"A dog by day, and a werewolf by night?" you say shaking your head, "I applied to be a policeman, not police dog. I'm taking this stuff back."
You don't bother to seal the box, but walk straight over to the police station. The station is only a block away housed at the "Civic Centre" along with the fire department, animal control, and city hall. You march into to the station and set the box down on the desk sergeant's desk.
He looks up at you, and asks, "Yes? What can I do for you today?"
"I got this box delivered to me, and I'm returning it to you," you say.
"Returning it to me?" the sergeant says in a confused voice.
At this point a burly young officer intercedes, "Sgt. Clancy, I recognize this, it's for our canine unit. Please come with me, sir, and we'll take care of the necessary documents - uh, for returning the box. Please bring the box and follow me, sir."
"Okay, you know I applied to be an officer not a dog," you say.
Clancy rolls his eyes, and he mutters, "Typical bureaucratic blunders, a guy applies to join the police force and the send him a canine kit."
As the officer leads you back down a hallway, you hear barking getting louder. He seems like a nice guy, and says to you a strong reassuring masterful voice, "I'm so glad you followed the instructions on the letter. Obedience is very important for a police officer or a police dog."
"Now this won't adversely affect my application to be an officer will it?"
"Oh, not at all. You know only one in twenty million people have the right make up to participate in the program. Perhaps if I explain it all to you, you might reconsider?"
"No officer, the idea of being a police dog part time, or even an anthropomorphic wolf part time is kind of intriguing, but I like being human."
"I understand perfectly," the officer says in a reassuring voice as he sits down at a desk. There is no chair for you to sit in. He shuffles some papers on his desk, while you stand there holding the box.
He clips a some paperwork to a clipboard, and hands it and a pen to you. His desk is covered with papers, so you balance the box on your knee while you sign the documents.
"Okay, is that it?" you ask.
"Almost, now all we need to do is wipe your memory."
"Is that safe?"
"It's required, unless you want to put the collar on right now."
"Well, okay," you say tentatively as he sets the box down next to his desk. He leads you over to a metal cabinet, which he opens.
Inside the cabinet is 3x6 shiny metal panel with painted footprints on the floor in front of it. There is a small monitor and keyboard attached the black metal panel to the the shiny metal panel.
"Step inside and put your back to the panel," he commands.
You nervously climb onto the platform in the cabinet and lean back against the wall. The officer pushes a button.
"Is this going to hurt?" you ask.
"Maybe, but if it does you won't remember it. In fact you won't remember ever being human. I've always wanted a dog," he continues.
"What? But-" you try to move forward but somehow you're unable to move your body away from the panel. It's like static cling or magnetism or something. "Wait! You can't do this to me, I don't want to be a police dog! This is illegal! Help--uhhhh," your tirade stops after the officer types a few more commands into the machine. You stand there drooling staring blankly.
"Sorry, but do you know how hard it is to find one in 20 million? Now you're still you, but in a few minutes, you won't even remember being human. Now let's get your collar and scissors."
HELP, screams your mind. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME, CAN IT?
The officer returns, you notice his name badge says, "Malloy." You're definitely complaining to his superiors when you get out of here - if you get out of here.
Your eyes widen as he stoops down and starts to cut your trousers along the seam. In a few minutes you are naked with the cut remnants of your clothing stuck between you and the metal panel. He even cut up your leather shoes and socks to expose your nakedness. Now he's fastening that collar around your neck.
"You know it would've been easier if you'd just accepted the collar," Malloy continues. "Now I have to deposit you in animal control for two weeks, then when no one claims you, I'll adopt you, and collect the stipend you would've gotten as a police dog. Still your loss is my gain, even if it is a bit of a hassle."
As the collar seems to tighten around your throat, you feel some odd stirrings in your body. Then you get terribly itchy all over. The bastard Malloy is now videotaping you. You realize to your horror that you really are changing into a German Shepherd (Alsatian). Your legs ache as your hips reshape, the standing human position is no longer natural for you. Hairs sprout all over your body. You feel a tail pushing downward from your spine and between your butt cheeks. You manage a yelp as your jaws thrust forward to form a snout. It takes a painful twenty minutes for your canine transformation.
At last the pain becomes only the discomfort of your position after the canine transformation.
The officer makes a couple adjustments to his control panel.
You suddenly are able to bark angrily, but you can no longer form words. You snap your jaws at him as he proceeds with his actions at the control panel.
"Tch, tch, now boy, what should I call you," he says thoughtfully. "Ah, I know, Buck!"
He makes an adjustment on the controls.
Your self image is changing, as you struggle to remember your name and image, you are horrified as you realize that you only are able to think of yourself as Buck and as a dog. You start to growl.
"Well, bye, bye, human, hello, doggy, oh, and by the way, you'll now think of me as master. I suppose I should give you something to sniff as I ingrain your master's scent in your brain."
He goes over to his desk and pulls a gym bag out, and pulls out a dirty jockstrap. He sniffs it and crinkles his nose. Then he comes over and shoves it in your face. For some reason you pause and sniff the object. He presses a button and you suddenly find the scent intoxicating, and bury your snout deep into the dirty jockstrap. One word or rather image forms in your mind as you sniff. It is the image of your master Officer Malloy.
Suddenly, everything goes black. When you wake up, Master Malloy is standing over you attaching a leash to your collar.
"There, Buck, you're fine."
You answer with a happy bark, and get up and lick Master Malloy's face playfully.
"Good boy, I took care of the paperwork while you were sleeping. You won't have to spend two weeks in the pound after all. My buddy there pre-dated your collection date, so you're officially adopted, but now I've got to take you over there for the required shots and neutering."
"Arf?" you ask. Neutering does not sound like a good thing.
"Oh, don't want to be neutered?"
You shake your head no silently but firmly communicating.
"Well, it's four hundred dollars more if I don't have you neutered," he says apologetically. Then his eyes brighten, "Ah, but maybe I have some extra cash." He walks over to the cabinet. There is a pile of shredded clothing on the floor of the cabinet. He searches the debris and pulls out a wallet. "Bingo!"