Ashmael looked down at his paws one more time, looked ahead into the dimly lit streets, and put his new footwear to use. He was surprised that walking around barefoot wasn't uncomfortable, especially with four feet. His pads did a really good job of keeping him cushioned without sacrificing his ability to feel what was beneath him. He wandered aimlessly for a while, not sure exactly where a recently created cur left behind by a genie was supposed to go. He thought about trying to go home, but his wife hated dogs, and he had no way to prove that he wasn't a real dog. Some of his mistresses were dog owners and dog lovers, but that didn't mean they'd react well to a random stray showing up. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to be seen by anyone he knew in this form, even though they wouldn't recognize him--indeed, precisely BECAUSE they wouldn't recognize him.
At first, he just looked around at the familiar buildings and listened to the surprising amount of things that were going on this late. The smells from every direction were really intense, though, moreso than anything he'd ever smelled in his life. With some reluctance at first, he soon found himself dropping his nose to the ground and sniffing like a ... well, like a dog! He even realized he was wandering in certain directions rather than others because the smells were more interesting where he chose to go. The first few times, he stopped himself and intentionally disobeyed his sensitive nose, still trying to consider himself above such pursuits. But with no really good reasons to go anywhere, not much to look forward to except whatever the more tantalizing smells might turn out to be, and all the time in the world to satisfy his curiosities, he eventually gave in and followed his nose. Before much longer, he'd crossed the line from accepting the advice a dog's muzzle could give him, to being dependent on it. He realized he was going in circles when he realized everything smelled the same, before he even looked up to see where he was. It was spooky, but navigating with his nose was irresistible by this point.
Soon his nose had brought him to a massive collection of food items, assembled from other food items and left outside with no other humans around. A warning deep in his muzzle advised him not to get too close, because not all dogs were welcome here, and those that were were friendly with the dog in charge. He had thoughts of either running away or trying to make friends with a certain large dog who didn't smell very friendly. But he thought that was silly--PEOPLE owned these places, not dogs, and he would NOT be seen asking looking to some DUMB ANIMAL for permission to do things!
The smells of the food got closer, and he soon found himself near a bunch of garbage bins. Old baked goods that could no longer sold were piled in bags, and so were half-finished meals from people who could afford to eat less than their whole meal. He sniffed and used his claws and teeth to rip open a bag. The disgusting slop that poured out made him realize just how far he had fallen, but his insistent snout and hungry belly made it so he couldn't turn back! There weren't words to describe his pleasure when he got his long muzzle down in there and the first mouthfuls started sinking toward his stomach. In his mind, he was smiling wider than any pair of lips could smile. In his rear, he could feel his hips swaying and his long tail swinging back and forth. This was easily the best meal he'd ever had, even if it should have been the most disgusting. If eating as a dog was this much better than eating as a human, his whole ordeal might be half worth it.
Of course, some worrying smells from the other dogs got closer, but Ashmael refused to give into that worry. It was only when he head the low growls coming from beside him that he pulled his muzzle out of his feast. The gruff-looking mixed breed hound and its two smaller companions started barking to chase him away. Ashmael was enraged and insulted. He'd chased off bigger animals from behind the old man's shop by pelting them with rocks. These scarred, diseased mutts were nothing to him. Having no superior way to express his superiority, he found himself growling along with them. He felt his tail lift straight up behind him, matching their own displays of dominance. That was the last straw, and the other dogs attacked!
Who won?