"Please!" Damon begged through what the witch could clearly see was a brown-and-black-furred dog muzzle. "Something's wrong! Call an ambulance!" Damon didn't care if he went to jail, just as long as he didn't die here in an old woman's living room that he'd broken into. His words didn't come out right, between his altered voice and tongue, but apparently he got his point across, because the old woman answered him:
"There's nothing an ambulance can do about my magic, dear," she said brightly. "Just try to stay calm while the spell finishes its work. Unless you still don't believe in real magic, I suppose."
Real magic? Could this be what Damon was feeling? Or had the witch secretly drugged him or started some sadistic occult mind-games against him? Regardless, he was starting to suspect that he had underestimated her, and that she may not have been as defenseless as she looked. It was at this moment that Damon's arm brushed his bare chest and thereby revealed that he was no longer wearing his clothes. He didn't even remember taking them off! He scanned the room but could not see (or smell) any part of his missing outfit. Unexpectedly baring his hairy chest and dangling his modest genitals in front of a stranger was a humbling experience for someone who had meant to terrorize a helpless female and take whatever she had.
"Don't worry about your lack of clothes," said the woman calmly. "Your new body won't be needing them, I assure you." To Damon's sensitive ears, it sounded like she was shouting through a megaphone.
Damon now believed for certain that this aged homeowner was in complete control of his situation. There was no other explanation. She seemed to know exactly what was happening to him, and she seemed to be enjoying it! She smelled as confident as she looked ... and Damon was as scared of her as he smelled! A chill ran down his spine from his head to his hips. His spine didn't stop at his hips, though, or at least the chill didn't. Instead, it triggered a new feeling somewhere out behind his butt! Something thick and furry bent between his legs to point in front of him. Damon gasped. His ears perked up. He reached for the furry, tapered object and yelped at the burst of sensation it gave him. He fumbled his hands gently over the length of this puzzling artifact, momentarily entranced by the feel of its thick black fur against his fingers, and moreso by the feel of his own touch upon something he now understood to be part of him. An experimental tug sent a sharp jolt of pain through the man's spine, and he wisely decided to leave the thing alone for the time being.
Taking his hands away from whatever he now had between his legs, Damon got a better look at their thinning length and the brown fuzz sprouting on the tops. His fingernails were turning black and seemed to be thickening, growing out to points beyond where they should have ended. The tip of his palm and the tips of his fingers were getting wider and puffier, and quite a bit darker, until they started to look almost like ... pawpads?
Damon perked his ears, widened his eyes, and looked up at the witch. She widened her own eyes in the most incredulous look she could muster.
"Have you really not figured it out?" she asked. He cocked his head to the side. She continued: "The paws, the nose, the panting, the colorblindness, the floppy ears, the waggly tail you can tuck when you're scared?"
Damon whimpered. He realized he didn't like where this conversation was going. A strange jolt through his backbone made him yelp and made it very hard to stand in his current position. He staggered around a bit and finally let himself fall forward, dropping his clawed paws with a "click" against the hard floor. The growth of more brown and mostly black fur along his torso made him start to pant again. The feel of his ankles getting lifted off the ground by his lengthening feed made him whine and tuck his tail even tighter! He looked back at himself, lifted his head, and howled from what he had seen.
"Now, now, it's not that bad," said the witch. "I could have turned you into a roach if I'd wanted, but the recent break-in made me realize I needed a new guard dog. Besides, if you break into enough homes, you've got to expect something like this to happen eventually. Come now, I'll take you out to your own special house I've conjured up for you, and your nice bowl of fresh water, and your very first dog toy to make you feel at home, and your ..." she kept droning on in her excited-old-lady voice while clamping a leash to the collar that had materialized around Damon's neck. He whined and tried to ignore her while she drug him out to the front yard with a force that outmatched even his tough Rottweiler body. Before Damon knew it, he was latched to a doghouse howling into the sky for someone, anyone, to hear him.