake.
Now here he was traipsing along the road buck naked in the foggy aftermath of a rainstorm. He would have been freezing if it weren't for his thick fur. He tried to ignore the cars that were passing; he knew they only saw him as a just another animal that they needed to slow down so they wouldn't hit him, and he knew they'd be more concerned about their damaged cars than his extinguished life if they did. He still refused to think of himself as a "she", but he couldn't stop smelling his new female anatomy behind him as he walked. It was pointless to stay here, on a human path back to somewhere into the human world. He turned off into the woods and took one final look back at the cars and trucks and motorcycles that he would never get another chance to drive. It was time to face his fate and find a decent place to try to build a new life as a wolf.