Chapter 2 — Danger in the streets

The weight of this body is still dense to me, but I have adapted.

Fitting the entire house to the limitations of a canine torso was, without a doubt, one of my best ideas. It hasn’t been long since I ended up trapped in the golden fur of the family pet, though I can’t deny it has its pros and cons.

I press a button on the wall with my snout. The metallic click vibrates in my teeth. The automated kitchen springs to life; robotic arms descend from the ceiling with surgical precision, holding steaming plates. With my back tense and my claws making a faint click-click against the polished floor, I drag the clean tablecloth with my mouth and spread it over the table. My sense of smell is flooded with fried bacon and butter. The glands in my throat work overtime; canine salivation is a filthy, violent urge that I try to suppress by swallowing hard.

The lock of the adjoining room clicks. My stomach contracts immediately. My ears perk up uncontrollably, catching the friction of fabric against his skin before the wood even finishes swinging open.

It is none other than my most precious son. He has finally gotten up.

After our… talk last night, something inside my ribcage beats with an irregular rhythm. Blood rushes to my ears, burning me beneath the thick fur of my cheeks as I remember it. God, how embarrassing. But at least he seems to be in a better mood. His face no longer carries that gray shadow.

Then I notice his backpack strap crossing his chest. My gaze travels from his shoulders to the digital clock on the wall. The numbers blink. My pupils dilate suddenly.

“Ma, sorry, I’m running late for school,” he murmurs, quickening his pace toward the exit.

“Wait, wait!” The articulated bark stumbles in my throat, coming out as a guttural scolding that forces me to rear up on my hind legs. “Before you go, you have to eat breakfast. It’s the most important thing of the day. You stay up studying so late.”

He stops dead in his tracks. My son, this hardworking boy who, since last night, seems to overflow with a strangely livelier energy, more attractive to my instinctive senses, watches me with a mix of doubt and hesitation. I feel the freezing air between us. By reflex, I pin my ears back, shrinking down against the wooden floor. The vulnerability bothers me, corrodes my insides, but I can’t help it.

He sighs. The smell of exhaustion on his breath dilutes as he looks toward the counter. He approaches with hesitant steps and grabs a pair of freshly made pieces of toast.

“Is this okay?” he asks, trying to take a step toward the door.

I narrow my eyes, barely flashing the edge of my fangs in a gesture of severe stubbornness. With my wet nose, I nudge the porcelain plate that the mechanical arms just placed on the edge of the table. The cooked egg and bacon strips crackle.

“No. Please, eat.”

The smart aleck doesn’t even think twice. He opens the two pieces of toast, clumsily shoves the egg and bacon in the middle, and squashes the sandwich between his fingers.

“Sandwich. Thanks, Ma.”

A quick smile forms on his lips, but he doesn’t hold my gaze for more than a second. He’s still nervous. I know why. Yesterday’s thing worked to bring us closer, but it also left a lingering discomfort floating in the house. We went a bit too far. Both of us.

He is a good boy.

He turns, and the front door closes behind him with a sharp thud.

I lick my snout, trying to swallow the knot of frustration tightening around my neck. The robotic claw descends with a soft hum and deposits my own plate onto the floor. I take two mechanical bites of the meat, chewing with my canine jaw without really tasting it. My gaze drifts, fixing on the corner of the table.

There lies the brown paper bag.

The movement of my jaw stops dead. The food gets stuck on my tongue. I had prepared that lunch for him myself, taking care of every detail with my own claws.

I look at the bag. I look at the door. I look at the bag again. The heat of panic rushes up my legs to my shoulders.

I leap up, abandoning my food. My claws skid across the wood before finding traction, and I bolt on all fours toward the entrance. I push through the small flap door at the main entrance. I shove my torso out, my snout wrinkled from haste, the cold air hitting my eyes.

The sidewalk is empty. He is no longer in sight.

Beyond the small garden, the outside world is a roaring monster. The street throbs with the deafening noise of engines, the screeching of brakes, and the hurried walking of dozens of strangers. Acidic smells of combustion, hot asphalt, and cheap perfumes seep into my nostrils, saturating my mind.

I feel my heart pounding hard against my ribs.

No. What the hell. It can’t stay like this.

If I don’t give him his lunch… I wouldn’t really be a good mother. Not after how hard I worked in the kitchen, adapting to this clumsy form just to make his favorite food.

But if they see me out there… a loose Golden Retriever running through the crowd…

I take a step back, cowering behind the flap door. I know what they do to the ones caught by animal control, not to mention… those people looking for me…

Yet, the scent of his trail still lingers on the front step. A subtle, sweet thread that my nose picks out amidst all the noise of the world.

I grit my teeth. I jam the paper bag between my fangs, tasting cardboard on my tongue, and cross the threshold out into the street.

My claws slip on the cold cement. I cross my front legs out of sheer clumsy instinct, and the ground twists beneath me. I stumble. I regain my balance by baring my teeth at no one, tightening my nose, refusing to look vulnerable. I try to take firm steps along the sidewalk. Ever since I inhabited this canine skin, I had never set foot on the street; even my most basic needs were handled in the house’s bathroom, preserving a remnant of dignity.

But this is different.

Everything looks absurdly tall, threatening. The legs of pedestrians rise like columns of meat and fabric that crush my field of vision.

I keep the brown paper bag clamped between my jaws. The taste of dry paper scrapes my tongue. I walk straight ahead, my back tense, feeling the vibration of the asphalt beneath my pads. I hear heavy footsteps, the screeching of brakes, the rushed heartbeats of the crowd. My senses are overwhelmed, amplified by this body.

Sniffing the air, I pick up my son’s trail. That sweet, familiar scent. I just need to follow the scent. I turn left, but first I step on a specific stone in the front yard’s grass; the automatic defense mechanism I designed in my previous life activates with a dull click, securing the entrance.

I pick up the pace through the sea of pedestrians. A man walks forward without looking, and his knee slams right into my left shoulder blade. A jolt of pain shoots down my leg.

“Sor—” The human urge gets stuck in my throat. I snap my mouth shut. Dogs don’t talk.

The man ignores me, but the latent aggression blazes in my chest. A low, raspy growl rumbles up from my diaphragm, vibrating through my ribs. Several passersby hastily dodge me, some accidentally kick my paws, others throw sharp insults my way. The smell of the city is filthy: burnt gasoline, rancid sweat, garbage baking in the sun. The chaos overwhelms me. I almost drop the bag. I bite down harder with my fangs, feeling the primal urge to flee or bite.

I trot in a frenzy. I reach the corner, but a draft breaks the trail. My son’s scent vanishes at the intersection.

I back up clumsily toward the mouth of a dark alley, away from the flow of people. I drop the bag onto the filthy ground. My chest heaves convulsively. I pant. What do I do now? His lunch… I worked so hard in the kitchen, pressing those buttons with my snout… I can’t fail him.

Scraft, scraft.

A heavy scraping over loose dirt makes the fur on the nape of my neck stand on end. Adrenaline fires up my reflexes. I spin on my hind legs in a fraction of a second, flashing my gums, shoulder muscles tensing for the attack.

But it isn’t a formidable threat.

From the shadows of the alley emerges a Cocker Spaniel. Long, floppy ears, flattened by filth. Her eyes are huge, dark, heavy with deep resignation. Her silky fur, which must have been white with brown patches on her head, now looks dirty, matted ash-gray. A weak specimen. Easy prey on any territorial scale.

Her eyes immediately lock onto the paper bag lying between my paws. My eyes widen in surprise, locking my jaw in a dominant posture, ready to drive her off with a swipe of my paw if she takes a single step.

But the bitch showed no fear. She merely scratched the ground with a skinny paw, tilting her neck in a submissive, almost childish gesture. And then, she smiled at me.

“You’re not… a stray, are you?” Her voice rang out clean, small, cutting through the noise of traffic.

A icy shock ran down my spine. My head took a sharp logical turn, denying reality. An animal talking? No, impossible. My tired mind is projecting language onto a whine. This is just a stray dog drawn by the smell of bacon.

Now that I think about it… of course, it makes sense. Now that I’m one of them… I can understand them.

“Stay back from me,” I barked, my voice coming out raspier than I intended, distorted by the canine tone but carrying an unyielding territorial warning. “Keep your distance. This isn’t for you.”

I stepped forward, lowering my head to make myself look bigger, feeling the physical superiority of my Golden Retriever body against her small, malnourished frame. The Cocker didn’t even blink. She only took a hesitant step forward, narrowing the gap between us.

“I smell the warm food,” she said, ignoring my combat posture, lowering her hips with an almost sweet resignation. “And I smell that you smell clean. Like home. Like someone who cares for you. You. Don’t. Belong here.”

Her naïveté completely threw me off. The aggression in my throat turned into a confusing pang in my stomach. My instinct told me I should bite her and drive her off, defend my son’s lunch like the alpha female of this makeshift territory, but the stray bitch’s gaze dismantled my reasoning. Her ribs were visible beneath her dirty skin; her breathing was fast, ragged with an ancient hunger.

“It isn’t yours,” I repeated, though my voice lost its power, my ears flattening slightly without me realizing it.

“I have nothing,” the Cocker whispered, bringing her dry nose just inches from my front paws, exposing her neck in an overwhelming display of vulnerability. “Do whatever you want with me. But it smells so good…”

I growled again… a raspy, guttural sound that rumbled in my chest and burned my throat, ending in a heavy snort.

I slowly pulled my paw back from the bag. I didn’t take my eyes off that scrawny creature for even a millisecond. Everything in my canine anatomy was tense; my pads dug into the damp dirt, thigh muscles vibrating, ready to spring if she threatened my property.

I turned sharply to ignore her and leave. Let her stay in her misery. However, the Cocker Spaniel was slyer. She picked up her pace with devilish agility and planted herself right in front of me. My vision was filled with her filthy fur.

With a quick snap of her jaws, she almost grabbed the bag of food.

“Hey!” I leapt back, flashing my fangs, my gaze locked on her movements.

But my face and judgment instantly clouded. Her furry, burr-covered tail intruded into my field of vision on purpose, brushing against my wet nose to distract me. I opened my mouth instinctively to bite it and shove it aside, but she was lightning fast: taking advantage of my momentary blindness, she clamped the bag between her teeth.

She darted forward a few meters and turned to look at me. She smiled with overwhelming cheekiness and said goodbye by raising a front paw in a mocking gesture.

What a brazen bitch…! Damn it!

Try to stay calm… analyze this logically… Maybe… maybe I have time to go back to the house and make him another meal… But no. If I don’t catch up with my son on his way, I won’t be able to give him anything all day. Besides, I made this food. I worked too hard. I adapted my body, pressed those damn buttons with my snout… It isn’t for a bitch like that to devour in two bites!

Pride and rage blinded my sight. I slammed my paws hard against the ground, feeling the impact reverberate through my joints, and began chasing her at full speed. Seeing me advance like a golden whirlwind, she sprinted faster.

She took advantage of the traffic chaos. She boldly slipped between the tires of cars braking and accelerating, crossing the main street to reach the other side, where the green of a park stretched out.

The automobiles zipped back and forth, blasting bursts of hot air that ruffled the fur on my back. The horns blared deafeningly, dazing me. I stood stranded on the curb, shivering with helplessness. Shit… I don’t… I don’t think I can cross that. The human fear of getting run over and the animal terror of giant machines paralyzed my legs.

The food is slipping away… No…

“Do you need help, miss?”

The deep, calm voice at my side threw me completely off balance. I gave a small jump of surprise. Standing tall and firm beside me, a Belgian Malinois had appeared.

I flicked my ears back out of pure self-defense, flashing the edge of my gums with a low growl… but ended up nodding. The way he spoke to me seemed like that of someone friendly, serene. He smiled at me, showing his tongue, and I returned an extremely uncomfortable smile, wrinkling my nose.

The Belgian Malinois sized up the street. He made me wait patiently for the cars to slow down. When the traffic light turned green for pedestrians, he took charge: he hurried me along, giving me light nudges with his shoulder against my side to guide my step, while covering my rear by walking half a meter behind me.

We crossed the asphalt road and stepped onto the fresh grass of the park. Before walking away, the Belgian Malinois gently brushed his wet nose against the base of my right ear.

The physical contact startled me. I jerked away immediately, shaking my head to clear the sensation from my fur.

“Thank you…” I offered in a low voice, a thread of a canine voice that almost got lost in the air.

He smiled again, puffing out his chest with pride.

“Just doing my duty,” he said with complete naturalness. “You haven’t left your owners’ house in a long time… It’s good to see you every now and then.”

Upon hearing him, the effect was immediate. My mind had gone blank.

Ah… Is it possible that…? Did this Golden Retriever have a life on the street before I occupied her body? Did she have friends? A routine? Relationships I was completely unaware of? I hope this dog isn’t her…

The thought made my stomach turn. I stood watching him for a moment, completely lost. My scientific mind searched for explanations, while my canine body reacted with a strange familiarity to the Malinois’s presence. Because my tail was wagging on its own… and my face…

“R-Right! The food!” I barked loudly, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed through the park, breaking the trance.

I left the Belgian Malinois behind without another word, dug my claws into the grass, and bolted through the trees, desperately tracking the paper bag. Hoping nothing in my body would make me want to turn back… Because the strange heat in my face wasn’t the only heat I felt at that moment…

I grit my teeth, stretching my legs in long strides as the wind whipped through my fur. I began searching for any clue that would lead me down the path that stray might have taken. I sniffed the grass in a hurry, but I couldn’t catch her scent properly… the smell of burnt asphalt and the dampness of the park covered everything; her trail hadn’t stuck in my nose. My breathing sounded raspy, clumsy, heavy with an animal anxiety I couldn’t manage to control.

The dog from earlier reappeared at my side without a sound, matching his stride to mine.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?” he asked, turning one of his erect ears in my direction without missing a beat.

I, looking at him out of the corner of my eye with a certain discomfort, nodded. I let out a short bark to loosen my speech and explained as best I could who I was looking for.

“A bitch… a Cocker,” I said, lowering my voice as I noticed the fluidity of the canine words in my throat. “She’s scrawny, has long, floppy ears, and grayish fur from all the filth on her. She took something of mine.”

He stopped for a second and looked around with a clinical coldness, evaluating the terrain. His eyes locked onto a tall concrete wall bordering the corner of the park. I tilted my head, not understanding what he intended to do, but before I could question him, he leaped forward. In a single relentless bound, he launched his back against the wall and scrambled up with a clean, sharp swipe of his paws.

“Better view from up here,” he whispered, traversing the ledge with enviable ease.

I swallowed hard. That canine had a fine posture; the muscles of his legs tensed beneath his dark coat with a predatory grace that caused an involuntary pang in my stomach. I snapped my gaze away and stepped deeper into the trees to search on my own, inspecting the shadows beneath the benches.

“Is everything okay at your house?” he asked from above, walking at my pace along the wall and eyeing me with measured attention. “You look… a bit agitated today. You don’t usually hang around here at this hour.”

I swallowed hard again. My pulse flipped in my chest.

“Yes, perfect. Everything’s in order,” I nodded in a rush, forcing a cheek-to-cheek smile that only managed to wrinkle my snout grotesquely. “Just… taking a morning stroll. You know, for a change of air.”

“I see,” he replied, letting out a amused huff that echoed from above. “Though that face says otherwise. Don’t worry, if that stray is in my territory, we’ll find her fast.”

I immediately turned away to look elsewhere, cutting off eye contact. My hind legs trembled slightly. Damn poodle, I told myself with a mental growl, hoping the message would reach my former pet in my subconscious for leaving me in this unpredictable body.

Finally, the canine gave a sharp bark.

“I see her!” he announced, pointing with his nose toward some bushes moving violently on the other side of the park.

The problem was the path: there were too many canines running, chasing each other, and playing in between. The Belgian Malinois let out a powerful bark of command. The sound echoed through the air and several dogs stopped dead in their tracks; then they scrambled to clear a path at the call of the dog’s authority.

“Follow me!” he ordered, leaping off the wall onto the grass and taking off in a run beside me.

“Why are you so… respected here?” I asked between pants, picking up the pace.

He chuckled, letting out an amused snort through his teeth.

“Some give you more respect when you work for the police,” he said, looking at me with a calm smile.

He kept running toward the bushes… but my legs backed up on their own. I slammed on the brakes, digging my nails into the dirt.

H-He’s a very dangerous guy for me! If I’m hidden in this body, it’s for a reason. I don’t know if the agents looking for me are connected to the local police… but… I don’t think it’s safe to be anywhere near him. Paranoia squeezed my chest.

He noticed my absence, stopped a few meters ahead, and looked back at me over his shoulder. He motioned with his head for me to come closer.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised… after all… if I did it, it was because… I wanted to protect you…” he murmured in a low voice, heavy with an overwhelming intimacy that froze my blood.

“What…?” I managed to say, my mouth agape.

At that moment, we closed the distance to the bushes in a single bound. The stray bitch darted out of the thicket and tried to run, but finding herself cornered by the impressive figure of the Malinois, she squealed and pressed against my back, using me as a shield behind my hip. She didn’t seem afraid of him; she simply didn’t trust that canine in the slightest.

The Belgian Malinois, recognizing her, smiled and greeted her with genuine cheer. The Cocker responded with a raspy, mistrustful growl. It seemed they knew each other from before.

I tried to avoid getting between them, stepping back to let them deal with their business, but wherever I moved, she moved too, glued to my hip, using me as a barrier. I took advantage of the commotion to duck down and grab the food bag with my jaws, but the Cocker let out a protest whimpering sound, shoved me lightly with her shoulder, and squealed that she needed it more.

I growled at her from the depths of my throat, flashing my gums, and made it clear that the food was for someone special, not for a bum like her. We got tangled in a small brawl, tugging at the cardboard and throwing wild paw swipes at each other. The Belgian Malinois tried to step forward to intervene, but before he could put a paw in, the Cocker and I yelled at him in unison to stay out of it.

I was grateful for the dog’s help… but he seemed far too close to the canine that used to inhabit this body. I couldn’t afford to owe him favors, much less knowing he worked for the enemy.

In the end, amid the wrestling and with frustration burning my insides, a desperate bark burst out of me:

“If you want something like this so badly, then I’ll make you one later, but leave this one alone!”

That was when she stopped dead in her tracks, looking at me completely bewildered. I swallowed hard, feeling a violent heat rush to my ears. I whipped around, clamped the bag tightly between my fangs, and took off running away at full speed. I noticed both dogs staring at me as I sped off, but deeply flushed beneath my fur, I tried to ignore it.

Though the stray bitch hadn’t stayed behind…

“Can you really make me one like those later?” her raspy voice sounded right beside me.

She was running glued to my side.

How on earth…? Was she that fast? Good God, are stray dogs really this quick…? Or did I just never fully test the physical limits of this body I now have? Fuck… my legs feel like lead and my lungs are burning.

I gave her a quick nod while trotting, trying not to swallow the dust from the sidewalk. She gave me a wide grin, flashing yellowish yet sharp teeth.

“I love shredded chicken!” she started spilling out in stumbles, matching her pace to mine effortlessly. “And fried liver, the kind that smells like cooked blood… Ah! And if you put some crispy bacon on it, the kind that melts on your tongue, I swear I’ll be your shadow forever! Can you make all that for me? Seriously? Are you going to use those magic buttons you talk about?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want, just shut your snout and run!” I growled sideways at her, the air burning my throat while the rhythm of my footsteps thundered in my ears.

I glanced back out of the corner of my eye. The imposing figure of the Belgian Malinois was devouring yards of grass behind us with terrifying elegance. His shadow seemed to be catching up to us.

“Hey!” the dog shouted at us from afar, his powerful voice ringing out above the noise of the park. “Wait up! Is everything okay over there? Where are you going so fast? The main street is dangerous!”

Panic sparked along my nerves. Instinct screamed at me that a police dog was the worst obstacle for my mission. I seized the opportunity.

“We have a deal,” I told the Cocker between dry gasps, fixing my eyes on her. “But you have to distract that dog right now or there’s no feast.”

“Done! Earn that plate, housewife!” she agreed without hesitating for even a millisecond.

She spun around on a dime, digging her nails into the damp dirt to change directions with a violent maneuver. She turned into a gray and brown blur that shot off in the opposite direction. She launched herself directly at the Belgian Malinois like a projectile with no brakes. The big dog barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before the scrawny Cocker jumped straight into his chest with the force of a rocket. The impact was a dull thud, a crash of flesh and bone that sent both canines rolling across the grass in a confused mess of legs, growls, and muffled barks.

I didn’t look back. I clamped my fangs harder into the paper bag, feeling the crunch of cardboard against my teeth, and demanded the absolute maximum from my four legs.

Accelerate, damn it, accelerate!

My claws scraped the turf, tearing up chunks of dirt as I veered sharply toward the park exit. I brushed past the thigh of a pedestrian who let out a startled cry, dodged a stroller by making an acrobatic leap that made my back crack, and skidded across the smooth tile sidewalk. My heart hammered against my ribs like a runaway hammer. The taste of iron and burning breath flooded my mouth.

I flew down a side street. The engines of two cars revved to my left; I zipped right behind a bumper, feeling the gust of hot exhaust air hit my tail. A small dog from a balcony barked at me furiously, but his voice faded behind me at the same speed I devoured the asphalt.

My limbs ached, my muscles burned in a spasm of physical exhaustion that threatened to bring me down, but pure adrenaline kept my body upright, driven by the single instinctive desire to put distance between us and fulfill my duty as a mother.

I turned the corner into a narrow alley, my claws skidding on loose cement, and let inertia carry me until I braked behind a dumpster.

I dropped the food bag onto the ground and collapsed onto all fours. I let out a long, agonizing sigh, my tongue hanging out to one side as my chest heaved up and down like a broken bellows. My mouth was completely dry, barely drooling a thick thread of saliva.

Fuck… it definitely isn’t easy being a canine!

I turned my head from side to side, my chest heaving like a runaway bellows. Amid the whirlwind of passersby and the smoke from exhaust pipes, a silhouette framed against the sun made my heart stop.

It was my son!

Barely a block away, adjusting his backpack strap toward the school entrance. I didn’t think twice. I dug my nails into the asphalt and launched into a furious sprint. The ground vibrated beneath my worn pads. Between my teeth, I clamped the brown paper bag with surgical precision, gauging the strength of my jaws so as not to tear the packaging I had worked so hard to prepare.

But something happened.

My son stopped dead in his tracks at the corner. A shadow darted across the street to greet him. I slammed on the brakes with all the weight of my back, but my claws scraped against the smooth tile without finding traction. Gravity and inertia played against me. I went flying in a clumsy skid.

THUD!

A dense, plush lump cushioned the impact right before I crashed into my son’s legs.

“Ow!” A high-pitched, indignant squeal echoed beneath my paws.

From the impact, the lunch bag went flying through the air, tracing a parabolic arc in the sky. My human brain and animal reflexes collapsed into a single objective: the food. I propelled myself upward in an agonizing leap, stretching my neck to the absolute maximum. My nose barely brushed the cardboard; the packaging slipped from my fangs and began to nose-dive straight toward the filth of the ground.

No!

Before it could touch the cement, a white shadow crossed my field of vision. A sharp snap of teeth cut through the air. The animal I had just collided with executed a feline spin on the spot, raised her snout with astonishing speed, and caught the bag in midair just a centimeter off the floor.

A perfect landing. The bag was safe.

I collapsed onto all fours, panting with my mouth open and my shoulder muscles trembling from the adrenaline. I adjusted my posture, barely flashing the edge of my teeth as I stood tall to mark my territory.

In front of me, shaking off the dust with exasperating elegance, was an immaculate Poodle. Fur curled like cotton candy, perfect for a beauty pageant, giving off a cloying scent of lavender shampoo and expensive lotion that drilled into my nostrils.

We sized each other up. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes locked onto me with a look of open superiority. She scanned me from head to toe, wrinkling her pink nose as if she were looking at a wild, clumsy, filthy beast fresh out of the sewer. The disdain in her posture was almost tangible.

I pressed my claws against the sidewalk, feeling a spark of aggression and bewilderment burning the nape of my neck. What the hell was a ridiculously refined Poodle doing loose on this side of town?

“Is she your dog?” The voice of the girl my son was talking to echoed in the air.

My son whipped around to look at me. We locked eyes in a second that felt eternal. I saw his face turn pale as he recognized my golden fur and the intense gaze of his mother in an animal’s eyes. I just smiled as best I could, swallowing my own pride, and my tail began to wag from side to side without my control. I let out a forced bark, high-pitched and fake, flushing all the way to my ears beneath my fur.

My son, noticing the urgency of the situation and the danger of being exposed, swallowed hard and simply nodded.

“Yeah… she’s the Golden from my house,” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Wow, I think this is the first time our pets have met,” the girl said, smiling as she bent down a bit. “This is Cleo.”

The girl gently took the bag that the Poodle was still holding between her teeth. Inspecting it, she saw my son’s name written in the corner in my handwriting. My son immediately recognized the lunch I had prepared for him with so much effort in the automated kitchen and quickly took it into his hands.

“Ah… yeah, it must have dropped out of my backpack when I ran out in a hurry,” he lied with a skill that surprised me, saving face. “Thanks a lot for catching it, Cleo.”

My son reached down and petted the Poodle’s head affectionately. I felt a brutal pang in my stomach, a flare-up of territorial jealousy that raised the hair on my back. That was my attention, my food, my effort!

Cleo let out a soft whine of satisfaction, stretching her neck toward his hand.

The two of them resumed walking toward the school, chatting animatedly.

“It’s super weird that Cleo wants to go out for a walk at this hour,” the girl commented, laughing softly as she looked at him. “She only insists on going out to the sidewalk when I go to school with you, that’s all…”

I grit my teeth, trailing after them. I tried to keep pace by walking beside the Poodle, both of us trailing behind the two teenagers. I couldn’t help but notice Cleo. The bitch raised her head with a posture full of pride and happiness, walking with an elegant trot and a clear flush on her snout every time she looked at my son’s back.

I stood there completely agape, my mouth slightly open while my claws kept moving on automatic.

Just how much… of my son’s life have I missed out on?!