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Tall tales are inspired by the insane things we witness day to day, trying desperately to reconcile what it is that just occurred. One such event happened to me today, and though I know what happened, my mind rejects the notion. In many ways I wish I could invent some deluded adventure on par with Don Quixote. Some moments would be so much more bearable if they paralleled such flights of fancy; alas, the truth some times is far too bizarre to discount.

I was spending my lunch hour in front of Big Stinky's Burgers, as has become routine for my breaks. Nothing was too out of the ordinary. The Jackals were circling about the shops, swarming new stack-outs of merchandise in every store they entered; birds of all sorts were twittering in the center of everything, providing the mall experience with the requisite ground hum of conversation. The Hogs across from Big Stinky's were wandering in their normal arc path from their food stand, handing out free samples to steal as much business from the far more successful burger joint. They have some regular customers - mostly Chows and Dalmatians - whose taste buds aren't quite as discerning as the majority of patrons. If they cared to realize how awful the texture was to the meats they may prefer Big Stinky's, or maybe even Puffers Wraps and Plankton Tacos.

"I really hate being around all this," my co-worker said. "I have spent so much time specializing in Anthropology, to be stuck in sales is ridiculously degrading."

"There are things you can do with your education," I told the jaded Crow. "You could actually go out to a few digs and help them discern their findings. They are group efforts ya know."

"That may be, but I won't get any credit for being a part of a dig: I have to hold my own!"

"Oh yes, that'll happen," I said with a mocking grin, taking a bite of my burger.

"And you think it couldn't?"

Shaking my head, with lettuce dropping from my maw as I spoke, "Nothing's impossible, Druid. I am just saying that I really don't see you making a pilgrimage across the ocean any time soon." After swallowing the chunk of meat, I wiped my mouth and said, "There are things in this country to unearth, but the most interesting, and noticeable, are outside the border."

"I know," Druid said with a sigh, picking up a fry and twirling it in his ketchup. "If I can just save up, and keep to that budget I figured, then I could do it. It's just a matter of waiting, and that's the thing that gets to me." Staring at his fry, now with a large clump of ketchup, he tossed it into his beak, flinching as he swallowed it. "Why do we keep coming here Hound? The damn place doesn't serve any kinds of insects, and I can't get them to segment the damn burger for me."

"Just pick chunks off. Isn't that what you'd do anyway?"

"It makes a mess, and I prefer to not need my feathers cleaned before heading back into work."

"You're just picky," I said, taking a larger bite from my burger, toppings dropping to the table.

"I'm not that... oh, damn." Druid stops talking, hunching forward and holding his stomach.

Forcing my bite down quickly, I asked, "What's wrong, dude?"

He turned his head to the side and laid it on the table. "I don't know," he exclaimed, a great pain in his voice. "Some thing must have made me sick."

Unconcerned, I put down my burger and lowered my head to meet eyes with him. "I think it's that jerky you had at break. I told you it was expired, but didn't want to listen, did you?"

"It wasn't, ugh... the jerky." Suddenly he convulsed forward and a stream of vomit nearly met my snout. Recoiling back, he fell off his seat, squawking and twitching in pain as he puked intermittently.

Suddenly some of Big Stinky's employees were crowded around; one strapped down Druid's beak, taking a few cuts from it snapping uncontrollably. "What's happening," I asked, taking glances behind the crowd for anyone to get help and back to Druid, now having his wings and talons bound. "The hell are you guys doing? Get an ambulance." No answer from anyone. To hell with this, I thought, about to punch them back and untie the poor Crow.

Then - if things weren't strange enough - Druid let out a deafening sound. I would like to think it was a scream, but I can't be certain as I've never heard such a thing before. It was raspy and guttural, almost like a growl, but not as steady or discernible. I placed a careful paw to his wing; as I did one of Big Stinky's men swatted me back and Druid started glowing. "The hell?" Still no answer, though I wouldn't have taken my attention from Druid if there were. A deep pink light emanated from his flesh, shining through his mass of feathers bright enough to blur his body. It grew in intensity, as did his guttural noises, until the light neared a bright red. I must have spent my last 10 minutes of lunch just staring at the spectacle, waiting for someone to do something and trying to muster the courage to try another touch to his wing.

As I wondered if he were okay, an employee put his paws to my shoulders and guided me some steps back. "You'll want to go back to work now. We will deal with this," he said with a coldness that I can only liken to triage officers.

"What are you going to do?" As I was in the middle of my question I looked behind the unnaturally calm Weasel, to Druid. To my amazement, his feathers started fluffing every which way, as if he were in a strong gust. Before I could muster another - apparently rhetorical - question, all of the feathers began falling off, and his body started shifting. His chest muscles shrank and grew out to his wings; as the feathers continued plummeting new limbs started forming. Pink-ish in hue, they resembled closer to a Chimp's. No, maybe closer to an Ape's, as they are that much bulkier and cumbersome. His talons expanded and webbed together into a large mass of flesh. There were still digits of sorts, but they were short and seemed they would do little to provide for balance on their own. The former wings now had hands much like the mentioned primates', but much less hairy. The long beak that he prided himself in faded to a softer pair of lips; his nose receded to its own perch above the lips, nostrils exposed downward instead of open as when he had his beak.

"Holy shit," I screamed, crumbling to my knees in disbelief. I had not wanted to admit what might have happened, but his shape was so unmistakeable my mind couldn't deny what my eyes witnessed any longer. "He's turned into a human," I asked in utter disbelief, looking to the Weasel that guided me away. He merely nodded and returned to the the group. I always saw photos of humans in the wild but this was the first time I saw one in front of me.

Big Stinky's crew picked up the bound human and started taking him into their managers' office. Getting up, now with a steady crowd of curious patrons following, I leaned over their serving counter, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Stinky himself came up and told me, and a few others, to get off the counter. As he came around to join us, he apologized for the sight. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience here. We've called the nearest breeding ranch; they'll be here to collect him soon."

"What happened," asks a young Doberman, just as confused as the rest of us.

"Well, there have been some cases of dormant human genes in a few species. They can take years to manifest, but when they do this sort of thing can happen. Some scientists theorize it to be a kind of virus from some human ranches: Mad Person Disease, or MPD2, they call it." A collection of gasps are exchanged across the restaurant lobby, myself included. "Don't worry," the kind Skunk said reassuringly, "this can happen. Normally people get viciously sick, but it is rare that a drastic change like this will happen; the victims lose all memory, and that includes inherited memory."

"I don't get it," I murmured, shyly admitting my ignorance.

"Humans don't know how to fend for themselves. Hell, some don't completely know the mechanics of mating. They grow exponentially, so it is up to other generations to teach them basic things to survive."

A combination of frustration and confusion overtook me, as I began barking at Stinky. "How do you know any of that? Why are you so calm? If this is a kind of virus, can't it be cured?"

"Calm down sir Fox," Stinky said, making a motion with his hands to lower my voice before more passerby overheard the situation. "I was given information from the government about it. They're working on a cure for it, but it seems to be an evolutionary virus to take over hosts."

"So what? Humans could take over us like some sort of morphing plague?"

"Exactly," he said, nodding to some cubs and pups that looked rather concerned. I nodded back and reigned in some of my frustration, so I didn't continue to upset them. "The government is taking care of it though. Ultimately this won't affect your lives, and it certainly won't affect the supply of meat to the stores. Most of them don't carry the gene, so after they isolate it - which I am told is nearly done - this won't be an issue." Stinky broke conversation for a moment to wave in one of the wranglers from the ranch. "Good, you're here. He's in my office. Be careful." Looking back to me, Stinky asked me to meet him in the office.

After they took Druid, now human, outside and hauled him off to the ranch we headed into the office and locked the door. The crowd had more or less dispersed outside, sufficiently content with the explanation given. Big Stinky closed the blinds and sat down on his desk, offering me a chair: I stood.

"I've seen you two here a lot. You're one of our best regulars, mister?"

"Hound," I said, with a slight snap, sensing he was about to ask me a favor I may not be comfortable with.

"Hound. Well, I can assume you knew him somewhat?"

"That's right. His name was Druid. I worked with him."

"Just worked," Stinky pried, cocking his head to the side as he moved to his desk seat.

"He was a friend. Not a best friend, but at least a good one." My eyes slowly moved around the office, noting various awards and certificates from health inspectors, including one for this year. "What do you want Mr. Stinky?"

"Please, my real name is Levon. Stinky is just playful for the customers."

"Well, Levon. What is it?"

"I just wanted to know if I should contact his family, or if you would like to."

Knowing what he was getting at, I said, "I don't know his family really. I'm sure I can explain it to my bosses and they'll call." I took a moment to think about how hard that would be, and gave silent thanks that it didn't fall to me.

"Well, I am glad that can be taken care of," Levon said, himself looking greatly relieved. "I'd also appreciate it if you didn't tell too many people about this whole mess. It is rare, and as you may have noticed we exceed all our health and safety requirements," he continued, motioning to the walls of various framed papers, "so I know it wasn't our fault. Life just sucks some times."

"Don't I know it," I whispered to myself, recalling the conversation Druid and I had only 40 minutes earlier. Suddenly it hit me: Druid wasn't eating any meat. In fact, he never ate their meat. He only had the fries. "Out of wonder, do you guys cook up the fries with human grease?"

"What? No, there's too many herbivore customers, so we use peanut oil. Why?"

"Druid didn't eat your burgers, he always had fries."

My words must have been unexpected, because Levon wore an expression that made me think someone slapped him across the muzzle. Slowly he leaned forward on his desk, keeping his head and voice low. "You're certain he didn't have a burger? Maybe a bite of yours? I have seen you two share some times." Scooting the chair back a little, I shook my head, ready to get up. "Wait, Hound!" Stinky exclaimed, pulling a revolver from his desk on me.

"What the hell is this, Stinky?" Squirming in my chair a little, my eyes darted from the shaky barrel to his fearful eyes. "Are you gonna shoot me, after having so many people see me come back here? You realize how many know I come here regularly; wouldn't take too long to connect what happened."

"Shut up," Stinky yelled, standing up, his shaky barrel pressed steady against my forehead. "There haven't been any complications yet. It can't be ruined by you opening your fat maw!"

"Ruined how? You said yourself that it is a proven anomaly, so what's wrong here?" My reasoning didn't do much to remove the barrel from my person, but at least I talked and kept him distracted from the trigger. I just needed to buy time. He seemed really nervous, so I thought I could get him to put it away

"Just shut up," Stinky screamed, cocking the hammer in place. So much for that plan, I thought.

I closed my eyes, tucked my ears back, and braced for the shot. A knock unexpectedly graced the door, keeping the angry Skunk frozen. He eased the hammer back down and sat behind his desk, making sure I noticed the firearm was still in his paw. Stinky cleared his throat and a cook swung the door open (must have been some short-hand they used). "Hey Levon, we have a health officer here to talk with you. He says you need to fill out some papers."

"Very good, send him in," Stinky said, his stare fixated on me. Before the employee could leave the doorway the officer stepped inside, half closing the door.

"I'm sorry mister," the officer politely said in my direction.

"Hound," I mustered, forcing my head to turn from my would-be assailant. "My name is Hound."

"Well Hound, I am going to have to ask that Mr. Dig and I have the room. You understand?" Nodding to him, I looked at Stinky, his fur slowly soaking in nervous sweat. Knowing this was my chance to get out alive, I got up quickly and dismissed myself. As the door tongue caught, and walled me off from danger, I heaved a hefty fear from my shoulders. I nearly died back there, I thought to myself. Nearly... died. All of my thoughts ran at a million miles an hour; after a bit I found I could only focus on clocking back into work. I guess when you're thrown into something wild and unexpected you latch onto the nearest familiar thing.

My destination firm in my mind, I took a gulp of fresh air - only slightly stifled by the cooking oils of the fry makers - and started on my way out. My quick pace was cut to a complete stop as two gunshots screamed from the back office. Taking a quick turn back to confirm what my ears told me, I saw Stinky burst from the door, some blood fresh on his face, raising his revolver toward me.

"Son of a bitch," Stinky yelled, consumed by his initial murderous plans, running straight for me. Ducking down as a shot zipped into a nearby wall, I sprinted out the entrance and fell as I tried to round a corner of the mall pathway. People all ducked or leapt behind the walls of shops to take cover from the crazed Skunk. I quickly clawed my way to my pads, and headed straight to my department store.

"Someone call the damn cops," I yelled, running through the entrance. Stinky walked around the corner I slipped at and started running to catch up to me. Knowing I didn't stand a chance out in the open - especially with only clothing racks to shield me from magnum rounds - I changed direction and made for the stock room. Weaving in and out of the 4-way hanging displays, I made it to the stock room and immediately rang for the freight elevator. A light blinked on: 'In use.' Damn!

I pressed the button one more time, ringing the bell that goes off when the doors are open. "Hang on asshole," Dez, a co-worker, said exasperated. I chanced ringing the overly loud bell again, hoping Stinky didn't suddenly find me. "You ring that bell again and I'll kill ya."

"Damn it, Dez," I screamed, throwing my arms down in frustration. The whole plan to hide in between floors, heavily shielded by concrete, was totally thrown to shit by that stubborn Kitsune. Of course, she didn't know I was being tailed by some psychotic Skunk.

Thinking quick, I clambered on top of some shelves in the back corner of the stock room, sliding myself behind some piles of purses. Covering myself as well as I could, the stock room door swung open and Stinky stepped inside, panting and looking as scared and feverish as I was. "Come out you bastard! If they're gonna kill me for this then you're coming too!" Who is he talking about, I kept wondering, hearing him stumble around the dimly lit room. I heard him find a prepping table to sit on top of (I dare not chance a look); as it rattled a little he began sobbing. "I don't want to be like the rest... I dun... I don't." With a gasping breath his tears were cut off by a final shot ringing out in the stock room, his revolver clanking to the ground.

Cautiously, I slid out from the purses, careful to not let any of them fall in case the shot was a ruse. Looking over to the prepping tables a conflict of relief and horror heaved through my lungs. The wall behind the tables was misted with Levon's blood, and he laid motionless atop one of the tables. The hellish day finally came to an end, and now I'm left to recount the events.

It turns out that while MPD2 exists, it was manufactured by the food industry. Somewhere along the lines ranchers and restaurants ran up costs trying to keep humans good and healthy, so instead of combating, or preventing the spread of disease, they enabled it. Every now and then people would get sick, but there wasn't much else happening, until they dug deeper. The restaurants had been putting an advanced strain in fries to force the rarer morph into a human to happen more. The grains of salt were the perpetrator, acting like spore that some times activated and some times vanished. If it didn't happen in a month's time, then you were declared safe from the morph. All those who morphed were either used to breed humans, or for food.

Now people have been given preventative shots, just in case the salts are still floating around, and an honest effort to cure humans of the strange virus is underway. In the meantime, I think I will be eating salad for a while.