Horrified at this sudden decrease in age, you grasp the collar of the dress and attempt to remove the article of clothing. Pulling off the dress, you notice your chest has completely flattened and that the diaper has now somehow been put onto you.
As the Vixen that you've become continues to assert it's self, you find yourself growing younger by the minute. Backwards you go, descending through kit-hood towards indisputable infancy.
As you stand in front of the mirror, watching the changes complete, a fleeting thought races through your head. "If I was human, I'd probably be about one to two years old." But before you can reason it out, it is gone and your are left with the feeling that your age is more closer to being one to two months in hybrid measurements.
As you stare at yourself, holding the dress in your left paw, the door opens and a fox-woman coos, "Vicky, does the dress fit?"
Yipping in alarm, you feel your bladder let go and a warmth spread between your legs as you pee into the diaper. Seeing your distress at her sudden appearance, she lovenly apologizes and attempts to hug you.
Something in your mind, a very far off voice that is growing dimmer, tells you to fight, but you just surrendered into the womans hug.
Lifting you, she wrinkles her snout as she quietly soothes you and carries you out into what you can see is a department store. A fox-man is looking through a cart as you and the woman approaches and she says, "Todd, Vicky had an accident. I'm going to take her to the changing rooms over by the bathrooms."
The fox-man nods as the woman grabs an oversized bag filled with wipes, diapers, bottles, formulas and all manner of stuff used to take care of an infant. Stepping back into the changing room you were just in, she squats down and picks up something you can't see. Tossing the dress to fox-man, she moves across the department store and takes you into a new set of changing rooms.
Immediately your knew canine senses are over come with various aromas and you sneeze as you breath in to much of what smells like baby powder.
The woman says, "Bless you," and takes you across the room.
Twisting your head you see a fold-down changing table with a picture of hybrid human panda lying on it's back. You are moved suddenly through the air and then set down onto the changing table.
As your mother, for that is what you realize she is, removes your diaper and turns to throw in the garbage can, the door opens and an otter-woman walks in holding a male whelp of about three.
Nodding to this otter-lady, your mom turns back to you. Removing the wipes, she spreads your legs, something that bothers you only a little, and gently starts caresses your genitals until they are no longer smelling of urine. Setting the wipe down, she removes another towel and gently pats you dry.
With this complete, she turns and throws both towels into the trash can. Turning back to you, she removes some baby powder from the bag. Once again she spreads your legs and you can feel a cooling sensation as the baby powder is gently applied. Grabbing you gently around the ankles, she then lifts you up and applies some to you butt as well.
Letting you back down, she turns and puts the baby powder away and now pulls out a diaper, complete with designs of a kit in a pink ballerina costume along the waist band. Lifting your legs back up, she slides the diaper under you. Setting you down, she spreads your legs again and fits the garment so that it is pressed against your crotch. Pulling it tight, she fastens the sticky pieces on the side to the back of the diaper.
Picking you up, she whispers softly, "Now stand, arms up."
With out really thinking about it, you comply and a short sleeved shirt is placed over your head, past your snout. Your arms arm inserted into the garment and the woman says, "Arms down please."
Producing a pair of small denim jeans, complete with a hole in the back for your tail, the woman then puts you into them.
Picking up the diaper bag, she then picks you up. Without thinking about it, you clutch to her chest and she hugs you gently in a protective fashion.
As you leave the changing room to go find your dad, a small voice asks, "How are ever going to get out of this one?"