Just Watch (Dog TF)

Story by Ashdoge on SoFurry

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A man at war with his own mental state embarks upon a chance encounter which might just re-frame his jaded perspective.


Just Watch

A quick check. Just one. Toby was trying to cut down, after all. There - all good. Phew. Everything is fine. He had plenty of time to spare. By his watch, he could happily sit and finish his coffee, perhaps even read one... two? One and a half more columns of his favourite political opinion pieces. He would need to be very selective as to which pieces to indulge - lest he end up kicking himself for the rest of the day. There was nothing worse than getting nearly to the end of an entire five or six-minute-long column, only to realise that you've heard it all before - or there's some baked-in undercurrent of bias that renders the whole thing pointless! He felt his breathing quicken as he pondered the inefficiency of such frivolous media consumption.

Calm. Calm down. Let the thoughts pass through you. Acknowledge them and then... they... just pass. His leg began to bounce, heel tapping against the foot-bar of his window-facing stool. Okay - one more check... Damnit. Only time for half a column now. This anxiety nonsense was the true enemy of efficiency, he thought.

It had started in the lead-up to Christmas, three years ago. The promenade was heaving with a menagerie of noise and cross-purpose. Smart-suited corporate high-rollers, their designer trench-coat pockets stuffed with a month's rent worth of superfluous trinkets and scents. Excitable young parents, ladies striding ahead - the promise of their children's joy driving them, while their beleaguered husbands dragged huge wedges of shopping bags behind. Know-it-all teens who careened around, having discovered the farce of it all, but remaining determined to milk it for all its worth. It was all - TOO - MUCH! Too much to take in.

Toby's head span as his gaze lingered on each face, a picture of society's conformity. The plastered smile across every set of lips a prison for the mind. He couldn't take it. All this rushing around. All this wanting and spending and using. All this expectation. Blackness.

He'd gone out to procure gifts for his family and friends too, as was the 'done thing'. But he fainted instead.

As he awoke, he felt different. Different and disconnected. He was bored. Deathly bored by everything that demanded his attention. He was listless, uninterested and uninteresting. This soon made him feel worried. About how others perceive him and about his transience in this world. He acknowledged the paradox of these concerns. What was the sense in getting worked up about what others think, when you only live once and not even for a particularly long time? Still - the nature of this new feeling within him was illogical and hence, could not be reasoned with through logic.

In the year that followed, Toby was diagnosed with anxiety, panic and depression. He developed a morbid infatuation with time. More specifically, with spending it efficiently. How, when there existed so few minutes in the day, could they be spent frivolously? Plans were made, calendars hung and routines established. Spontaneity had, mercifully, died. Any wasted second was another spent drowning in guilt.

He bought a watch. Much easier to flick your wrist than to reach into your pocket for a phone every few minutes. Punctuality was the friend of efficiency and stood him in great stead with others, he imagined. How could you expect people to receive you in good spirits, if you cannot be bothered to turn up on time?

Toby sipped his coffee and finished reading the third paragraph of the column. It was a good one - he'd picked well. Annoyingly well, as he'd have liked to finish reading it. A quick check... nope. No time. Perhaps later then. He had to get to his final appointment.

He was receiving cognitive behavioural therapy to combat his symptoms. And it had been helping, despite some resistance on his part. Felicia, his therapist, had suggested that he tries to reconnect with the world, albeit without any judgment. If he did not impose judgment on others, even internally, then he would surely be less likely to subconsciously impose his assumption of their judgment upon himself. It followed. She also said he should check his watch less often. He knew this to be true - it had become like a nervous tick. Every few minutes, though the urge was more frequent than that. It was rather disruptive. He was working on it.

Old snow crunched under Toby's trudging stride as the bitter afternoon droned on. He had always felt particularly bad during Winter and couldn't wait for it to end.

Arriving outside the usual crusty, drab re-purposed office block, he sighed. Typical that people who are already struggling with depression and a darkened view of the world would be sent to some place like this, he thought. No. Re-frame it. Nice that this lonely and discarded old building has been transformed into something which can help people who are struggling with life's pressures. Better. Okay.

He had the urge to check his watch. He had avoided doing so for the whole walk. With some hesitation, he flicked his wrist and glanced down. Five minutes to four. Right on time. He exhaled a large breath he didn't even remember inhaling, and entered.

"Oh! Hi there, sweetie!"

"H-hello?" Toby did not recognise the bubbly-voiced lady who greeted him. He looked around. He was in the right place. Second consultation room on the third floor, as normal.

"You must be my four-fifteen? I'm running a little late, would you mind waiting a second while I get set up?"

Flicking his wrist to check his watch, he knew it was four 'o'clock. Even so, he was making efforts to be nicer to people and decided to let it slip.

"Actually - I'm looking for Felicia? I have a... therapy session."

Toby hated himself a little for pausing awkwardly before the word 'therapy'. He knew that this wouldn't be picked up by the average person, but even so, it remained indicative of the stigma he attached to his own condition. Calm. Down.

"Oh, yes! Felicia does usually have this room - but she doesn't run this particular session. Oh, gosh. Sorry if reception got it muddled."

"So, you're taking this session, then?"

"Pardon me! I haven't even... my name's Belle."

Toby thought this was all a bit strange. That he hadn't heard from Felicia to say she wouldn't be attending their final appointment. That this strange and, evidently very disorganised, woman was here instead. He supposed that this was possibly the point of therapy though, to accept and adapt to the unpredictable circumstances of the world around you.

"Nice to meet you, Belle."

"Yes, you too..."

"...Toby."

"Lovely name. Have a seat over there."

Toby followed Belle's pointing finger to a fancifully embroidered armchair. It was crimson red, with a tasteful gold silk woven into the gothic patterning. The backrest extended up past any human head and the ornate wooden legs beset with curlicues were half-obscured by a pleated satin skirt. It didn't belong in this awful... aspirational building, at all. Toby took his comfortable seat and sunk down an inch.

"So, I thought it was great that this room became available. I just had to move us in here - much more space, you know?"

Toby watched as Belle scurried from end to end of the room with various carboard boxes full of god-knows-what. Space for... hoarding boxes?

"Uh - yeah."

"Right, good! This is your first time, obviously, so we'll take it slow... but I just want you to relax."

First time? Does she mean with her or... has the receptionist gotten it _really_muddled? Just accept and adapt. Calm.

"Uh-huh."

"Close your eyes and gently pop your arms onto the rests of your chair."

Toby followed the softly spoken instructions.

"Good. Now..."

Outside, in the dingy hallway, a twitchy man stood nervously peering through the wire-glass porthole of the empty room next to Toby's. A single-strapped bag flung over his shoulder was partially unzipped as if to suggest that it had been packed in a hurry. Through the open crevice, a creased drooping piece of leather and the metal catch of a leash glinted in the artificial light.

Toby drifted, feeling unusually contented. Where was his usual manufacture-line of concerns and worries? Why wasn't he drawing up mental blueprints of the exact actions he would take and when, preparing for the next few hours? He briefly thought to check his watch before letting that urge slip away.

This feeling was familiar. Just like before everything became too much to handle. He stared out over an open blue ocean of desires, plans, problems and fears. He floated there and knew he would need to face them - knowing, too, that the time would come for that. He didn't need to deal with it all now.

"Now."

Now?

"Five - beginning to wake."

Some unseen force plucked Toby from the open blue expanse of his mind, raising him up.

"Four - able to feel your body once more."

He began to flail as the liquid of his thoughts dripped from him and back down into the ocean beneath.

"Three - able to sense your surroundings."

He was dry... and warm... and comfortable.

"Two - you can open your eyes in readiness."

Beige walls filled his vision, the outline of a crouched figure blurry in front of him.

"One - fully awake, feeling refreshed and relaxed. Okay?"

Toby's eyes focused on... Belle. The woman he had only just met. He watched as she stood up and walked slowly over to the pile of cardboard boxes. He felt strangely at ease for a moment, before looking down at himself. He had practically become a part of the huge, extravagant armchair - sunken right into it.

"Err... Belle? What... time is it?"

"Oh, don't worry - you weren't out for long. It's..." She paused to check her slender-strapped watch. "...It's four forty-ish."

"It... can't be..."

Toby's head felt fuzzy and he struggled to concentrate as he began to panic. He lifted his arm, shocked at how long it took the muscles to respond. His watch said... four twenty-five.

"It isn't! It's four twenty-five! What have we been doing for twenty-five minutes?! Why don't I remember?!"

"Don't worry, it's normal to feel slightly disoriented. It'll pass."

"No! LOOK!"

Toby thrust his hand into his pocket, his muscles now charged with adrenaline as he felt the uneasiness building in him.

"Look at my phone! It says..." He stopped as he saw the phone lock-screen and compared it next to his watch. "It says... four forty-one... but..."

His mind ran rampant with rage and delirium as he sat frozen in the chair. His watch was... wrong. Fifteen minutes out. Since when? How long had he been operating under this ridiculous pretence?! So that means... he must have been late for Felicia's... Oh. NO.

Horror ran cold in his veins as he pieced together the mix-up. He wasn't meant to be here. He was late and so Felicia must have assumed he wasn't coming... and then Belle moved into this room for her client... and... what type of 'therapy' had she just administered to him?! Toby began to feel faint. He rose slowly from his chair. He had to escape.

"There's been a mistake Belle! I shouldn't be here. None of this is right. So, I'm just going to leave. Th-thank you anyway... but I'm..."

"Aww come on, this is the best bit - don't psych yourself out Toby!"

"I'm not... It's just that I was never meant to be... never mind. Good bye."

Toby patted his pockets, checking for each of his belongings and, holding his head tight, began for the door.

"Sit."

Toby felt something switch in his mind. He could picture the ocean again. Deep and fathomless. Before he knew it, his knees were bending. He felt it happening as he lowered to the ground.

With his butt perched roughly on his heels, he tracked his hand as it fell from his head all by itself, down to contact the ground - neatly next to the other.

"Stay."

Trying desperately to push off the ground with his legs. There wasn't even a tremor of activity in them. It was like the signal from his brain simply wouldn't reach. Or maybe never even got sent? He wanted to stand up. Didn't he? He could feel his heart rate rising, hear the rhythm in his ears. He was panicking. He tried to lift a hand to check the pulse at his neck. He couldn't move. What if he was having a heart attack? What if that's why he couldn't stand?! He took deep racing breaths - making him feel lightheaded. Was he dying?!

"Good boy."

Good... what?! His lungs emptied. His heartbeat softened. His arms and legs felt comfortable where they were. He felt a little twitch above his rump which made his balance teeter. He was sat facing the door that he had been trying to exit through, but no longer felt like he needed to escape. He heard Belle's voice.

"There you are - not so bad, is it?"

"I... I... don't understand. What have you done to me?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry for the imposition. I just thought, you know, you'd come this far and got the difficult bit out of the way - so it'd be a shame to let your embarrassment get the better of you now... Is that unfair of me?" She cheekily grinned.

"Gotten what... difficult bit out of the way?"

"The trance, of course. The 'hypnosis' - whooo-ooo, ha ha!" Belle wriggled her hands about in the air as if to mock some common perception associated with that which she spoke of.

"Hypnosis?"

"Yes..."

Toby looked down at himself. He felt at once calm and also, strangely violated. He was surprised too, always having assumed that he probably couldn't be 'hypnotised'. His world view would be far too cynical and discerning to allow for such coercion. But apparently not.

"Makes sense I suppose... Explains why I'm currently sat like a..."

"A dog. Yep. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Well..." Toby paused. He'd have stroked his chin, but still couldn't raise his hands from the ground. Despite his misgivings, this was the first time in a long time he'd felt so... free. Ironic, as he couldn't move a muscle. "Yep - a dog is perfect. So, what's next?"

"What breed, naturally."

"Does it matter - they're all the same, aren't they?"

"Subtle variations, but yes - it's more about the pattern and personality I suppose."

"Pattern? O...kay. Well, I don't want to be a little yappy one, so probably a Lab or Collie or something."

"Lab it is - good thing too, I've got that one 'in stock'. Now let's get you away from that door - there's no postman out there to bark at!"

Toby cringed at the joke.

"Heel!"

Paralysed limbs suddenly flooded with energy once more and Toby marvelled as he near-automatically spun and scooted across to Belle's feet. He felt the excitement within him, together with the vigour it bestowed.

"Here you go, doggy - put this on." Belle pulled her hand out from one of the cardboard boxes and held a red collar in front of Toby's nose. He raised an arm to grab it.

"Ah ah ah! My mistake - doggies can't put on their own collars. They have paws."

Toby cringed again and moved to snatch the collar, flashing a shitty look up at Belle from his crouching position. This felt like the equivalent of asking the barman 'can I have a drink?' and getting the oh-so-funny response 'no'. He was willing to play along, but only to an extent.

To his surprise, Belle didn't withdraw the collar - she just let it dangle in front of his nose as he grabbed for it. He just... couldn't... quite... get a grip... on it.

Huffing with impatience, Toby broke his defiant glare and looked down to better coordinate his... hand? Forgetting about the collar, he brought his hand to his face and studied it - the palm, the back. It was misshapen and inflexible. No wonder he couldn't get a grip on the damned collar - his fingers were curled in on themselves and wouldn't budge.

"What is this? You've hypnotised me to think I've got paws?"

"Something like that."

"Whoa whoa! Enough, Belle. I didn't sign up for this - snap me out of it, please."

"Just give it a chance. Watch."

Looking back at his 'paws', Toby's chest felt tight as he saw his fingers beginning to... merge with his thickening palm? Some pretty strong hypnosis! He could feel it. It felt so authentic, like the network of nerve-endings in his hands was being rewired. He observed. His fingers had nearly submerged entirely as toughened pads began to swell and puff out where his digits had sunken. Distracted by the bizarre contortions of his palm, he hadn't noticed his thumb sneak up his wrist, shrinking as it went. Sandy fur followed, sprouting and encroaching up to his elbows.

Toby, his butt still perched on his two heels, darted his eyes between his two new paws in disbelief. He couldn't flex them much at all, but rubbing them together - they felt like they were real.

"Fluffy and warm huh? Just wait 'til you walk on them." Belle smiled knowingly. "So, shall I put your collar on for you, doggy? Otherwise we could be here all day!"

Toby rocketed to his feet, paws to his side and shaking with anger. His fists might have clenched, if he still had hands.

"I don't want the collar, or paws! You need to get out of my head! You're treating me like an animal!"

Belle rolled her eyes playfully.

"But... you are an animal. A dog."

"I've had enough of this crap! This isn't for me! I want to go - "

Belle placed her finger to the shouting man's lips.

"Dogs don't talk."

Toby paused, an itchy tingle in his throat, then motioned to continue shouting his objections.

Nothing came out. He couldn't form any words. This was inconceivable. Words were basically a human right! He used his words to disparage and deconstruct and de-mystify nonsense. Nonsense like this! Searching his brain, he knew what he wanted to say - he just couldn't make the sound.

"Much more realistic. Oh, and dogs don't stand on two legs... so..."

The muted man's brow raised in the middle and a faint whine peaked in his throat as he waited for Belle to sentence him.

"Down."

His legs crumpled. He fell to the floor in defeat, paws placed in front of him and belly to the ground. In lieu of being able to complain about this mistreatment, Toby caught himself feeling strangely relieved. If he couldn't voice his objections, then there was no expectation that he should even have any. Or something like that. The thoughts jumbled together in his mind, but he knew he felt something like relief.

"Now - you want your collar, boy? Beg."

Toby arose, placing his butt to his heels once more and craning his paws up under his chin - slightly folded at the wrists in submission. Belle leant forward and snapped the collar into place around his neck. He felt himself sink further into his stance, flinching as his buttocks came into contact with the floor.

"There we go. Now he's a good doggy, isn't he? But there's something else a good boy needs, isn't there?"

Wondering how both his butt and his feet could be comfortably in contact with the ground, Toby forgot to feel concerned by the flat tongue which rolled out from his maw. He sat panting on his haunches, as patches of sandy-gold grew in across his hind-quarters. He could feel his clothes becoming loose as his body shrank and let a fleeting disquiet at the indignity of his situation pass. His trousers bungled down around his furred and curving back legs.

"What does a good boy like you need, hmm?"

The doggish man's behind shuffled around ferociously, as if in response to Belle's question.

"That's right."

Toby knew the answer of course - his hyperactive waist-wiggle made it pretty conspicuous. He felt just about ready to sigh and strap in for the humiliating ride. Then, while lamenting the continued condescension, a brand new, utterly unique and fascinating feeling made itself known.

A brush-like, furred tail had streaked out from the base of his spine, just above where his hind met the carpet. Nothing else compared to it. Indescribable. He was reminded of when he first masturbated in the shower at the age of thirteen. But this feeling wasn't overtly sexual - it was simply something... brand... new. Something he couldn't possibly find to be mundane or boring. He wagged the alien appendage - sweeping the floor.

He was overcome. It was all clear now. The root of that jaded and cynical outlook he wore like a hood to hide from others. He had honestly convinced himself he'd 'seen it all'. He had genuinely started to believe that his life would forever be the same - that the people he knew, and society, his interactions with them... that they would all just continue to repeat ad infinitum until the end. This is why he hated Winter - the stagnancy of it all. This is why it had all seemed so pointless. Consumerism, working, living. This is why he had become entrenched in his despair at humanity and even allowed it to reflect back on himself. He'd forgotten what 'new' felt like.

His tail wagged and he panted. He was happy. He felt alive. He wanted to discover more.

'What else?!' he tried to shout. His face stretched into an angular muzzle, whiskers shooting to the sides as the fur grew in.

"Woof! Wruff!"

He barked loudly. He didn't mind. This was new too. He barked again - and growled and yipped. His ears moved atop his head and draped back down over what used to be his temples. He loved it. He barked again - sounding louder than before.

"Looks like someone's finally getting into it! Well done, Toby! Whoops - I mean, doggy. Ha ha!"

Belle reached into the cardboard box she stood next to and pulled out a tennis ball, throwing it at the far wall. Without thinking, or wondering why, or judging his actions, Toby sprang from his haunches and trundled after the bouncing thing on all-fours - he just wanted to bite it and feel it between his new sharp teeth. He wanted to experience the world anew, as he now could.

More toys - a thick-knotted rope, one that squeaked - even some treats, erupted from the cardboard boxes, one after the other. The sandy-tan Labrador spent the next hour or so chasing, roling over, biting, pawing and barking at everything Belle placed in front of him. She knew she'd made the right choice moving her session to the larger room - so much more space for the doggy to play. And this one was particularly excitable, considering he'd looked so glum when he came in.

In the corner of the toy and fur-strewn room led a metal watch showing the wrong time. The dog didn't try to check it. Not even once.

~ One Year Later ~

Toby pressed 'send' on the message to Belle. He would meet her for coffee later. What time in particular? Whenever she's free, the message said. He smiled to himself. One year ago - that long...

The problem had been the 'mainspring'. The little mechanism in his watch that regulated the exact amount of power output to keep the hands turning precisely. It had slipped and cost him fifteen minutes. Very inefficient indeed. But if not for that little spring failing, he'd have been on time for his appointment with Felicia. He wouldn't have met Belle. He wouldn't have rediscovered his sense of intrigue. Wouldn't have reconnected with the world and understood that, clearly - it had much, much more to offer him.

He had considered getting the spring replaced after his time on four-paws, but with the snow melting outside and a new light in his life - he knew Winter would be over soon and that seemed kind of poetic. Besides, he still wore the broken watch as a timeless reminder of the day he met Belle. He might have thought that was a bit slushy not long ago, but her sentimentality was infectious. She probably thought he hadn't noticed the funny little Labrador mask hanging on the wall in her apartment.

A laugh escaped his lips. He still didn't know how she'd done it. But what was more impressive, turning him into a dog for a few hours - or bringing him back from the brink? The answer seemed obvious.

~ END ~