A Dog Kind of Day

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Transformation

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Ugh...

Alwyn licked his lips, the buzzard anthro lying back on the grassy tussock, though he was nowhere near as relaxed as he should have been. His brown tail feathers fanned out across the ground, though the soil there was well-fed and thick with grass, so there was not a speck of dust on his sleek plumage. His wickedly hooked beak betrayed him as a hawk-like bird of prey, though he had a larger, more impressive wingspan than most native species.

And that could be a pain sometimes too, he thought, resting a lazy hand on his lower stomach, fingers tickling a little lower as they slipped under his T-shirt. The thing was, really...The wings got in the way. His arms were layered with them: wing-arms. A lazy term really, but it was what was in use and that was it. He flexed his hand, the feathers along his arm fanning out a little more, twitching where they could be turned a little, controlled by the muscles in his shoulders and across his upper back.

"But not today, hm?"

He wasn't speaking to anyone, not out there, no. He owned the farm, the land on which he was lying on. It was a small endeavour and mostly funded by the holiday cottages that he had converted from one of the old barns on-site. The animals were more or less for show, low maintenance and easy to look after, to the best of his ability. So, Alwyn had plenty of free time on the farm, his fields bordered by a rich birch forest. There had been a weekend cancellation so, oddly enough for him, there was no one else at all on site with him, not one that he had to tend to. Even the fences were fixed, but the weekend labourer did a lot of the heavy work for him, considering the moderate size of the place.

And yet his body, it was not what he wanted. Not then, exhaling softly through the nares on his beak, the slits there that took the place of nostrils. He fanned out his wings to either side of him, stretching his fingertips as far as he could.

Some did not understand why he did not enjoy preening and plucking and teasing his feathers into place but...well...it was Alwyn's story, or not, to tell in that regard. It took so long to oil and shine his feathers, something that non-anthro birds could take the time for, and it was even worse if they ever got waterlogged. As an anthro, he was expected to, of course, shower and make sure that he was clean and fresh, especially with the nature of his life and work.

Others had things like fur driers, full body, to help them dry, but feathers just didn't do as well under those, sticking up uncomfortably in weird directions. As dandelion fluff floated over him, carrying a little of the magic of his home and land along with it, the avian parted his beak, heart lifting.

"If only I didn't have to be a bird, just for a little while..."

He smiled as he said that, his beak parted and his eyes glinting. His beak could not form a smile, not really, although that would not be the case for much longer. Not as magic flowed through him, a sense of "otherness" easing into his veins. It was kind of like the strange sensation that he got in his arm whenever he got a vaccination, his body acutely aware that something foreign had entered him and adjusting to it. A little tingly, a little awkward, curling his fingers into the feathered palm of his hand and out again.

And yet...that was not quite at all how his body was meant to be, not out there in the sunshine, the deciduous copse of trees to his back, his beak tilted up to the sun. White, fluffy clouds scudded across the sky, but he could not feel the breeze - and neither did he need to, down there and sheltered, soaking up the sunshine. No one was there even to see him naked either, which was another bonus of owning his own property just like that.

"Mmm..."

Alwyn hummed softly to himself, yet it was hard to make the sound, his face cricking and crunching, his beak softening. It melded down, extending a little, but the changes were already upon him and he was pulled through it, a passive player in his own transformation now that the first moments had become.

For the buzzard anthro could only call on the magic of his home, even if he could not control it. He could not change what had started or halt it at all, only go along with it and see just where the day took him. At least he could choose, in a small way, the species that he transformed into. That was why he had chosen, that day, to shed his feathers for fur.

One by one, his feathers dropped off. And yet his skin was not bare underneath, oh no, a rich coat of black fur smoothing over him, yet it could only be seen when it was revealed. The feathers had to leave him first and Alwyn exhaled a short sigh of relief with every one that dropped away. They were so itchy, so coarse, and he just wanted to rub and scratch at his body. It was the kind of itch, however, that could not be scratched away just like that, as if he had been stung and had a reaction, itching and itching and itching.

"Hmph..."

Alwyn squirmed. It rubbed some feathers off his back, though his attention was not on the feathers that drifted away and disintegrated - only when they were free of his body. It would be okay though, for he would grow a new layer of them when that initial transformation was expired. The avian didn't know, however, just how long it would last.

There was one more thing that he didn't expect, his chest shuddering as he tried to take even, slow breaths, filling his lungs with every intake of air. The fur was one thing and yet crawling heat simmered through his body, pooling at his crotch as if he was holding a warm bottle of water down there. Alwyn squirmed, his lips parted, beak moulding slowly but surely into them: the longer, chunkier muzzle of a canine gracing his face.

With black fur...hm. He didn't seem quite like a lab, for his fur was too short. Perhaps a Staffordshire Bull Terrier or similar, with the folded over ears. Alwyn's heart surged. That, at least, would be easy to maintain for the span of time that his transformation layered over him, holding him carefully, soothingly, in its grasp.

He would see, yes, in time. Especially as the long feathers of his wings dropped away, despite the greater weight of his body. His bones grew a new heftiness to them, a sense of solidity. Of course, Alwyn could fly as a buzzard, but he did not need to fly when he was more than happy to remain landlocked, his toes flexing and curling.

He had a shirt on and a pair of shorts that came down over his thighs, but his body wasn't growing smaller or larger, even if his shoulders were a little finer. He didn't need, ultimately, as much muscle around his shoulders and across his upper back to support him in flight. Even his abs softened a little and he exhaled as his tongue flattened out, panting lightly. It was a good feeling, easy, to let his stomach relax. It did not always have to be contracted and yet his abs and the use of them was just a part of being an anthro bird, their bodies adapting to the needs of their environment.

End preview.

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