I opened my eyes. My head hurt.
I remembered running. A lot of running. And whiffs of strong smells and tastes.
I tried to sit up and realised I couldn't. I was stunned for a moment when I noticed I was a dog. Then the memories came back.
I was surrounded by easily a dozen other dogs. All different breeds, all shapes and sizes. A greyhound, a spaniel, an alsatian, even a poodle. All
strays. We were sleeping in a bit of a pile in some sort of cave. I could see brick and smell exhaust fumes, so I knew I was still in the city.
I had met the dogs last night and they'd let me join their pack. We had run across the whole town, eating scraps, starting fights, finding new
places. The whole night was a bit of a blur. I felt as if I'd been drinking, but it was all just an adrenaline high. I was still exhausted, so I let my
head fall back onto the belly of the alsatian. I felt one of them lick the top of my head.
Then a stray remnant of my human mind hit me like a bullet. I had work that day, nine 'til three. Who knew how long I'd slept?
I leapt up and trotted outside. The cave transpired to be the arch between two struts of a disused, collapsed footbridge in the park. The trees
were thick here, so perhaps this had been forgotten about. I didn't hesitate though. The sooner I discovered where I was, the sooner I could
figure out how to get home.
But as I dashed away, I discovered I wasn't alone. My leaving had roused the other dogs, who were following me.
I barked at them, trying to get them to leave me alone. "It's been fun," I tried to communicated, "But I'm not part of your world any more."