literature

Built to Serve

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Literature Text

What am I doing here? I'm here for animal testing. I really thought I was done with it, but it seems to be my fate now.

It all began a year ago innocently enough. You see, when you live in the city with the highest dog per captia in the world, you need to either learn how to live with them, or move away. Now, I didn't personally have a problem with canines, but they seemed to not like my scent or something. Every dog who noticed me would either snarl or cower in fear. I've been chased up a tree on more than one occasion. Other than that, this is a nice place to live. I really didn't want to move away, so when a research opportunity came to study those with such complications, especially when it came with pay, I seized the opportunity. Even just knowing someone cared enough to fix the problem brought comfort.

So, I went to the lab and met several others in the same predicament. The doctor took a sample of blood, testing the the hypothesis that something in there was at fault. Then, to confirm that dogs hated us, we were each given an opportunity to "attempt not to get bit." I lasted seventeen seconds, slightly worse than average. I admit being concerned that we'd need to repeat those trials multiple times in the name of science. Fortunately, there were dozens of us, so no one had to "pet" the dog more than once.

Then came the real test, the purpose of calling in human subjects. We were told that they were testing a drug that should reduce the aggressive reaction from dogs. I didn't care that much about the science behind it, but basically they were going to inject a serum in our bloodstreams to reduce the anti-dog antibodies. They admitted not being entirely sure what would happen, but if everything went according to plan, when we returned to the dogs an hour later, they should be much calmer around us. Naturally there would be risks since we were the first people to try it, and while the simulations done were promising, reality could be completely different.  

Anyways, after the injection, we waited in the lounge until it was time for the next phase. Within a few minutes, most people complained about an itchy arm and the spreading rash around the injection site. I got to experience severe overheating instead, complete with shaking and a migraine. I yanked off my sweat-drenched shirt, white hairs escaping from every pore. I screamed as my face melted, growing into a muzzle. I writhed myself off the leather chair, joining the moaning creatures on the carpet. Had I been able to concentrate, I would've removed my pants. Instead, I had to deal with fur being caught and yanked by a zipper. Only when I freed myself of these clothes could I admire my new body, a bipedal arctic wolf. Other former humans began to rise as well, each examining the paws of their new canine forms. No longer plagued by itchy fur, a few sought other needs, inquiring about a meal. My coat, by far the thickest, wouldn't grant me relief in this heat. I'm sure it was supposed to be comfortable for the furless, but for me, I became chained to the water cooler. It helped a little, but as I drank, I couldn't help but feel the need to mark territory. Other wolves followed suit and after a few snarls, we fought over shredded chairs in that tiny room. I've yet to actually receive the one I rightfully one though.

Once certain the drug had taken affect, we were called in, one by one, for the next round with the dogs. In my case, there were typically two types of reactions. Large breed dogs tended to be confused by the even larger dog standing on its hind legs. When we approached each other, we greeted as friends, playbowing and chasing each other. The German Shepherd took a little more convincing than the others, but she was my favorite. I wanted to adopt her, but I knew I shouldn't when I was still adjusting to my new form. The other type of response came from the smaller dogs. They yipped constantly, displaying their fangs from a safe distance. None of them made any serious attempt at my pelt, especially when I growled back, but unfortunately that meant the injection wasn't a complete success for me. The scientist thanked me for not grabbing those puny pups with my fangs and hurling them across the room. If any hadn't listened to my warning, I would've.

I didn't learn about what happened with everyone else until they published the results a week later. While they expected the wolves to connect better with the domesticated wolf, the dogs generally enjoyed the foxes more. On the other paw, the foxes had several instances of being hunted by those dogs. One of them needed corrective surgery on the lower spine and tail. That being said, no one was worse off as far as canine interactions were concerned.

This all occurred last August, and no longer being human has since brought a lot of changes to my life. Perhaps the most noteworthy changes came with my meals. High quality meat, particularly the kind designed for humans with the quantity required by wolves, proved far beyond my means of income. Leaving the city for the country to hunt my own meals defeat the purpose of the experiment anyways. Although several canines did enjoy weekend hunts, my bright, white fur failed to disguise me during the autumn months. By the time winter arrived, I had already gotten used to exotic animal feed. With all the comments I wrote back, they soon hired me to help taste test their products. My neighbors, especially their huskies, thanked me for the improvements. They even ceded me their territory.

As it turns out, this expanse proved quite a boon during the winter months. For that matter, everything went better for me in this season. Finally my fur served the purpose of warmth without heat exhaustion. Within my den, I saved so much money on heating costs. While there were other canines who enjoyed the snow, most had to retreat when they got cold, but I never did. With everyone else cooped up, I felt like I owned the city. Well, I didn't. The wild dogs in particular couldn't stand the cold, but when I investigated a car crash from the icy roads into one of their homes, they fought back and stole my kill. They claimed that they were responsible and thus owned the meat. I made the mistake of harassing them further and suddenly a rainbow of colors swarmed at me. I fled home and thanks to my gorgeous pelt and expansive property, I had plenty of places to hide among the snowbanks.

Unfortunately, it wasn't to last. Spring arrived when warming temperatures and melting snow. Like most canines, I shed profusely, but I couldn't vacuum it. Every time I tried, I just couldn't bring myself to turn on the machine. It's like I knew it would make my skin crawl. I suppose that with my species, it'd be more appropriate to refer to it as raising my hackles. At least I could sweep up most of it, but no matter how much I tore off, my spring pelt wasn't getting any thinner. Even when I shaved it, my fur just grew back, thicker than before as I'm doing battle against myself and losing.

My problems compounded when my natural shedding slowed, yet my itching hadn't. When claws drew blood, I knew I needed help. The researcher who injected me referred me to a veterinarian who informed me of this year's flea and tick infestation, the worst one in decades. She gave me some shampoo that should kill most of the bugs, but I'd need to shave and comb my fur to find all of the eggs. Naturally I snarled my frustration to her concerning my rapid hair growth. I didn't think my growls were all that threatening, but we argued, and I'm pretty sure she removed her arm from my fangs after I was sedated.

Anyways, with the cost of my flea medication, combined with my high protein diet and rising costs of running maximum AC, I needed to find a second job, especially before the summer heatwaves attacked. I had missed my opportunity to become a movie star. Granted, the part was for a coyote, but with a little fur paint, I could probably have passed for one. Besides, it's not like the general audience could tell the difference. While the writing was terrible, I suppose I should take comfort in knowing that at least they hired someone with decent acting talent. The humans were forgettable, but the trickster took to the role, messing with the scenery constantly. Apparently, during production, the coyote changed so many things in not entirely obvious ways, like a chair that appeared normal, but collapsed when someone sat in it. Food that was supposed to be eaten on film got replaced by wax versions or something with a putrid taste. My favorite part of the movie has to be the romantic scene where you could just feel the terror in the lead actor's eyes, that fear of knowing something isn't what it appears to be yet not knowing where the deception is.

In the over-saturated market of reality television, another wolf became a vital part of a survival themed competition. I haven't seen every episode, but it's been a pleasure to watch. I doubt it will be back for another season though. Everyone was so enthusiastic initially, but I picked up on a few changes. During the challenge of reconstructing the eliminated contestants, merely observing how much flesh remained was enough to determine the order they left the show. The growls also elicited screams from the humans, but I could tell the carnivore was getting bored. When I compared him to episode one, he was also getting rather fat. Poor thing.

I did find work, again with animal testing, which bring me today. If what I'm doing is terrifying, you'll have to be patient. This wooden chair rubs my fur the wrong way. I fan myself with the clipboard because the air conditioning is broken and I can't take off my winter coat. If you see me pull blood from my pelt or hear me growling, it's because these bugs are eating me alive! Humans and canines alike have stared at me during my suffering. I know the other dogs are plagued as well, or else they wouldn't be seeking relief here, but I seem to be the only one who can't stop whimpering. On most days, everyone gives me a wide birth, but one time, when I was chewing my arm, I felt a cold nose rub brush against my fur. When I glanced to my companion, my own tears flowed. That greyhound had so many sores and he seemed to be begging me for help. I embraced him, returning the comfort he offered, the only move most humans can do. And canines, they're forced to endure the insects and disease, hoping to outlast those tiny monsters. But me, I'm neither just a human nor just a canine. I'm both!

I just hope that this medical trial goes better for me this time. Rather than just make friendlier to dogs, I'm hopeful for a drug that will repel all bugs. We were all grateful that I could express what I'm feeling, any side-effects I'm experiencing, in much greater clarity than other dogs. Yet, as a wolf, I should respond similarly to those this medication is intended for. Well, whenever I tried it, all of the insects died, but they'd return in full force within a day. More embarrassingly, and the main reason why it hasn't been produced for the general public yet, the injection keeps knocking me out. Apparently, beagles have a higher drug tolerance, but there is still concern about the dosage being too strong for other dogs. Eventually I will be given a collar to help monitor my blood system and automatically administer more protection from future infestations, but for now, I have to keep submitting myself to treatment. I know that in the end, I will have helped my four-legged-brethren.

Anyways, they're calling me in so I must be off. Wish me luck.
Contest entry for, :iconwerewolvesatheart:  The theme is Professional Werewolf.

What do they exist for, but to serve.
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PieIsAGamer's avatar
This was a good story! Nice job dude!