Not A Dream

He took off running after the stick I had thrown before returning it to me. We played for several hours, his excitement building. Soon he was panting hard and sat when I sat on the ground. He licked my face and hands as I pet him, laughing when he partially stood in my lap to keep giving me kisses.

"Brandt, stop," I laughed.

He only licked me a few more times before he stopped.

"Good boy."

A few weeks passed. Life seemed carefree for Brandt and I. But then he started whimpering in his sleep. I would get up long enough to pet him a little before he was okay again and slept. But he would wake at least two other times during the night needing a little more affection. After the third night of this I was done.

"Okay, Crybaby," I said that night. "Get up here."

Brandt climbed up on the bed and lay close to me. I pet his head a few times to calm him down again then he went to sleep. He didn't whimper at all for the rest of the night. Each night for the rest of the week, Brandt would wake up once and whimper, before climbing onto the bed and spending the rest of the night next to me. It became part of the nightly routine.

But that changed the night of our year anniversary together. Brandt whimpered one other time after joining me in bed, but when I reached over to rub his ears, I found a head of hair. I stopped then my hand moved down to a human neck and shoulder. Scrambling out of bed, I flipped on the bedside lamp to find a nude man lying on my bed where Brandt had been not an hour earlier.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He tipped his head to the side as if he didn't understand.

"Get out!" I yelled. "Get out!"

He crawled off the bed and out of the room. I closed my eyes for a second before going out into the front room. The man was still there—sitting on the floor—his legs bent up and his arms in front of him like a frog.

"Who are you?" I asked.

Again he tipped his head to the side.

"Can you speak?"

The man barked once.

"No. Speak English."

He whined and lowered his head.

"Where's Brandt?"

His body wiggled anxiously for a moment.

"Stop. Lay down."

The man lay on his belly then turned his head to look at me. Something about this wasn't right. I opened the closet door to reveal a full length mirror.

"Do you know who that is?" I asked, pointing to his reflection.

Slowly the man turned to look at the mirror. He stood on both feet instead of slinking off on all four as he had. I stood partially behind the door as he approached the mirror. His expression was thoughtful, but then he turned to me excitedly for just a second before he got a puzzled look on his face. Turning back to his reflection he whined.

"Can you not say words anymore?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Do you remember your name?"

He touched the dog tag hanging from his neck.

"Brandt Quire?"

He nodded.

"How is this possible?"

He growled and yipped once before I held my hand up. I didn't need him waking the neighbors.

"Can you still write?"

Brandt tipped his head to the side.

"Hold on," I said.

I went into the bedroom and found a robe for him to wear. Then picking up a small notebook and pen returned to the front room. I handed Brandt the robe. He took it, not looking like he knew quite what to do with it. Then he dragged it around the front room in his mouth.

"Brandt, stop. Sit."

He stopped and sat. The robe hanging from his mouth.

"Drop it."

He dropped it.

Picking it up, I put his arms through the sleeves. "Now stand."

He stood and I finished wrapping the robe around him. As I tied the sash, his hands came up to my face. There was so much information in his face, his eyes—concern, worry, curiosity, appreciation.

"Come on," I said, leading him to the kitchen.

I sat him in a chair and put the pen in his hand. Then I leaned against the table with one hand while I tried to figure out what was happening. He opened the notebook then drew a few scribbles. His brow furrowed and he tried again before he put the pen down and whined. Then he turned to me and whimpered.

"Are you worried?"

Brandt nodded once and put a hand over mine.

"Worried about me?"

Again he nodded.

"Why?"

A sad expression crossed his face before he crawled back into the bedroom. I followed, but as I pushed the door open, Brandt—my Dalmatian—lay curled on his rug. My robe lay discarded a foot away. Kneeling beside him, I pet his head lightly and he whined.

"What's happening, Brandt?"

He moved his head away from my hand then was still. Turning out the light. I returned to bed. The rest of my night was filled with odd dreams. Brandt was human, but I always seemed to look up at him instead of levelly as I had done tonight.

When morning came, a storm came with it. Rain drummed against my window pane as I got out of bed. Brandt was already out of the room. He lay on the floor by the couch and only lifted his head a moment as I came down the hall.

"Morning, Brandt," I said.

His usual morning bark didn't come.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, kneeling beside him. I pet his head and he whined. "Are you unhappy?"

He barked once.

"Last night wasn't a dream, was it?"

He covered his face with his paws.

"It's okay. I only wish I knew what you had to tell me."

Brandt sat up then. He rested his head on my shoulder and whined. Wrapping my arms around him I pet him.

"We'll figure it out. Do you remember how you ended up a dog?"

Huffing he pulled away and lay down again.

"Do you want something to eat?"

He turned his head away.

"Okay." I rubbed his left ear then got ready for the day.

Brandt only got up when I let him out for the bathroom before he returned to his place on the floor next to the couch.

"I'll be back tonight," I told him.

He whined then curled into a ball.