You let your head lower to the ground and feel the waves of pain flowing though your entire body. You feel certain that several bones are broken, and at the least you've got some pretty bad bruises all over. A hand gently rubs between your ears, giving you small comfort as you whine quietly and involuntarily.
"Gene, he saved our little boy, we have to help him,' said the woman who owned the hand that was making him feel better. "We have to get him to a vet."
The husband kneels down next to you. "You're right. We owe him that much. Stay with him, I'll be right back."
You close your eyes, and are dimly aware of them rolling you slowly onto a blanket and lifting you into the back of an SUV. It isn't long before you're laying queitly on a metal table in a vets office, and you're in too much pain to care. It isn't long before you feel a slight prick in your hindquarters, and everything fades out.
You come around some time later, not really in pain anymore but still aching. It takes a while to figure out where and what you are. Slowly, the memories come back. You accidently on purpose turned yourself into a dog. Then while learning how to move around, you saved a child only to get hit by a car. Now, you're laying on a pad in a large wire cage, looking out at other kennels, some with dogs and cats, some empty. You have a cone around your head that's making it hard to take stock of how hurt you are, but you do sense bandages around your hindquarters.
It seems like it's the night shift, the office is very quiet, the lights low and a dusty window is dark. You hear a chair squeak in another room, figuring its a night worker. You tentatively tap at the cage door, causing it to quietly rattle. You hear someone come down the hall, and you see a tired man come into view, though he perks up when he sees you. "Ah, the hero is awake!" he says, opening the cage door and rubbing your head gently. "You're a really good boy, you know that? A really good boy." He closes the cage and makes some notes, while you groggily lay back down and doze off again.
The next day, you're allowed out of the cage to go to the bathroom, or at least to use the small lawn in the back as a bathroom. You feel a bit self-concious about that, but no one knows you're not really a dog.
And why are you still a dog? It's been at least a day or two, maybe longer. Shouldn' the spray have worn off?
The staff give you some simple commands that you choose to follow. Might as well make them think you're a smart dog. When you're later back in your kennel, you overhear a couple of the staff. "No collar, no chip. He's not fixed. He looks like a mutt. I'd think he was a stray except he's trained."
"If we can't find an owner, the family that brought him in wants to keep him. They're paying the bills, so I don't see why not," said the other nurse. "He got off easy, too. Bruised pretty bad, but no broken bones. He'll have the collar off in a couple days. Then he can go to his new home."
You lay in your cage and wonder. Do you want to be a family pet? If you don't change back, then it's not the worst fate.