Ethan leaned on the verandah railing a sighed a deep sigh. He was bored. Very, very bored. There was absolutely nothing fun to do, and nobody interesting to play with. He wished he could be someone else, somewhere else - anywhere had to be more interesting!
The family labrador, Dorothy, wandered around the corner into the front yard. She didn’t look bored, Ethan thought enviously. She looked happy and intensely interested in bugs and butterflies and flowers. Ethan sighed again.
“I wish I was a dog!” he said loudly to Dorothy, “You’re having so much fun!”
*tinkle!*
*ping!*
Ethan turned into a dog.
He froze, feeling different but not sure what on earth had happened. He was on all fours and his hands were paws, and his arms were furry and black. He looked behind him - there waved a thick black tail almost identical to Dorothy’s.
“WOW!” He barked happily. He ran down the stairs to the front yard, and tripped over his still-unfamiliar paws.
“Eurgh - OUCH!” he growled. Once he’d righted himself and licked off the blood - ewww, hairs on his tongue! - he bounced away to play with Dorothy, who was intently watching a bee pollinate a flower in the garden. Dorothy turned around, saw him and growled. Then she bit him.
“ARGH!” yelled Ethan, “Dorothy, it’s me!”
Dorothy growled again and bared her fangs.
Ethan, panicking at the idea of his buddy wanting to eat him, ran to the fence and jumped it, smacking a hind paw into the palings as he went. Man, this four-legged thing was harder than it looked! Outside and safe from Dorothy, he sat down to count his woes. A graze on his shoulder from falling down the stairs, a bite that seeped blood and hurt like hell, and a bruised paw. He tried to walk without hurting any of them - and fell over again.
Ethan rolled onto his tummy, head on his front paws, and thought. Life as a dog maybe wasn’t as fun as it looked. And his neighbourhood smelt bad through his new nose.
He sighed and sat up. An itch started at the back of his neck, and he scratched reflexively with a back foot. Then the flea bit him hard. Then the other twenty fleas joined in. Ethan scratched madly in as many places as he could reach, but his skin just seemed to hurt and itch even more.
“I don’t want to be a dog!” he howled mournfully, “being a dog SUCKS!”
A little elderly woman approached him and said sternly, “Howling in the middle of the footpath! Some of us are trying to walk! What a rude little hoodlum!” … and smacked him on the arm with her handbag. He yelled - then realised that he was once again standing on his own two feet! He danced back and forth and cheered happily, forgetting the cranky woman standing before him. She took offense at the levity and hit him again.
Ethan giggled, danced down the street, and ran into his own house. A few minutes later, he was sitting out in the yard under a tree, Dorothy’s head on his knee, reading a book. He’d vowed never to whinge about being bored again. And to give Dorothy a flea bath tomorrow.
Subscribe by email
