Ashmael continued to sniff and listen for any sign the genie might still be in there. But the longer he waited, the less evidence he could detect that the genie had ever been in there, or even his human self for that matter. He eventually stopped barking because he could hear every tenant in the neighborhood complaining about the stupid dog outside waking them up. He had to face the fact that everyone who heard his cries for help only heard him as just another animal nuisance. Waiting for the genie was fruitless: he knew she owed him nothing; he was nothing more than an arrogant mortal who had foolishly failed to capture for his own selfish gain. His ears drooped and his tail went limp; he felt all numb inside as the truth came crashing down on him that his human existence was truly gone forever.
'It's not fair!' he thought, pushing himself off the front door and catching himself with his front paws, their pads plopping onto the ground like tiny cushions. 'I studied all the old legends and spied on that old man for years. I should have known better! I should be rich by now!'
But he wasn't. He craned his neck back and took his first real look at the new form he was stuck in. His first thought was that it smelled like dog. It would soon become apparent to him that it smelled different from all the other dogs, who all smelled different from each other. He looked at his short-toed paws and decided they looked to small to hold him up, if he thought about it, but they didn't seem to be having any trouble so far. He looked at his furry belly and hoped the guts inside it were up to the task of whatever he'd have to eat and drink as a dog. Dangling underneath it, he saw his unseemly sheathed penis, which seemed larger than his old one but was definitely not designed for human intimacy. He'd never have clothes to hide it again, only the thick furry sack of belly skin that was keeping it warm from the night air. Those balls back there behind it were made for siring a litter of puppies, not fathering a daughter or a son. The many women he'd been wooing would look for some other man's maleness to tinker with under the moonlight, and his wife would be saved the trouble of going through with that divorce she threatened him with from time to time.
The tail hanging down with his rear legs disgusted him, so he raised it up and got it out of his sight. A silly-looking thing that lowly canines tuck away in fear or wave around to beg for a treat was not a thing that belonged on the rear of Ashmael bin-Talani, millionaire-in-the-making. But he couldn't run away from it forever, he knew: this one very prominent part of being a dog would quite literally follow him wherever he went. Ashmael relented at took his first calm, honest look at his least human appendage. Its width was tapered, at his short brown fur gave it a thin, pointy look. There was a slight bend in it that gave it a smooth curve when he held it straight. In contrast to the roles and obligations he'd given up, this was the one new responsibility that turning into a dog he had given him: a new body part to find uses for and keep out of harms away, like the others. In fact, it was something of a relief to have an extra limb that wasn't stuck holding up his weight like his arms were now. Of course, it wasn't going to be useful for much of anything except giving away how he felt, no matter how inconvenient or embarrassing that may be. It already seemed to be doing a pretty thorough job of that, he realized with a growl, thinking back to how he'd literally tucked tail in front of the genie.
The floppy ears were going to be an annoyance, he told himself, but at least he didn't he didn't have to see those. That giant bulge in front of his face, though, was never going away. He crossed his eyes to squint at it, seeing its darker fur and marveling at the number of smells that would fit even inside this much larger nose of his: all the smells it had stored from inside the backroom of the shop during the change, and all the smells out here that were begging him to go sniffing down the darkened street even now. He still didn't realize (couldn't realize) just how much his nose was going to dominate his new life. The onslaught of smells that would occupy his days and nights had just begun a few minutes ago. The places he knew by sight and sound were still more numerous than the two he knew by scent... but that would change.
'A damned cur,' he thought dejectedly. 'A black-mouthed cur. For the rest of my life, as far as I know. Wait, how old am I in dog years?! Is it wishful thinking for me to have at least a few years left?'
Some loud sounds and an unfamiliar canine scent reached his nostrils, and he looked down the street to see two boys out for a late-night walk with their black lab retriever. They fed it little pieces of dried meat which it scarfed down eagerly, wagging its tail in the night. The smell of the meat made Ashmael's mouth water even from the far end of the street. His belly rumbled, and for the first time he found himself envying the status and lifestyle of a slobbery-mouthed house-pet. He sure was at the bottom rung of the ladder now! So much for owning slaves and another man's life savings. For now, his next big break would be his first morsel of whatever a stray dog could round up to eat out here.