"I wish I was a famous movie star," he says.
"Your wish is my command, master!" you say wickedly and work your magic.
"Aaaaaaaaah!" screams your now former master as he clutches his abdomen and falls forward off the toilet on to the tiled bathroom floor. His insides are churning as his bones and muscles snap reshaping his bodies. His skin is crawling, it feels as if there are thousands of tiny insects crawling over his skin. His scream is distorted as his nose and jaw thrust forward. His pearly whites fall from his gums in a gush of blood clattering and splattering on the tile floor. His eyes are full of confusion and sadness as he turns to look at you.
You think those eyes are puppy dog eyes, and feel an odd mixture of compassion and irony.
A tail emerges from his towel wrapped waist, and long white and reddish brown hairs sprout all over his body. He's turning into a dog.
Then the room becomes transparent and then the world shifts. They're on a sound stage in Hollywood. A voice shouts.
"Cue Lassie!"
"Well, boy, you're one of Hollywood's most famous movie stars now, and you're a stud to boot, Lassie," you explain as the cloud of smoke envelops you and draws you back into the lamp.
The animal wrangler approaches, "Here boy, here, Lassie."
Your former master shrugs, and trots off toward his new master's voice.
Footsteps approach, and somebody says, "What's this doing here? It looks like it belongs on an Arabian Nights set, not in the Scottish highlands." Your lamp is hefted. Will this person rub your lamp or deliver you to the prop department?