That night, after my walk with Ralph, I flopped onto my doggie bed. Not the bed I’d known for my entire life, mind you—my warm, cozy human bed—but the small, round, slightly lumpy cushion my mom called a “dog bed.” It smelled faintly of grass and something musty I couldn’t identify.

I sighed, curling up as best I could. “What have I gotten myself into?” I thought, staring at the wall. Becoming a dog had sounded fun—run around, no homework, chase a ball—but the reality was turning out to be much less glamorous.

First, there was the cone. That wretched plastic prison strapped around my neck. I’d tried everything to pull it off—scratching, wiggling, even rolling on the floor—but it wouldn’t budge. The worst part? It reminded me constantly of what I’d lost. “Not only am I stuck as a dog,” I muttered to myself, “but now I’m a girl dog. A bitch. Perfect.”

I sighed again and stretched out. “This is my life now.”

From the family room, I could hear the muffled sounds of the TV. Curious, I padded out to join my family. They were all gathered on the couch watching Stranger Things on Netflix. Even Karly was still up, likely because it was Friday and she didn’t have school in the morning.

I lay down next to them, comforted just by being close. Sure, I wasn’t sitting with them like I used to, but at least I wasn’t alone. I tried to focus on the show, but something about the eerie music and flickering lights set me on edge. My ears twitched with every sudden sound.

Then it happened. A jump scare. My body reacted before my brain could catch up, and before I knew it, I had peed. Right there on the carpet.

“Andrew—no, Alyssa!” Mom yelled, leaping up from the couch.

I froze, ears flat against my head.

Mom pointed toward the back door, her voice sharp. “Outside! Now!”

She didn’t actually throw me out—that would be abusive—but her tone made it clear I wasn’t welcome inside. Tail tucked, I slunk into the dark backyard, the door shutting firmly behind me.

I hated the dark. Even as a human, I’d never liked it, but now, as a dog, every rustle of leaves or distant chirp sounded like danger. The wind whistled through the trees, making the bushes sway ominously. My heart pounded as I stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

A noise from the bushes caught my attention—a rustling, followed by a faint squeak. Against my better judgment, I crept closer. My enhanced dog senses kicked in, and I could see more clearly now, even in the dim light. I sniffed the ground, the air, the leaves.

The scent was...strange. Musky, sharp, and entirely unfamiliar. My tail quivered as I spotted paw prints in the dirt. Some looked like a cat’s, small and precise, but others were much larger, with deep indentations from claws. My mind raced. “What is this?”

The rustling grew louder, and before I could react, a small, wiry dog burst from the bushes, shaking its head furiously. I recognized him immediately.

“Boo!” I barked. Boo was my neighbor’s dog, and by the look of him, he’d just had a run-in with something nasty. He reeked.

Before I could process what was happening, a second figure emerged from the bushes—a skunk.

My heart sank. “Oh no. No, no, no!”

I turned to run, but it was too late. The skunk sprayed, and the world became a blur of panic and stench. My nose burned. My fur stung. The smell was everywhere.

Boo and I rolled in the grass, desperate to get the stench off. Boo whimpered, pawing at his face, and I couldn’t help but laugh internally. He looked ridiculous.

But then I caught sight of the skunk again, still near the bushes, almost as if it were...mocking us. I barked furiously. “Get lost, Pepé Le Pew!”

The back door creaked open, and I turned to see Karly stepping outside.

“Alyssa!” she called sweetly. Then she stopped, wrinkled her nose, and screamed. “Mommy, Alyssa got skunked!”

Mom came running out, hand clamped over her nose. “Oh no. Boo, too?!” She sighed and headed back inside, likely to call Boo’s owners.

I watched her from the yard, my tail drooping. The skunk smell was unbearable, but I couldn’t do much about it with the cone on. Boo and I exchanged miserable glances as we continued to roll in the grass.

Soon enough, Boo’s owners showed up, their faces twisted in disgust. “What happened here?”

“I hope we’re not stuck outside all night,” I thought bitterly, eyeing the closed back door.

Mom returned a few minutes later with a kiddie pool, a pair of gloves, and a basket of tomatoes. “Oh no,” I groaned, realizing what was coming.

She grabbed me first, lifting me into the pool. The cold water made me shiver, and the crushed tomatoes didn’t help. The smell was almost worse than the skunk. I squirmed, trying to escape, but Mom held me firmly.

Boo jumped into the pool on his own, splashing water everywhere. But just as quickly, he hopped back out, shaking tomato juice all over the yard.

I took my chance and bolted.

“Alyssa!” Mom yelled, chasing after me.

I stopped a few yards away, looking back sheepishly. Boo had already been captured and returned to the pool, so I figured my turn was next. Sure enough, Mom scooped me up and plopped me back into the mess of tomatoes.

This game of escape-and-capture went on for what felt like hours. By the end, I was drenched, tired, and smelling distinctly of tomato soup. The cone had been removed temporarily for the bath, and I took a moment to glance at myself.

“What did they do to me?” I thought, horrified.

The cone went back on as soon as I was dry. I sulked, dragging myself to my dog bed. “What a disaster of a day,” I muttered. “Being a dog is officially the worst.”

As I drifted off to sleep, one thought lingered in my mind: I really regret making that wish.