My Life as a Dog
by Shadowfax
Rated PG

This is a continuation of "Animal Instincts," a very short fic in which
Sam realizes that he has become a four-legged, tail-wagging dog.

Note: I don't remember if animals can see Al, but in my story, they can.

Standard disclaimers apply; the main characters aren't mine; I'm only
borrowing them so I can have some fun with them.

***************************************************

"Roe roy," woofed Sam.

He looked at the fragment of broken mirror, staring at the long nose
and perky ears of the image reflected back at him. He was a dog. He
couldn't believe that he had leaped into a dog! Nothing like this had
ever happened before. Why was he a dog? How was he going to change
history? He probed his Swiss-cheese memory for recollections of famous
dogs - war heroes, search and rescue dogs, dogs belonging to the rich
and famous - but he couldn't remember any famous dog that looked like
him.

Who was he, then? Did he have an owner? He sat down and scratched at
his neck, feeling for a collar that might have an ID tag. No collar.

He sighed. He hoped that Ziggy would be able to identify him and tell
Al why he was here.

Come to think of it, where *was* Al?

He raised his head to look around him, and made a discovery - a couple of
them, in fact. His peripheral vision was greatly expanded; he could see
on both sides of him without even turning his head. On the other hand,
he had difficulty bringing images into sharp focus, especially for
objects that were close at hand. Colors were different, too: faded,
washed out, and with a reddish hue. His surroundings looked like a
nineteenth century sepia photograph. The few straggles of grass clumped
near one of the trash cans didn't look green; in fact, they didn't
appear to have much color at all. And when he looked at the sky (which
he found that he could do without raising his head), he noticed that
although it was cloudless and free of pollution, it appeared to be a pale
indiscriminate color instead of blue.

He noted, however, that although he couldn't distinguish objects very
well that were up close, he could see the slightest motion. A bird
fluttered to the ground a block away and Sam caught the movement
instantly.

He dropped his head and sniffed the ground, which was suddenly rich with
a myriad of fascinating odors. A cat - no, *three* cats - had walked
through this alley quite recently, but no dogs - at least not in recent
history. He would very much like to see another dog, he thought
wistfully. He experienced a wave of anxiety, brought on by loneliness.
Suddenly he needed company very badly. Where was Al?

"Al," he said. At least, that's what he tried to say, but it came out
more like a howl. "Owwwl!"

"Whatsa matter, pooch?" said a man's voice behind him.

Sam whirled at the sound of the familiar voice. Seeing Al standing next
to a trash can, he tried once again to say his friend's name, but this
time all he achieved was a whine. He trotted over to Al and sat down in
front of him. "Al, it's me," he said.

Al was banging on his handheld with the heel of his hand, frowning in
concentration, but he took the time to look over at Sam briefly and
mumble a kindly, "nice dog." Then he resumed his assault on the
handheld, muttering, "Come on, Ziggy, you told me that Sam would be
here . . . where is he?"

"Here," said Sam.

"Whatsa matter, pal?" Al asked him. "You hungry? You look like you
could use a good meal." He peered into a nearby trash can. "Nothing
much in here . . . oh, looks like somebody's left-over macaroni and
cheese mixed in with spaghetti and . . . I think . . . a pear-pineapple
Jell-O salad. Too bad you can't understand me - I'd show you the food."

"I can understand you!" said Sam. He ran to the trash can and stood on
his hind legs, putting his front paws on the trash can while he looked
into it. Then he returned to Al and sat in front of him, staring as
hard as he could. "See, I can understand you! It's me, Sam."

"What's all the barking about, pooch?" said Al. He took a closer look
at Sam, noting his attentive posture. "What are you looking at?" He
turned and squinted at the street behind him. "Nothing there." He
looked back at Sam, who was still gazing at him intently. Al shrugged
and turned his attention back to the computer device. "Sam, where are
you?" he said, banging his hand against it again. "Ziggy, I'm in the
alley between Fifth and Fourth. You told me Sam would be here - quiet,
dog. Hey, pooch, you haven't seen a person around here, have you? I'm
not sure if he's going to be a man or a woman this time, but - stop
barking!"

Tired of trying to get Al to recognize him as himself, Sam dropped his
body to the ground and put his head on his paws. "That's a good dog,"
said Al. "Ziggy, what do you mean, 'Sam's here?' He's *not* here.
Of all the times for you to go on the fritz . . . ." he began grumbling
to himself, attacking the handheld energetically.

Sam rose to his feet and trotted over to the patch of bare ground that
contained the few straggling clumps of grass. Moving his front paws
awkwardly, he managed to scratch the letters A L in the dirt. "Come
over here, Al," he said. "Look."

"Can't you keep quiet, dog?"

"Look. I've written your name in the dirt. Don't you want to see? It's
me, Sam. Sam! Come over here, Al."

"Where's Sam?"

"Here! I'm over here!" The frustrated Sam cast his mind back to an old
show he used to watch on TV: Lassie. How had Lassie gotten Timmy's
attention? He ran towards Al, whining, then back to the patch of bare
ground, looking over his shoulder at Al.

It worked. Al abandoned his interrogation of Ziggy for a moment and
followed Sam to where he had scrawled his letters. "Look!" said Sam.

"Have you been digging in the dirt?" said Al with interest. "Nice going,
dog. Hey, that almost looks like 'A' 'L.' That's my name . . . did
you know that?" He chuckled then turned back to his computer device.

Sam sighed. Al didn't have a clue. He thought that Sam had scratched
random marks in the ground that just happened to look like they spelled
his name. He began to scratch frantically at the dirt.

S A M . I A M - Wait! Al was turning away! "Come on, Al!" he
said. "It's me, Sam. You have to figure out what I'm supposed to do so
I can get out of here. I don't like being a dog. I'm hungry and I'm
lonely and everything smells. And I want to scratch. A lot. When are
you going to realize that this is me and not just a dog-?"

"Okay, okay," said Al in response to the latest fusillade of barking.
"What've you got? Is there a bone buried there?"

"As a matter of fact . . . yes," said Sam. "There *is* a bone buried
near here. A lot of bones and something else, too. But that's not why
I called you over."

Al bent his head and peered at the latest scratch marks Sam had made.
"'Sam I am,'" he said with a puzzled frown. His face broke into a smile.
"Hey, that's a neat trick. Does your owner like Dr. Seuss?"

"Come on, Al!" Sam erupted. "Think! It doesn't say: 'Sam I am.' It
says: 'Sam. I am Sa-' Oops. I didn't finish writing-"

"Sam!" exclaimed Al. "Is that *you*, Sam??"

"Finally," said Sam.

********************************************

"Is that really you, Sam?" asked Al.

"Yes," said Sam. He scratched the letter "Y" in the dirt.

"Well, I'll be-" Al scratched his head. "This has never happened before,"
he declared.

"You've got to figure out what's going on," Sam said.

"We have to figure out what's going on," said Al. "Ziggy, why is Sam a
dog? And why does he look like a dog to me, instead of like himself?
Is it because he's an animal? What?? There's no need to insult me!
Just do your job, Ziggy, and tell us why Sam's here." He studied the
device for a minute and then looked regretfully at Sam. "Ziggy doesn't
know. Nothing of any significance was ever recorded in this alley."

He vanished.

Sam sprang to his feet and dashed to the spot where Al had been standing.
He whined anxiously. He didn't like being alone. He had an almost
overwhelming urge to leave the alley and go in search of companionship.

Al reappeared as quickly as he had vanished. "No luck," he said. "Ziggy
hasn't been able to find out why you're here yet. There is a dog in the
chamber and it looks a little . . . confused, if you get my drift." He
looked down at Sam, noting his rigid posture. "What are you looking at?"
he asked curiously. Following the direction of Sam's gaze, he saw a
brown-haired man striding towards them. He was a young man, in his early
twenties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. As he came closer, it became
apparent that he was distressed about something. He was walking along
with his head down, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. His hands,
hanging stiffly at his sides, were clenched into fists, and his face was
twisted as if he were suffering from some kind of mental anguish. "He
looks like someone who could use a friend," said Al.

"Hey . . . are you okay?" Sam asked the man. For a minute it looked
like the man was going to walk right past him. He didn't appear to have
seen Sam or heard him bark at all. "Could you use some help?" asked Sam.

The man slowed his pace and his gaze slid around to rest on Sam. Sam
looked up into his face hopefully, gently wagging his tail. "Hello,
buddy," the stranger said. He bent over and patted Sam on the head.
"What are you doing here?" Sam whined sympathetically. "Did someone
dump *you*, too?" The man's voice broke and suddenly he was on his
knees beside Sam, putting his arms around him and hugging him hard.
Unable to resist, Sam began licking his face.

"*That's* something I never thought I'd see you do," Al commented.

"It feels natural," said Sam. "I must have a lot of that dog in me."
The stranger had stopped hugging Sam, but he was patting him and burying
his hands in the fur around Sam's neck. His first grief had subsided,
and calmer now, he pushed himself away, drawing a shuddering breath.
"Good boy," he said vaguely, scrubbing the back of his hand across his
eyes.

He rose to his feet and took a few uneven steps, seating himself heavily
on an old tire lying on the ground. He propped his elbows on his thighs
and buried his face in his hands. Sam trotted over and nudged his arm.
"Good boy," said the man again, taking his face out of his hands and
putting an arm around Sam. "Has your day been as rotten as mine?" he
asked the dog.

"You'd be surprised," said Al. "You don't know who you're talking to."

The man straightened, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand again.
He shifted his weight so he could pull his wallet out of a back pocket.
Drawing out a photo, he held it in front of him and looked at it
mournfully.

"Jenni and Blair," said Al, tilting his head and reading the writing on
the back of the picture. "Hey, Sam, do you see this girl? What a
looker! If she's the one who's dumped him, no wonder Blair is acting
like he's down to his last dollar."

"There she is," Blair was saying. "And that's the last I'll ever see of
her," he added bitterly. In a sudden gesture, he crumpled the picture
and threw it from him. It bounced against the hard ground and then lay
still. Sam went over to it and touched it with his nose, then picked it
up in his mouth and brought it back to Blair. He dropped it hesitantly into
Blair's lap, not certain that he was doing the right thing. If the girl
really had broken up with Blair irrevocably, then Sam wasn't doing any
service by giving him a painful reminder.

For a minute Blair didn't move, and then he picked up the picture and
opened it up, smoothing it gently with his fingers. "Oh, Jenni-" he
choked.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" urged Sam. "It might make you
feel better."

"We were going to get married," said Blair, almost as if he had
understood Sam's suggestion. "Then, last month, I lost my job. I got
another one, but I'm not making nearly as much money. So Jenni quit her
job at Brion Industries and took one with Jiand. Jiand!" He groaned.
"I told her that we had enough money to get by on our two salaries . . .
that she didn't need to go to work for those crooks! Old Adam Hill would
be in jail right now if they could link him to Cameron's murder. They've
never found the body, though, so he'll probably get away with it. And
Jenni's going to work for that . . . that *murderer*-! If she does his
bookkeeping, she'll get mixed up in his crooked businesses and be trapped
there forever. If she ever tries to get out, he'll kill her, like he
killed Cameron-" He couldn't go on. He crumpled the picture again, the
muscles in his forearm tightening.

"I told her . . . if she went to work for him, I didn't want to marry
her. I thought that she loved me enough to give up the job. But she
didn't . . . I guess I don't mean anything to her at all," Blair said
bitterly. "She said that there's no proof that Adam Hill is a gangster
and that I have no right to tell her where to work. She said that if
I really loved her then I would want her to be happy. Then she said
that if I didn't want to marry her then she didn't want to marry me,
either, and she gave me back the ring." He took a small diamond ring
out of his pocket and closing his fingers over it, crushed it to his
palm.

"Lover's quarrel," said Al.

"Yes, she was angry," said Sam. "She'll get over it, Blair. When
people are upset sometimes they say things they don't mean."

Pocketing the ring, Blair opened up the crumpled picture and smoothed it
with his fingers again. "I wish she'd listen to me," he said wistfully.
"She was always so stubborn . . . ." He sighed.

"Go back to her and tell her you're sorry," Sam advised.

"And tell her that she can work wherever she wants," added Al. "She
probably didn't like getting an ultimatum. Some women are like that.
She sounds like a girl I met in Tahiti . . . ." He launched into a
recital of his relationship with a fiery-tempered young woman he had
once met.

"Wait . . . ." said Sam, who was only half-listening. He had been
thinking over Blair's story and trying to relate it to his own presence
in this particular alley on this particular day. "Al . . . Blair . . . !"
he said excitedly. "I think I know why I'm here!" He raced over to the
bare patch of ground where he had written his name earlier and began
digging frantically.

"What are you doing, Sam?" asked Al, breaking off his narrative and
strolling over to observe Sam's excavation activities.

"There's a body in here, Al," said Sam, pawing energetically at the
ground. Dirt flew out of the hole, passing directly through the image
of Al's hologram. "You heard what Blair said about Cameron's body being
missing. If this is why I'm here . . . to find Cameron's body . . . ."
He applied himself vigorously to his task.

"What are you doing, Sam?" repeated Al.

Sam paused to look over at Blair. The young man was still sitting on the
tire, staring forlornly into the distance. Quickly Sam went to an as-yet
undisturbed portion of ground and sketched out the letters, B O D Y.

"Body," said Al, screwing up his eyes as he cocked his head to one side.
"You mean there's been a body buried there all this time? Why didn't you
do something about it before?"

"Give me a break, Al," said Sam, smoothing over his writing and returning
to his task of uncovering the body. "I've been a dog for less than an
hour and I haven't learned everything there is to know yet. I knew that
there was something buried here, but I didn't know that it was a human
body. Now that I've smelled what a man smells like, I can identify the
body buried here as a human male. This must be why I was sent here."

"This must be why you were sent here," said Al. He squinted at the ground.
"Are you sure about the body? That hole's pretty deep and I don't see
anything yet."

"The body is under this sidewalk," Sam explained. "You can see that the
concrete is fresh. I have to dig down deep enough into the dirt to be
able to get below the concrete, where the body is. See how thick the
concrete is? A lot thicker than it has to be - for a sidewalk."

"I don't see any body, Sam," repeated Al. "Are you sure there's one
there?"

"Al . . . I know what I'm doing, okay?" He stopped and gave Al an
exasperated look that Al had no difficulty in interpreting.

"Okay, Sam, I guess I know what you're doing," Al conceded reluctantly.
"Hey, that concrete looks fresh . . . and look how thick it is - is the
body buried underneath the sidewalk?"

Rendered curious by Sam's barking and frantic digging activity, Blair
stood up and walked over to them. "Whatsa matter, pal?" he asked,
momentarily forgetting his woes. He walked through Al's image and
peered at the hole that Sam was working on so diligently.

Sam sighed. Do I have to explain it again? "There's a body under the
sidewalk," he said. I'm digging next to the concrete and then I'm going
to go under it and - oooh, here it is!" He began scrabbling at the dirt
with his paws, tearing it out in big chunks. In contrast to the
packed-down earth next to the sidewalk, the earth underneath the concrete
was softer, as if it had been disturbed recently.

"Blair's leaving, Sam," warned Al.

Sam glanced up to see that Blair had indeed begun to wander disconsolately
away. "Wait! Don't go yet!" he called. "Come over here . . . I found
something that might be able to help you!"

As he walked away, Blair bent to pick up the picture. He looked at it one
last time, then crumpled it again with finality, tossing it into one of
the garbage cans. Squaring his shoulders, he began striding away, the pain
on his face belying the bravado in his posture.

"There's not going to be anything left of that picture if you keep
crumpling it like that," observed Al.

"Wait!" yelped Sam. "Wait! Wait! Wait!" He raced over to Blair and
began doing his Lassie routine. Again, it worked.

"Whatcha got, pal?" asked Blair. He indulgently followed Sam back to
the excavation area. He crouched beside the sidewalk and gazed at the
large hole. "What's under there? Did you find a bone . . .?" his voice
broke off when he saw the arm that was encased in the sleeve of a dark
blue business suit. He reached out a hand and touched the sleeve, giving
it a yank. It didn't budge. "My-! He gulped. Then he noticed the ring
on the hand, a man's signet ring. "Cameron-" he whispered. He rose to
his feet and stumbled backwards a few steps, his face noticeably paler.
"Police," he said, his voice hoarse.

***************************************

"You did it, Sam," said Al, watching with satisfaction all the activity
going on at the site where the body was buried. Several police cars and
emergency vehicles were parked in the alley, their lights flashing, and
the area was a web of activity, a small crowd having gathered to watch
the police work.

A slender young woman with red-gold hair approached the scene, walking
slowly. "What is it?" she asked one of the onlookers. "I heard they
found Cameron's body."

"It hasn't been officially identified yet," a middle-aged man replied.
"But my nephew works on the police force and he saw the body. It's
Cameron all right."

"How did he-?"

"Bullet wound to the head," said her informer. "Shot execution style.
They say that the police are going to be arresting Adam Hill any minute
now."

The girl bit her lip and turned her head away from Blair, who had just
spotted her and taken a few hesitant steps towards her. Noting her
unencouraging posture, Blair stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his
hands helplessly to his sides.

"Go on, go to her," urged Sam. "Tell her you're sorry. Tell her that
she has the right to work anywhere she wants, but that you were worried
about her working for a man who has the reputation of being a murderer
and that's why you got so upset."

"Beg for her forgiveness," said Al.

"Tell her that you didn't mean it when you said that you didn't want to
marry her."

"Grovel."

"Tell her how much you love her."

"Tell her that she means more to you than anything else in the world.
Women like that kind of thing."

"Tell her how unhappy you've been since you've been apart."

"Tell her you've been miserable since you've been apart."

"Jenni . . . ?" said Blair hesitantly.

Jenni turned her face away, but she didn't leave.

"Take her in your arms," said Sam.

"Kiss her," said Al. "That's what she wants."

Blair began approaching slowly. Jenni didn't look at him, but she didn't
walk away, either. "Jenni," said Blair again. He touched her arm
tentatively. Emboldened by the fact that she didn't pull away, he put
his hands gently on her shoulders and drew her closer. She kept her
gaze on the ground and her arms hanging stiffly at her sides as Blair
pulled her unresistingly into his embrace. "Honey . . . ." said Blair,
his voice breaking.

She made a sound like a gasp and suddenly flung her arms around his neck.
Blair wrapped his arms around her and strained her to his chest. "I'm
sorry," they both said at the same time, and then they didn't say anything
at all for a very long time.

Sam and Al stood to one side, watching the affecting scene with
satisfaction. Al was smiling and Sam had opened his mouth to let his
tongue loll out.

"Sam?" said Al suddenly. "Is that still you?" Sam looked up at him and
nodded. "I wonder why you haven't leaped yet?" He stopped speaking and
watched as Jenni and Blair at last concluded their embrace.

Jenni approached them. "And this is the dog . . . ?" she asked. "He's
so *cute*!" She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him,
giving him a big hug.

"You have all the luck!" Al told Sam. "In the next life, I'm coming back
as a dog," he added as Jenni drew Sam into her lap and continued to stroke
his fur.

"He's so thin," observed Jenni. "And no collar. I wonder who he belongs
to."

Blair shrugged, watching Jenni's attentions to the dog with wistful
affection. When Jenni rose to her feet Blair put his arms around her and
pulled her close, looking as if he wouldn't mind if Jenni bestowed some
of those caresses on himself. Which she did immediately, raising her lips
to his face and giving him a long, warm kiss. "My car's over here," said
Jenni. Blair put an arm around her shoulders and they walked off together,
completely absorbed in each other. Sam and Al tagged along, not sure if
their role had been concluded. Jenni slid into the driver's seat while
Blair walked around to the passenger's side. Blair swung open the door
as Jenni started the engine. He started to get into the car, and then he
hesitated, looking over at Sam.

Jenni, too, was looking at Sam. She glanced up at Blair. "Let's take
him with us," they said at the same time. Blair walked back over to
the driver's side to open the rear passenger door. He whistled and Sam
bounded to the car, jumping into the back seat. He seated himself by
the window, looking at Al, who was grinning and waving. Sam grinned
back as best a dog could and then curled up in the back seat. The
engine's roar was soothing and curiously soporific.

His surroundings began to dim and fade except for the roaring sound,
which grew louder, swelling and changing until it became identifiable
as the shout of many voices. Sam wasn't lying in the car anymore; he
was straddling a chair which suddenly began to move underneath him.
Earthquake!

No, not an earthquake. And it wasn't a chair - it was a horse.

Sam clutched the reins that he suddenly found wound through his
fingers, fighting for his balance as the animal moved quickly into a
bone-jarring trot. The crowd grew quiet. Sam looked up and realized
that he was in some kind of stadium. The horse broke into a canter and
began circling the arena. Sam tried to settle his weight more firmly
into the saddle but the stirrups were too short - *way* too short.
*Nobody* rode with stirrups that short unless they were . . . jumping.

Sam scanned the arena. Yep. He was at some kind of show-jumping
competition. The problem was, there was only one jump in the arena.
Sam swallowed. He didn't have to jump a horse over *that*, did he?

The horse took a wide turn and headed directly for the jump, picking
up speed. Sam looked at the massive seven-foot wall and gulped. As
the horse approached, it shortened stride. Sam felt the horse's powerful
hindquarters give a mighty thrust and then Sam and the horse were airborne,
soaring towards the wall. Too short - they weren't going to make it!

"Oh, boy."

The End