I'm trapped inside a horrible Disney ...

A Dog's Life

    I'm trapped inside a horrible Disney movie. If your thinking "Shaggy Dog," you're barking up the right tree.
    I noticed it first that morning in my legs. They felt suspended and thin. I rolled over with unusual difficulty but drifted again back to sleep. The clock kept ticking. It sounded broken, like the motor was moving a two-by-four instead of second hand. I tried to cover my ears and that's when I completely freaked out. I spasmed wildly, throwing myself out of bed head first. I lay on the floor stunned. I felt a bizarre ridged feeling that traveled somehow beyon my spine; my mouth felt hot, like I had a warm sponge jammed in it. My lower leg began to twitch in a passive circle almost on its own.
    Sasha, my dog, ran around the bed and froze at the sight of me. She doubled in size; a low growl, as overpowering as a sub-woofer, filled my ears.
    "Sasha! Quite!" my wife yelled into her pillow. "Baby, what are you doing?"
    "Baby?"
    Why was she still talking into her pillow?
    Her head peaked over, she screamed, jumped off the bed, into the bathroom and locked the door, sobbing. I could hear her calling for me but everything sounded garbled except for Sasha's bark which exploded into a cacophony of agitation. I didn't know what to do. I kicked violently and managed to right myself which frightened Sasha and sent her to the other side of the room. I managed to stand up on all fours but found myself facing the wall with little room to navigate in the space beside our bed. I awkwardly spun around which introduced me to my tail. It swished happily at the recognition.
    The bedroom suddenly felt like a series of rooms and hallways. Around the corner, Sasha clawed at the door to escape me. Thank God we bought a sissy lab and not a pit-bull. I lowered my head and tried to think about keeping my ears down. It felt really weird. I approached her slowly and she peed on the floor, exactly what I was hoping to avoid. The smell was instant and solid as a wall. I contorted my face violently trying to block the assault. Stupid. I should have let her come to me. But my wife was still calling for me from the bathroom on the other side of the bed. Since going around the bed was now out of the question, I suddenly realized I could go over it.
    Getting my wife out of the bathroom took a while. Learning to accept my transformation took even longer. After numerous vet visits, a missing persons investigation, a chaotic media circus that eventually dwindled, the issue eventually settled down. We decided to let most people think I'm missing.
    I probably have only eight years to live which will be shortly after I'm declared legally dead. But we work it out the best we can. Thankfully, she's stayed with me even though a number of guys have tried to hit on her on our walks. I let them know they're not welcome, and she pats my head and shows them her wedding ring. Mine is attached to my collar. It isn't easy for either of us and I sometimes have to fight against some rather bizarre urges which I won't go into here.
    As a dog, life isn't too bad. No human will ever understand how amazing it feels to run across a field with four legs at full tilt. Fire-hydrants work a lot like chat-rooms and car rides are like channel surfing on drugs. I do a lot of police-work for the state after we arranged a rather unorthodox contract and we sometimes travel to New York for the occasional acting gig. As far as food goes, well, I've always been easy to please.
    Not everything is easy: we switched doorknobs and lowered light switches; we had to put in carpet instead of linoleum; I have a skin condition that sucks. We do our best. Sasha and I get along okay, but remaining dominant around other dogs frightens me a little. Not because I'm scared of them but I don't like how I change. We keep me away from other dogs.
     Being a dog robs me of normal human interaction. I have difficulty understanding my wife and speaking is out of the question. Fortunately, I can still read so with the help of a floor computer and a custom keyboard, I remain fairly communicative. I've kept up a correspondence with Cesar Milan from "The Dog Whisperer" which has proven helpful in ways he does not expect. He thinks I'm a gifted trainer.    
     Would I go back to being a human if I could? Without question. My life isn't bad, but it's a dog's life.