FA+
Shop
602
Views
Views
5
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Story / Transformation
Species Dog (Other)
Size 120 x 111
File Size 72.1 kB
Report this content
More from GoldenScouter
I do suggest downloading as there is some format nuances that are lost in this description method. However, I suppose not everyone is on board with that, so...
____________________________________________________________________________________________
9/14/1988
Received a call from the elder Foxworths. It would seem their flight from their financial interests in ‘Darajistan’ will be delayed for a day due to ‘bad weather.’ I want to believe it, but something about the lilt in the man’s voice made my eyes roll. I suppose that’s the good thing about long-distance work: I don’t have to force a smile in anything but my voice. They do pay well, but I can’t buy Jenny parental bonding and neither can they.
I relayed the news to her and…she gave no response. She didn’t even look upset about the whole thing. The dear girl is straight used it, like it’s normal.
Sometimes, I feel as if the poor girl and Georgette are the only things keeping me tethered to this job.
9/15/1988
Bumped into that rascal Fagin today. To my complete surprise, the man actually had the money he owed me with interest and ‘collateral in case of another slip-up.’ I say it’s surprising only because recent events hint he has a history of ‘outstanding loans.’
In any case, it seems the man’s recent brush with death at the hands of that devil Sykes pushed him to actually look for sensible work (which he should have done ages ago with all those dogs he looks after.) He has found a position as busboy in some new soup kitchen that popped up on ‘his turf of the town’ as he calls it. The pay appears to be peanuts, but the cash in my pocket doesn’t lie, nor the lack of grimy odors from his companions.
9/16/1988
My face is very red today. It seemed there was some kind of gift exchange at Jenny’s school, and I had completely missed the notice. Jenny told me not to worry and she already had something to exchange. I will say the girl came home bright-eyed as ever with her new friend, not living thank-goodness. (Georgette is only just now starting to tolerate Oliver)
The new friend in question appears to be a doll of some kind, weasel-like in it’s appearance with a green bow and a violet apron. From the way it’s seams were visible, I had almost assumed the creature was handmade until I noticed a delivery truck pass by the house bearing the name of Fagin’s workplace and a winking icon of that same stuffed animal.
“Stuffy’s”...what a name for a charity.
As for the toy itself, Oliver seems to enjoy it’s company fine enough, though anything involving Jenny sets the orange kitten ablaze with life.
Have not heard back from Jenny’s parents, whether for delay or homecoming. Perhaps they wish to surprise us.
9/17/1988
It truly astounds me how easy it is for a man to turn his life around. Fagin visited the house, and I must say I hardly recognized the man; he was wearing clean street clothes rather than the flea rags I first saw him in, his hair was combed and washed, and his moped had an actual backend rather than a shopping cart. Seems that soup kitchen pays better than I thought. Although he wishes me to refer to it as a restaurant in Jenny’s presence, “A budding franchise to a masterful chef” he tells her.
Once again, I am very happy for him. My parents always told me any hole you’re in can be solved with a little hard work and a flame under your rump.
The more I think of it though, the more I could swear something was up with his dogs. I can’t explain it better than it reminded me of when Georgette was first entering the pageant circuits: a mix of uncertainly yet obedient following. Sometimes I wonder what we would know if our animals could talk.
9/18/1988
Jenny had gone out with Oliver when it happened.
I was dusting the living room when I noticed Georgette on the windowsill. Hardly a new thing on her own, she often goes there when watching her exercise shows. I say watching but…off-topic.
Jenny had left that Stuffy toy there to ‘keep her company.’ Well, I can certainly say it did so. Georgette could hardly look away from that thing, and gave the most unusual barks and growls to it, as if she was having a conversation with it.
As a joke, I told the Stuffy thing I was just passing by to dust and ran the tool under her.
It’s tail lifted up for me.
I’m writing this down so I can make sense of it. Every time I close my eyes, I can see Georgette’s paw lift it, but I could swear it wasn’t there when it happened.
Perhaps my age is finally starting to show.
9/19/1988
I keep seeing more and more of those ‘Stuffy’s’ trucks driving around the neighborhood and a few fairweather friends speak highly of their dishes, to say nothing of Fagin.
As the man and I talked, I couldn’t help but eye his animal companions. For once it seemed Georgette wasn’t outraged at their being in the house, though I suspect that might be due to whoever’s been doing their fur; finely cut and styled with dye jobs to give them all a color scheme like Georgette.
Come to think of it, I could swear I saw a tuft of blue under Fagin’s cap as well. Perhaps a company mandate.
The thing that bothers me most however is that all those were sitting in front of that pastel plush, enraptured as if they were watching television.
Winston, your handwriting needs work. Meet me in my room, eight sharp.
10/2/1988
Finally allowed to have this again.
I am being put through the most horrible, frightening experience, and can’t wake up no matter how many times I pinch myself.
Had believed the note to be some thief having a laugh at me, but when I went to Georgette’s room to see if anything was taken, she was waiting for me.
Standing on her hind legs like a human and with a form to match. Anthropomorphic I think the term is.
Stuffy was standing there too. I mean the plush, standing as tall as Georgette, talking, breathing and everything.
Day by day I watch those trucks deliver more of that pastel creep’s cursed cuisine to the people to New York (or Georgette-Topia as the radio calls it) and every day I see them changing, turning into more anthro poodle monsters beings like Georgette, and no one is saying ANYTHING ABOUT IT! Periwinkle fur sprouts across their skin, highlighted with dark blue accents and puffs, their faces lengthen into muzzles and tail start sprouting from their pants and everyone acts as if this is only natural! Even writing this, I feel like I really am losing my mind!
Fagin is lost too; him and his dogs have now become Doberman poodle crossbreed beasts with no will of their own other than Georgette’s! They guard the house day and night, keeping everyone unwanted out and keeping me trapped here!
The only exception with this is the dark brown saluki; Rita I think Fagin called her. She has been allowed to keep her natural colors, though tempered with Georgette’s own puffed hairstyle and coloration. On top of that, Georgette sits her in front of the T.V., clicker in paw as spirals are projected before her. They can actually speak English, so I know Rita is trying to fight whatever spell she's being put through, but I can hear Georgette’s own posh accent drifting in and out of her words.
And then there’s Jenny. Georgette and that fluffed rat Stuffy refuse to let me cook anymore, only letting me clean and watch as the latter serves the most unearthly concoctions I can only assume are mirrored in her delivery trucks.
Jenny is just as blind as the rest of the city, unable to comprehend how wrong it all is as she morphs before my eyes, turning more into Georgette’s daughter than anyone else’s!
Aside from Rita, Oliver was to be the only other one aware of the madness. The poor kitten tried to escape, but Jenny caught him in powder-blue paws and sat him next to the saluki. He was far more accepting of the ‘obedience training’, as Georgette calls it, and is now in the same boat as Jenny.
I don’t know what to do, or if I can do anything.
I suppose if there is any silver lining, Georgette is far more attentive of Jenny than the Foxworths; watching her practice her piano, taking a vested interest in her studies, things I told those two many times they needed to do for their daughter.
10/3/1988
A new dog came around today, standing upright, of course. This one is different though, a Pyrenean Mastiff with all black fur and dressed in a fine purple tunic that wouldn’t look out of place in a Renaissance Faire. Whoever she was, I don’t think she’s any friend of Georgette’s or Stuffy’s, the way she snuck around the house, acting like I couldn’t see her through the polished floor reflection alone, she seemed terribly afraid of getting caught.
She had tripped in the living room, and was almost caught by Georgette, who was busy caressing Rita through another training session. I don’t know how the poodle missed her under the couch, but I didn’t say a word.
_____________________________________________________________
There was nothing, nothing that could help her. Asha flipped through the torn leaflets again and again, but there was nothing she didn’t already gather.
Nothing more she could hope to gather either. The last time she had transported herself to ‘Georgette-Topia’, that snooty poodle was waiting for her with those guards ready to sniff her out and tear her apart. Stuffy wasn’t there either, so she would have died for nothing if she had stayed.
All Asha could think of was poor Rita, the Saluki despondent as she shoved the disguised girl through the window. Her final words before shutting it behind her haunted her subconscious.
“You wanna help me? Make me feel better? Get out of town kid, run till you’re past city limits and don’t stop running till you drop! This is Georgette’s town now, but you ain’t gotta be stuck here like me.”
It was the very worst thing Rita could have told her, and said with such a lack of hope that made Asha feel sick. The emotional outburst had made controlling the wand difficult and if the paper airplane had not struck her and stuck into her dress, it might have been lost in the garden.
Before burning the notebook pages away and scattering their ashes to the wind, Asha caught sight of the final page, the one that no doubt had served as the mold for the rest of the pages.
Unlike all the others, the handwriting was far less refined, and the ink had splattered twice, making the final words almost unreadable were it not for Asha’s magic.
I don’t know who you are. If you’re against the monster that took over my life, that’s fine. Not Georgette, she’s just as much a victim, I fear. Don’t blame Rita for her treatment of you, there is only so much she can handle.
For Gods sake, if there is a way you can stop this madness, get on with it!!!!
______________________________________________________________
Poor Asha, she really can't catch a break, can she? I can only imagine how scared she's getting with even these measly scraps of information to inform her of the situation.
Preview image thanks to AnthroEnthusiast
____________________________________________________________________________________________
9/14/1988
Received a call from the elder Foxworths. It would seem their flight from their financial interests in ‘Darajistan’ will be delayed for a day due to ‘bad weather.’ I want to believe it, but something about the lilt in the man’s voice made my eyes roll. I suppose that’s the good thing about long-distance work: I don’t have to force a smile in anything but my voice. They do pay well, but I can’t buy Jenny parental bonding and neither can they.
I relayed the news to her and…she gave no response. She didn’t even look upset about the whole thing. The dear girl is straight used it, like it’s normal.
Sometimes, I feel as if the poor girl and Georgette are the only things keeping me tethered to this job.
9/15/1988
Bumped into that rascal Fagin today. To my complete surprise, the man actually had the money he owed me with interest and ‘collateral in case of another slip-up.’ I say it’s surprising only because recent events hint he has a history of ‘outstanding loans.’
In any case, it seems the man’s recent brush with death at the hands of that devil Sykes pushed him to actually look for sensible work (which he should have done ages ago with all those dogs he looks after.) He has found a position as busboy in some new soup kitchen that popped up on ‘his turf of the town’ as he calls it. The pay appears to be peanuts, but the cash in my pocket doesn’t lie, nor the lack of grimy odors from his companions.
9/16/1988
My face is very red today. It seemed there was some kind of gift exchange at Jenny’s school, and I had completely missed the notice. Jenny told me not to worry and she already had something to exchange. I will say the girl came home bright-eyed as ever with her new friend, not living thank-goodness. (Georgette is only just now starting to tolerate Oliver)
The new friend in question appears to be a doll of some kind, weasel-like in it’s appearance with a green bow and a violet apron. From the way it’s seams were visible, I had almost assumed the creature was handmade until I noticed a delivery truck pass by the house bearing the name of Fagin’s workplace and a winking icon of that same stuffed animal.
“Stuffy’s”...what a name for a charity.
As for the toy itself, Oliver seems to enjoy it’s company fine enough, though anything involving Jenny sets the orange kitten ablaze with life.
Have not heard back from Jenny’s parents, whether for delay or homecoming. Perhaps they wish to surprise us.
9/17/1988
It truly astounds me how easy it is for a man to turn his life around. Fagin visited the house, and I must say I hardly recognized the man; he was wearing clean street clothes rather than the flea rags I first saw him in, his hair was combed and washed, and his moped had an actual backend rather than a shopping cart. Seems that soup kitchen pays better than I thought. Although he wishes me to refer to it as a restaurant in Jenny’s presence, “A budding franchise to a masterful chef” he tells her.
Once again, I am very happy for him. My parents always told me any hole you’re in can be solved with a little hard work and a flame under your rump.
The more I think of it though, the more I could swear something was up with his dogs. I can’t explain it better than it reminded me of when Georgette was first entering the pageant circuits: a mix of uncertainly yet obedient following. Sometimes I wonder what we would know if our animals could talk.
9/18/1988
Jenny had gone out with Oliver when it happened.
I was dusting the living room when I noticed Georgette on the windowsill. Hardly a new thing on her own, she often goes there when watching her exercise shows. I say watching but…off-topic.
Jenny had left that Stuffy toy there to ‘keep her company.’ Well, I can certainly say it did so. Georgette could hardly look away from that thing, and gave the most unusual barks and growls to it, as if she was having a conversation with it.
As a joke, I told the Stuffy thing I was just passing by to dust and ran the tool under her.
It’s tail lifted up for me.
I’m writing this down so I can make sense of it. Every time I close my eyes, I can see Georgette’s paw lift it, but I could swear it wasn’t there when it happened.
Perhaps my age is finally starting to show.
9/19/1988
I keep seeing more and more of those ‘Stuffy’s’ trucks driving around the neighborhood and a few fairweather friends speak highly of their dishes, to say nothing of Fagin.
As the man and I talked, I couldn’t help but eye his animal companions. For once it seemed Georgette wasn’t outraged at their being in the house, though I suspect that might be due to whoever’s been doing their fur; finely cut and styled with dye jobs to give them all a color scheme like Georgette.
Come to think of it, I could swear I saw a tuft of blue under Fagin’s cap as well. Perhaps a company mandate.
The thing that bothers me most however is that all those were sitting in front of that pastel plush, enraptured as if they were watching television.
Winston, your handwriting needs work. Meet me in my room, eight sharp.
10/2/1988
Finally allowed to have this again.
I am being put through the most horrible, frightening experience, and can’t wake up no matter how many times I pinch myself.
Had believed the note to be some thief having a laugh at me, but when I went to Georgette’s room to see if anything was taken, she was waiting for me.
Standing on her hind legs like a human and with a form to match. Anthropomorphic I think the term is.
Stuffy was standing there too. I mean the plush, standing as tall as Georgette, talking, breathing and everything.
Day by day I watch those trucks deliver more of that pastel creep’s cursed cuisine to the people to New York (or Georgette-Topia as the radio calls it) and every day I see them changing, turning into more anthro poodle monsters beings like Georgette, and no one is saying ANYTHING ABOUT IT! Periwinkle fur sprouts across their skin, highlighted with dark blue accents and puffs, their faces lengthen into muzzles and tail start sprouting from their pants and everyone acts as if this is only natural! Even writing this, I feel like I really am losing my mind!
Fagin is lost too; him and his dogs have now become Doberman poodle crossbreed beasts with no will of their own other than Georgette’s! They guard the house day and night, keeping everyone unwanted out and keeping me trapped here!
The only exception with this is the dark brown saluki; Rita I think Fagin called her. She has been allowed to keep her natural colors, though tempered with Georgette’s own puffed hairstyle and coloration. On top of that, Georgette sits her in front of the T.V., clicker in paw as spirals are projected before her. They can actually speak English, so I know Rita is trying to fight whatever spell she's being put through, but I can hear Georgette’s own posh accent drifting in and out of her words.
And then there’s Jenny. Georgette and that fluffed rat Stuffy refuse to let me cook anymore, only letting me clean and watch as the latter serves the most unearthly concoctions I can only assume are mirrored in her delivery trucks.
Jenny is just as blind as the rest of the city, unable to comprehend how wrong it all is as she morphs before my eyes, turning more into Georgette’s daughter than anyone else’s!
Aside from Rita, Oliver was to be the only other one aware of the madness. The poor kitten tried to escape, but Jenny caught him in powder-blue paws and sat him next to the saluki. He was far more accepting of the ‘obedience training’, as Georgette calls it, and is now in the same boat as Jenny.
I don’t know what to do, or if I can do anything.
I suppose if there is any silver lining, Georgette is far more attentive of Jenny than the Foxworths; watching her practice her piano, taking a vested interest in her studies, things I told those two many times they needed to do for their daughter.
10/3/1988
A new dog came around today, standing upright, of course. This one is different though, a Pyrenean Mastiff with all black fur and dressed in a fine purple tunic that wouldn’t look out of place in a Renaissance Faire. Whoever she was, I don’t think she’s any friend of Georgette’s or Stuffy’s, the way she snuck around the house, acting like I couldn’t see her through the polished floor reflection alone, she seemed terribly afraid of getting caught.
She had tripped in the living room, and was almost caught by Georgette, who was busy caressing Rita through another training session. I don’t know how the poodle missed her under the couch, but I didn’t say a word.
_____________________________________________________________
There was nothing, nothing that could help her. Asha flipped through the torn leaflets again and again, but there was nothing she didn’t already gather.
Nothing more she could hope to gather either. The last time she had transported herself to ‘Georgette-Topia’, that snooty poodle was waiting for her with those guards ready to sniff her out and tear her apart. Stuffy wasn’t there either, so she would have died for nothing if she had stayed.
All Asha could think of was poor Rita, the Saluki despondent as she shoved the disguised girl through the window. Her final words before shutting it behind her haunted her subconscious.
“You wanna help me? Make me feel better? Get out of town kid, run till you’re past city limits and don’t stop running till you drop! This is Georgette’s town now, but you ain’t gotta be stuck here like me.”
It was the very worst thing Rita could have told her, and said with such a lack of hope that made Asha feel sick. The emotional outburst had made controlling the wand difficult and if the paper airplane had not struck her and stuck into her dress, it might have been lost in the garden.
Before burning the notebook pages away and scattering their ashes to the wind, Asha caught sight of the final page, the one that no doubt had served as the mold for the rest of the pages.
Unlike all the others, the handwriting was far less refined, and the ink had splattered twice, making the final words almost unreadable were it not for Asha’s magic.
I don’t know who you are. If you’re against the monster that took over my life, that’s fine. Not Georgette, she’s just as much a victim, I fear. Don’t blame Rita for her treatment of you, there is only so much she can handle.
For Gods sake, if there is a way you can stop this madness, get on with it!!!!
______________________________________________________________
Poor Asha, she really can't catch a break, can she? I can only imagine how scared she's getting with even these measly scraps of information to inform her of the situation.
Preview image thanks to AnthroEnthusiast
Category Story / Transformation
Species Dog (Other)
Size 120 x 111px
File Size 72.1 kB
Comments