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Sometimes I think back to a time in my youth when I was so like every other girl I knew that I wished there was something special about me. Some kind of special heritage or physical talent or artistic gift would have been great. If I’m honest there were times I would have settled for having glasses or having a cast. I didn’t think much about the medical costs or issues either at the time but I remember wanting to stand out in some way. Any way.

Now, just past my thirtieth birthday, I would give almost anything to be normal again. To not have the daily worries and stresses literally dogging me constantly would be wonderful. I used to want it badly when this all started. Time and learning there’s nothing I can do about it means I think about being normal less and less. Only ever makes me anxious and it’s not like it’ll do any good. I’m a freak and accepting it is part of the process. That’s what my therapist says but in a much nicer way.

The names for my affliction vary from vague, ‘The Bane’ and ‘The Itch’, to passable medical terms like ‘Dowtry Positive’ or ‘Kanis Syndrome’, and the flat insults. ‘Mad Dog Disease’ and ‘Dowtry’s Doggies’ are some recent ones I’ve heard. Those are among the more kind but they all describe the same thing. A lot of it is ignorance or flat out fear but that doesn’t take the sting off hearing some of the nastier monikers. Not helpful when the condition they’re teasing you about is triggered by heightened emotional states.

If asked, I tell people I have Kanis and leave it at that. I’ve never met anyone in my nine months since I contracted it who didn’t know exactly what I was talking about. If I were to get overly angry, frustrated, happy, sad, or aroused it triggers a somewhat uncomfortable physical transformation into a dog. In my case a Siberean Husky-Australian Sheepdog mix. I’m stuck that way for five to six hours, more dog than myself, and then I change back with foggy memories of what happened and no clothes. Mine is a highly activated strain which to me means the transfiguration takes fifteen minutes or less and makes me contagious for life. Effectively ruining the life I had and making this a part of me now and always.

Where the ignorance of people shines is in how the condition is spread. Tales that it’s sexually transmitted, can pass through casual physical contact, or in the air were some popular misconceptions. Much more toxic believe it requires sex with an infected canine or transformed Kanis. None were true. The three top ways were: bites that broke the skin which went untreated, blood or bone marrow transplant, or from two Kanis parents. The most common and my source was being bitten by a normal dog that had been bitten or had sexual intercourse with a transformed Kanis in the past. My situation was born out of some lies and me being too damn trusting of a person back then.

It’s where I’ll start with these little glimpses into what my life has been these past seven or so months. The more I process these memories the better I feel I can control my emotions around them, which I desperately need to work on. I can’t keep having episodes or I’ll lose another job. Or ruin another relationship. If I want anything like normalcy I’ll need to get a grip on anything that swings my emotions around too much. That starts with how it all started, go figure.

*******

My boyfriend of two years at the time, Rory, had brought me along to a summer barbeque party at one of his co-workers' houses back in July. I hadn’t really wanted to go but he insisted I be social after being stuck at work for months. So we headed out to his place in the suburbs for a shindig with about thirty folks in a wide open backyard with a wide deck and pool. Of all these people I knew my boyfriend and just two of his friends who’d I previously met in passing. Meaning I spent most of the party camped out in a seat on my phone nursing a beer.

Aside from my boyfriend and random drunk dudes hitting on me the only company I got was from one (or if I was lucky two) of the host’s dogs. One a black Newfoundland named Ella and the other, fatefully, was a Siberean Husky-Australian Sheepdog mix called Argo. Both were friendly with me before I even got food, as animals usually had been around me. When I got food they loved me ten times more. They were sweet dogs and would have been the only thing I remembered about that day had I not been lured out to the bonfire by my boyfriend.

Rory was tipsy and promised we just had to socialize for a little while and then we could go home. So I played the nice girlfriend bit while he chatted with everyone and squeezed me beside him at the hip. Somewhere else the kids were off with the dogs and they all came rushing back when one of their parents called to leave. The dogs and kids look like they've been playing in the mud somewhere so when a giddy Argo leapt for me with probably good intentions. I pushed him away once and then again. On the third time without warning I get the teeth; Argo chomps down on my right forearm.

It happened so fast that my first thought was just a play bite. Then I saw blood in the firelight and I screamed. I had two puncture wounds and with my not the best with blood it fell upon everyone else to rush me to the house. One of the guests was a slightly sober EMT that had everything on hand to treat the injury there. Including shots and bandages for the time being. I’d need to get antibiotics but once the initial shock wore off I was left with pain I could tolerate. The EMT was also the first to ask the owners if their dogs had been tested and were Kanis cleared. They assured me and everyone else that they were and there was no chance I was infected. I had a feeling then that they were lying about at least keeping up with it but I had so much on my mind it was just enough to get home that night.

I woke up with a swollen arm, aches, and slight fever. I was lucky and got an appointment with my doctor that morning who was able to get me an antibiotic prescription. Not until I reassured him that Argo was Kanis free. Something I had myself been reassured of. I walked out of the appointment feeling as upbeat as I could be.

I remember thinking that this would hopefully convince Rory to never ask me out on another one of these dumb outings. He was very apologetic about the whole thing and said he’d pick up slack around the house while I healed. I didn’t expect his effort would last that long but I was happy to take it. Come day two and the fever had gotten worse, my muscles were sore, my appetite was up, and I was getting dehydrated. Day three and I’m fighting hot and cold flashes and a headache. On the fourth day, a Wednesday, I called the doctor when the symptoms didn't abate. I’m co-lead on a marketing team with a massive team project due at the end of that week and my absence was causing havoc. This time the doctor couldn’t see me until late Thursday afternoon so I tried to give my body another day to heal.

Thursday came with a wicked fever, migraine, bone pain, and my voice going terribly hoarse. I didn’t want a temporary sickness to derail everything my team had been working on for months so I made the supremely stupid decision to have Rory take off work to drive me into work for a couple hours. My thinking was I had only a few things to finalize on my end which I could then share with the rest of my team so that even with me out Friday they finish the project. I figured three hours max and sent Rory home with instructions to home back then for me unless I finished earlier. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for deciding not to stay home. If I had, things would have been so much different- says my hindsight.

I actually got to my fourth floor office feeling as close to death as I certainly looked. I was wearing sneakers, yoga pants, and a hoodie for my own comfort. On the way up the only other staff I ran into were the floor manager and some dude from accounting. Both mentioned how bad I looked and suggested I go home. I insisted I would after I got some work done. Should have listened to them. Instead I was in my office logging into my computer and downing more fever meds. When the heat I felt didn’t go down I turned the air conditioning up but it didn't help for very long. My fingers were dripping sweat and cramping so badly that just entering passwords was laborious. Inside my email were waiting messages telling me I’d need to reformat some information in addition to what I already had to do. More fuel to the angry frustration brewing in me. More emotions to excite an indistinct stirring in me that I wasn’t aware was actually a time bomb about to explode apart my life.

I had struggled through for an hour when I got an email from the team lead that did it. For reasons I’ll probably never know the lead wanted a complete reshuffling of the project. Which also included another reformat. One he asked me to handle ‘since I was already here’. I was beyond disgruntled and in the safety of my office I groaned, gnashed my teeth, and slammed the firmest part of my desk so I wasn’t loud. I didn’t pound more than two times when my whole body seized up so badly I flipped my chair as I fell out of it.

My heart was racing, I was hyperventilating, my skin was on fire, my muscles were cramping, bones felt like they were going to shatter, and my vision had blurred badly enough that on my hands and knees I couldn’t make out my hand in front of my face. That’s where my memories of that initial transformation get very blurry themselves. What I know of it is pieced together from flashes of memory, what I was told in the hospital afterwards, and from what I’ve learned since then. Oh, that and I’ve watched the building’s security footage of my Kanis Syndrome kicking in. Along with a few million others thanks to the video leaking online.

Nice, right?

The transformation is a painful, surreal experience of having one’s body pulled apart, then sculpted against reason into a beast. A dog. My fingers shrank, fingernails darkened, and my hand shifted away from anything normal while my nose going black scared me in that state so I did the only thing I could and went for help. The video showed me struggling to stand, walking to the door, and opening the knob. Somehow I managed it and as I’m leaving there’s a tail growing in my pants that you can see clearly on the footage. I don’t remember registering the tail but I recall getting out of my office and trying to get my bearings. Too bad I never found them.

I hobbled around the open floor plan banging into walls and desks, knocking things over as I tried to keep myself upright. Five or seven minutes of this sees my ears changing, hair falling out, muzzle getting pronounced on my face, and my hands warping away into malformed canine paws. The audioless video could show all this happening but it’s just me that remembers the tortuous cracking and breaking of bones. Those sounds still haunt my nightmares and having changed numerous times since hasn’t dulled my dislike for it.

Predictably my banging about and occasional cries drew people to me. Those first to arrive were horrified and I can remember when one attempted to come closer to help when someone else pulled them back. A general evacuation of the entire building came next. Everyone left in a hurry with just a few knowing what the cause was. Not a single person stayed behind with me. You can see on the video me flailing around in my clothes so it would have been nice if someone helped with those but fear of Kanis is higher than understanding of it.

For twenty-three minutes I changed by my lonesome. This period of time is utterly blank in my memory due to forces at work on my brain at the time. I crawled out of my hoodie and pants at some point. Had my rear end force me onto four legs. Fur was itching me all over. My face was unrecognizable while I’d lost my human voice to whines and canine howls. I was found by a hazmat unit who put up a perimeter, gathered materials, including my things, and only moved to gather me when physically I was near the end of my transformation. The last frames of the leaked footage was of me being corralled into a mobile cage.

Barely thirty minutes after getting that stupid email and getting emotional I was barking, wagging my tail, and scratching at fur like a dog. Okay, I had a lot of fur to grow in and my organs weren’t all there (the stomach pains are another feeling I remember vividly and still have trouble with) but anyone looking would think I was some mangy dog. It’s what I thought when I saw the video. Probably for the best that time for me was one I don’t remember well.

I woke up back to my old self restrained in a hospital bed, sedated, and hooked up to a lot of monitors. I was in my own room that was being guarded by a pair of dudes that weren’t cops. I come to find out they’re military and they’re with some government doctors whose job it was to deal with cases like mine. Fun way to be welcomed into a new world that I never signed up for. Took a couple hours for me to finally see someone, a Dr. Sease, and get my diagnosis.

To his credit he was trying to show some bedside manner in telling me that I had contracted a chronic form of Kanis Syndrome. Argo had tested positive and likely came into sexual contact with a positive testing female dog that had already been picked up. Had anyone known this and I gone to the hospital I likely could have been treated and cured. Since I progressed through a full transformation cycle I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. I asked about a cure and if there was any progress. Dr Sease told me it was best to prepare for living a life torn between myself and the dog.

I was given a very thick folder that went over every detail of what had happened to my biology (which was almost all over my head), what to expect, how the changes occurred, what medications I would be required to take to be in compliance with my living freely, what rules I would need to follow in my life, where I’d go if I refused to follow any guidelines, and so much more than I can’t say I’ve read through it all as of today. I have gone through enough to know just how bad it was. I take twenty-one pills over the course of the day which do everything from making me near non-contagious, to keeping my emotions dulled, another for pain, and one that helps preserve mental function throughout.

That last one was a blessing and a curse. Mental degradation was common among most sufferers as soon as 2 years after infection when they go untreated. The pill helps prevent that but causes me to be aware and remember every transformation and my time while a dog. The amount that actually translates into control of myself while the dog varies. Sometimes I feel like a person trapped in a dog’s body. Other times I feel like I’m around for the ride. It tends to be somewhere in the gray area in between with instinct directing my befuddled human intellect. It’s never not weird.

I was told I had an electronic chip inserted in my upper back in case I was ever lost. I also have to wear a special necklace that has my medical condition and information on it in addition to being designed to stay on my neck through transformation. I get the impression it’s easier to make these than find a cure. I was advised to stay away from large gatherings, emotional situations, and had to go through a long psychological interview so they could gauge how I’d fair. They said my outlook was ‘positive’ if I followed all their procedures and left it at that.

For three days I was monitored and kept for observation. Really it should have been just two but when I learned I lost my job over the weekend I managed to have a freak out that powered through the sedatives in my blood and triggered my seconds transformation. On that third day I was allowed to see Rory again. I could tell he hadn’t gotten much sleep and was edgy the whole time we talked. I was very much expecting to be dumped but he proved me wrong by saying he’d try to help me through this. He’d talked to the doctors and looked over the same materials I did outlining how things would be. So long as I took my medication the only ways I could pass my Kanis would be through organ donation, which I was now barred from.

Kissing, hugging, sleeping together, sharing a toilet seat, tooth brush, and sex were perfectly fine. I was effectively infertile now (side effect of the meds I’m told but some online say it’s just to stop it spreading through offspring. I try not to think about it) but I had never wanted kids and Rory knew that so there wasn’t an actual problem. Knowing that Rory is a very socially conscious person I figured the social stigma attached to my condition would scare him off. Yet there he was the day I got out driving me home to our place where he had our bedroom setup as a place to recover and relax. He’d gone out of his way to follow the instructions about creating a space for me without any strong emotional triggers present.

He’d moved pictures, souvenirs, and other items from the bedroom, living room, and other common areas. Rory made sure I was taking my medication, took care of meals, laundry, mail, bills, and made sure I was emotionally stable. It helped tremendously during a time when I was grappling with so much. I was seeing a therapist daily over video chat (who was paid for the company that created Kanis back in the day as part of their settlement with the federal and state governments) to help me through things too. Thanks to all the meds I was kinda not there mentally for that week but I knew Rory was there for me.

A week later ‘it was all too much for him’ and Rory dumped me. He was moved out in half a day and I haven’t seen him in person since. He’s only ever texted about Netflix and Disney logins. That night I changed for the first time at home. When I entered into the ‘incident journal’ I’d been given to record details about every time I change the inciting incident was notably not Rory. It was the deep fear I felt as to how I would ever go on living for forty, fifty, sixty, or however many more years dealing with the dog.

For the first time in my life I had no idea what I was going to do with myself.

*******

It was a Tuesday roughly three and half weeks after my initial transformation that I dared venture outside my front door. Mentally I was depressed but stable and accepting of what my life now entailed. I still had no idea how I would move ahead but I did have enough in savings and from my parent’s estate to keep me afloat my current place for at least a year with bills paid. My medication and a few other costs are paid from the government’s settlement fund to help out too. What didn’t help was losing basically all my work related friends and colleagues who distanced themselves a country mile from what happened. I never had too much family besides my older brothers but they stopped returning my calls and texts too once they found out their sister was the one in the video everyone was sharing. I reached out to some extended family but didn’t hear anything back which meant I was close to alone. Some online friends who I kept in the dark about the nature of my ailment kept me sane and gave me the courage to head out that day to pick up my medicine myself.

As per protocol from the folder I hadn’t changed in the previous forty-eight hours and that morning was feeling simply down. I took a mild sedative and despite it being summer forced myself into jeans, hoodie, heavy winter jacket, and beanie to block out an emotional world. I had my earbuds in and played some uninspiring flute music that kept my mind on track and emotions settled. It was a twenty minute walk to the local pharmacy that received the special shipment of medicine for me. Right next to it was a large grocery store where, if I was feeling confident, I wanted to pick up some things. I had been getting delivery for most grocery items while recovering. But not everything is listed and there are some comfort items I wanted that would have helped me cope. It should take me an hour at most.

I walk to the pharmacy and get to the counter without any issues or spikes in my feelings. I made sure to leave so I arrived at the pharmacy right at 9 AM. I cut through a field and kept away from roads to avoid any possible honking horns and angry drivers. It worked and I got my medicine and took stock of myself to see if I could handle the grocery store. I felt that I could and headed in. I don’t blame myself for this instance as I really was feeling stable. Chance was against me that day I’d learn.

I grabbed a hand basket since I only needed some snacks and some premade cupcakes from the bakery section I really liked. At first glance there weren’t many people in the store which is what I figured for an off-peak time like this. So I went about getting my stuff, head down, music loud, and zoned in to my task. I got everything but my cupcakes in less than five minutes and was heading in that direction. My reminder that I can only prepare for so much came in the form of an older woman in a hairdo from the 80s and very fucking surly attitude for so early in the day.

I’d learn later from the news article her name was Joyce. Joyce was one of those miserable sentient hemorrhoids in human form that were miserable and determined to make it everyone else’s problem. Apparently Joyce took my walking towards the cupcake display as a challenge to her to try and stop me. I didn’t notice her until the last minute when her full cart cuts in front of me. Running over my left foot and knocking the display back before she’s able to stop.

I cursed.

She cursed. She threatened.

I threatened.

She said something horrible.

Feeling my heart rate going up I tell her to leave me alone. I may have told her more colorfully than that.

She makes another horrible comment trying to piss me off.

I warn her to back the fuck off. Or else.

Or else what she barked back.

That’s when Joyce attempted to square up to me. Before I could get overly defensive she fucking tripping over her own feet because she moved too fast for a woman her age and size. Joyce wiped out into the cupcakes, face first, and started sobbing. I lost it and burst out in a hysterical fit of laughter seeing Joyce go down in flames. Never thinking how strong of an emotion laughter can be. Staff were rushing over to assist the floundering cunt while I felt the worrying first pangs of my transformation. From my reading I knew then and now that once the changes start they won’t stop until they’ve completed. Certainly then and less so now I do try to contain it at that early stage. My natural stubbornness is probably the root cause there.

The procedure I was coached on in the hospital for any changes in public is to get myself to a secure location like a single occupant bathroom, supply closet, or any empty, secure location. I had stickers in my purse that I could put on the door that alerted anyone to keep out for biohazard reasons. Looks very intimidating honestly. Then I alert them via a phone app, a text, a phone number, or if all that fails the chip in me would detect the change once it's over and send out a GPS alert or something to emergency services. I’m not going to get into the legal aspect but you can see the tip of the iceberg that I have to deal with, for life, wherever I go.

This being my first time it went as well as you’d expect. I hit the alert button in my app and tried to prepare myself for what was coming. By this time I did have several transformations under my belt so I roughly knew I had a few minutes before I couldn’t walk right. ‘Roughly’ does a lot of heavy lifting there because in less than a minute my hips and feet were shifting and I went down just like Joyce. Minus the cupcakes and with me still snickering like an idiot. Employees did come over to help me up but abandoned me before I could tell them to. They ran, screaming ‘Kanis! Bitch has Kanis!’. That sent some running but others, always with their phones out, stayed.

I attempted to drag myself into the produce section and under a display for a measure of privacy. My transformation didn’t always unfold in the same order or speed for all changes to me. That day it was all paws first with my four added rows of teats sprouting too for added irritation. This meant I did not move very quickly. Lots of time for people to take video, pictures, and one dude even got a selfie while my face was somewhere between human and the dog. God it was so embarrassing.

Emergency services had to arrive for the bystanders to be cleared out. A small consolation to me is knowing the ones taking pictures all had to go through forty-eight hour quarantine for coming in such close contact with me while changing. Around then my mental state was deteriorating out of my control. This was one of those times when the dog was the one in charge and I could only watch them get scared of the unfamiliar surroundings and the men in uniform all around. The dog was running while my transformation was still trying to finish, setting everyone to chasing me. For the next four hours.

The duration of my transformation was something that could vary wildly. Every time I change it's a roulette wheel of whether it will be an hour or two to three days in the worst cases I was told about. It’s tied like so many other things to my emotions. If I have control of myself for the most part after I can rein it in and get myself changing back (which takes half as long as becoming a dog but is much more explicit and unpleasant). If it was like that day, when the dog is in charge, it can take a while for me to calm down enough for things to revert. Close to fifty hours as a dog in a local shelter before I woke up my old self again.

Waking up in a dog kennel was one of those low points in my first few months. I sat there for maybe an hour before calling out for help. I knew I had been recorded and expected a shit storm was waiting for me once I got out of that cage. I was mad at myself a lot for letting this all happen. It wasn’t true but at the time it sure felt like it. I’d lost so much and suffered what felt like another setback in life that was turning into one big decline. Dark thoughts for dark times.

I got a lecture from Dr. Sease about minding my surroundings and not escalating things. It ended on an oddly positive note when the doctor told me an incident like this was expected to happen within my first six months. I’m told it's common for it to happen sooner or later and at least in my case I was in a contained location. Dr Sease hoped that I learned a lesson and would manage myself better.

I didn’t go outside for anything but picking medicine and mail for two months.

*******

The next horrible down point I had came the very next time. It was a little over three months since my incident and my wound from the bite itself had mostly healed. I swear the wound burns when my emotions start to get away from me. Like a final warning to calm myself down. Or else.

Or else came on a day when I set out to do nothing more than clean out my car. I lived in a block of four townhouses at the time and I had been keeping my diagnosis a secret up to that point from my neighbors and landlord. I was afraid of getting kicked out so I managed to keep it under wraps for a while. I lied and said I was periodically watching a relative’s dog while they dealt with medical issues. That was enough for my landlord, Rick, who’d known me as a tenant for four years to believe me. He’s a mostly reasonable guy and good landlord who didn’t go on the internet much as he never recognized me from any videos to put two and two together. But when I mentioned watching the dog the first thing out of his mouth was if it had been Kanis tested.

Aside from general safety, Rick owned two male Great Pyrenees, Travis and Murdoch, who I’m sure wanted to keep Kanis free. I knew he’d toss me out if I was positive not to risk his dogs. It hurts to know that but I can’t entirely blame him given how things turned out. I’d like to say his worst fear didn’t come true, but then I wouldn’t have a story to tell.

It was a Thursday afternoon, overcast, and I hadn’t had an episode in almost two weeks. I was feeling very zen and somewhat at peace with my diagnosis. My plan was to take one of the paths that led out of the back of the property through a thinly forested area along a creek. It was a thirty minute circular path that was often empty of anything but chirping birds. I figured with the middling weather and the hour I would be alone. I was right for the most part. Took my time and stretched it out to an hour of fresh air and touching grass.

I was heading back and going through the shared backyard in pretty good spirits when Murdoch came thundering from around the side of the house towards me. My landlord’s dogs were always super friendly and before my infection I’d never pass on an opportunity to pet either of them. Or let them rush up to me. Or lick me. So I shouldn’t be surprised that Murdoch would rush up wanting pets and wanting to lick my face. I tried to push him away but Murdoch, and Travis for that matter, is around a hundred pounds. My meds kinda keep me in a daze so I toppled over ungracefully from him trying to get his paws up on my stomach. This all happened in a few seconds in real time while in my head it was maybe a couple of minutes.

I had purposely avoided seeing, hearing, or reading anything with dogs. Hell, I avoided wolves, foxes, werewolves, or anything canine adjacent. I was still very mentally fragile and anything dog related would get me worked up with anxiety and dread. Whether or not I had control of my body when I changed I still felt the feral desires of the dog. How easily and naturally it felt to give over those simple thoughts- sniffing everything, running around, eating everything that smells like I can eat it, relieving myself whenever the need arises, and the most unwanted, undesired wants from my loins- scared me to the core. I was very well aware of how Kanis primarily spread to the canine population: sex with transformed Kanis folks. I wanted so badly for that to never happen to me so I kept canines as far from my mind as possible.

I tried to keep my heart rate down. I tried to keep my brain settled. I tried but that didn’t do much good. Murdoch thought I was playing and to make matters worse Travis joined in having heard the commotion probably. I called out for my landlord thinking he was with the dogs like they usually were. What I didn’t know was that my neighbor had just gotten home from the park and had let his dogs go into the backyard while heading inside to take a shower. So there would be no timely rescue from my situation. The two were their usual lively, playful selves and like always forgot exactly how big they were. I had made thirty pounds on either so they effectively could do what they wanted. Thankfully just licks for now but my whole situation was causing a cascading series of internal doubts about what would happen if I changed. Leading, ironically, to my transformation.

That burning sensation on my wound was flaring up, leaving me a few seconds to try and get away. From my hands and knees I tried to rise but Travis knocked into me before I had my balance. So it was back to the grass for me which stoked my frustration and pushed myself over the edge. I remember shouting ‘AW FUCK’ as loud as I could when my tailbone wriggled free and nose twitched to signal my Kanis taking over.

The only question on my mind for most of that shift was hoping that this time I would be able to keep control of myself. If I had that then maybe I could avoid anything too regrettable. There was also the trend of my body coming out of the transformation in heat. It would happen after my pussy was frighteningly squeezed into a canine one (which is the only way I can describe the feeling of it) for whatever reason. I don’t think that happened the first time I changed but in the last few that carnal lust to be bred radiated from my changed backside. With control I could keep myself humping pillows. Without control, and with two male dogs that were never fixed, things would go only one way.

It took a few minutes for the dogs to catch on that something was different about me. Some of my more audible shifting parts scared Travis off. Murdoch was braver and kept reasonably close. Then too close once he picked up on the smell of sprouting fur and accompanying dander. His fearless sniffing told Travis it was safe to come back and give me the same close inspection with their muzzles. That turned into nipping and biting at my clothing to better get at the smells coming off me. A twinge in my cunt ignited the heat I hoped wouldn’t come.

The two males picked up on the scent of my heat about the same time, judging by the red excitement emerging under their white furry bellies. I didn’t want to notice their crimson canine cocks but my eyes, nose, and head weren’t operating entirely under my control anymore. The dog was exerting herself inside me more. A bad sign for me keeping control. Travis and Murdoch biting focused on the seat of my pants where the good smells were coming from and a tail was trying to wiggle free. They tore holes in my sweat pants and then tore them off entirely. My cotton panties were torn off by Murdoch in one exuberant tug. Leaving my rump fully exposed in all its canine glory.

My hopes for an uneventful afternoon stroll ended forever when Murdoch took it upon himself to mount me. I tried to summon control of my body to pull away just to learn I’m already out of full control. I was maybe halfway through my transformation, my eyes were still mine, my face was kinda there, I still had hands, clothing on, and little overall fur covering me. But My hindquarters were far enough along that to two male dogs it was good as gold. My tail barely had to wherewithal to pull up during the process of him shuffling on top of me. His forelegs bunched by hoodie and shirt up into my shoulders right before he plunged his doggy dick into me; nailing me squarely and forcing his way in on the first thrust.

Another period of time where I don’t know if a couple minutes passed or twenty. I would have rather transformed in public again over the indignity of being fucked by my neighbor’s dog. Murdoch was having the time of his life humping away at a very willing female. I felt stupid, ashamed, humiliated, embarrassed, and every other sort of shame there was for finding myself here. I’d known both dogs since they were puppies and I could still remember those times. They didn’t know or didn’t care who I had been. Just who I was now. A thing to mate with.

Feels wrong to admit that it has been inelegant given my constantly changing posture but the pleasure I was feeling from it, disgraceful though it may be, was dulling the pain from the transformation itself. I learned by how much when Murdock’s knot swelling in me was the only pain I experienced throughout. And it was a brief discomfort. Soon I orgasmed and forgot all about the discomfort.

Pain returned when Murdoch dismounted and tried to pull away while we were still stuck together. Causing us both to collapse down in the grass to try and catch our breath. I was taking stock of myself, wagering I had another ten minutes left to fully transform, and generally ignoring my surroundings. My ears hadn't changed completely yet so that’s why I didn’t hear my fresh-from-the-shower landlord come to investigate the strange howling from the backyard. The expression he had was of such furious, unrelenting anger that my life was definitely in danger.

After calling 911 my landlord shouted, screamed, threatened, and of course promised to evict me for this ‘travesty’ as he put it but never physically hurt me. He did yank Murdoch off me the first chance he got but then couldn’t prevent Travis from breaking free to take his sloppy seconds. I may have got up on all fours to make it easier for him but I was hardly myself at that point. The dog was in control for sure.

Travis finished right around the time my changes did and the hazmat crew arrived. There was no hiding what had happened. I would change back within the hour, one of my fastest reversions ever, from what I can only guess was a metric ton of embarrassment for having let them both fuck me like that. When I was discharged and taken back home the next day most of my stuff was sitting outside on the curb. Spray painted on my couch was ‘Kanis Whore’ in a hand that was probably one of my neighbors. My secret was truly out and no longer had a place to hide myself. Just because I stupidly thought I could have a normal life for an hour.

*******

The six month anniversary came around with me in the dregs of life. I was still out of a job, single, I was living with an aunt who took some pity on me. She had a broken down trailer behind her house that was at least a roof over my head, a bed, and not much else. I can get a wifi signal from the house that helps make it bearable. There are several hundred miles between me and where I had lived previously. Less chance of bumping into anyone that might recognize me. Not that I venture out very often. Life has been mostly struggles as of late.

I’ve been applying to places madly for the last two months because I really can’t stand just doing nothing most days. It’s a pretty futile effort since I have to include my Kanis diagnosis in my application process, as per the agreement I signed with Dr. Sease. At least trying meant I received government assistance for money but it grinds on me getting rejected for positions I should have no job landing with my experience. No company wants to take the risk of an employee that could turn into a dog if things get stressful. Didn’t matter that most positions were virtual ones. They’d do a background search on my name, see my grocery store and initial transformation videos, and that would be that. Most going out of their way to tell me no and to never try again.

On the friends and family front aside from my Aunt Margot, whose trailer I’m currently in, and one or two online friends I was pretty much by myself. Most wanted nothing to do with me. Especially after they heard about the incidents. One of my neighbors back at my old house knew my sister through a friend so everyone got to learn about me getting one-twoed by the landlord’s dogs. That pretty much ended contact for lots of people. I had to switch therapists twice thanks to the move and compatibility problems. My new one seems okay. Time will tell on her.

The most notable thing about six months on was me trying to dip back into the dating scene. I debated putting my diagnosis in my profile. In the end I decided against it since I wasn’t really interested in a hookup. I need some emotional support and this was the longest stretch in my adult life where I hadn’t been in a relationship with someone. Just wanted to find someone that I could trust to divulge my secret dog problem to. Wanted someone not medically obligated to be positive to tell me my life wasn’t over. I had forgotten what a cesspool the dating scene is in general though and though I did get some messages most weren’t from anyone that sparked any interest from me. Let alone a sense of trust.

That need for emotional support led me to look for potential support groups. Finding other sufferers like myself was notoriously difficult thanks to the combination of (understandable) extreme privacy, trolls pretending to have Kanis just to learn what they can about the person to ruin their lives, and the public stigma. It’s easier for most to hide away and cut the world off. The most mainstream ones I’ve heard of are an artist and a musician. Even they are pretty niche and get a lot of hate for merely existing. That’s the impression I got at least. I didn’t find any groups or reliable organizations to reach out to. I managed to find some online discussion boards and chat groups that say they’re friendly so I’ve dipped my toe into that too but was only just starting at that point. I didn’t have much hope.

My daily routine might shed some light on why I’m eager for any reason to get out. I wake up at five to take my first meds and can never get back to sleep. I make myself breakfast, I do my online check in with my handlers (I really hate that they insist on referring to themselves as such) so they know I didn’t have an episode during the night while I have breakfast, and then take my next round of pills. You can assume every two hours I’m taking at least three pills to regulate the canine chaos of my condition. I have therapy mid-morning on every day except the weekend. I check mail, bring Aunt Margot hers, chit-chat a little, and then back to the trailer that stills smells like breakfast. Which of course it does because the kitchen is next to the bedroom/living room. I light some incense and do my best to doze off.

Alarms keep me on my pill regimen throughout the day and when I can’t sleep I stream something. I do dinner if I feel like it. If I can summon the willpower to shower that day I have to go to the house and use Margot’s downstairs bathroom. Margot loved to bake so the highlight of every day was what baked goods I’d get to smuggle back to the trailer. Big surprise I gained twenty-seven pounds in those first six months. Had to get rid of most of the clothes during the moves and to fit in the trailer. I keep half of my wardrobe and all of my shoes in the car. The rest I squeeze into the trailer and keep on a frequent rotation. I do laundry at the house on the weekends. That’s about it.

Six months was forty days exactly since my last episode but I took no risks. We lived within walking distance of two parks, hiking, biking, and trail paths, my pharmacy, the grocery store, and most everything else I could need. But I never saw any of it. Aunt Margot picked up my medicine and got groceries. Anything else I needed I had delivered. I had two in person check-ins that I was driven to by my aunt. To be so young and extroverted as I was and being effectively caged by my condition wore on me then and as I write this. It felt like I was the dog even when I wasn’t.

That’s when it clicked in my head that me and my Kanis condition were one and the same. It’s not the life I wanted but it’s what I had. It was a part of me but it wasn’t who I was. Took all that time to realize that and stop hating myself so much. I couldn’t expect others to like me if I couldn’t, so it led to a redoubling of efforts when it came to finding a job, friends, and a partner.

No luck with the job. Or the partner. However the friends part was coming along at the time. Some of those chat groups had some friendly people in it and while I’m pretty sure I’m the only actual sufferer there, it seemed like a warm environment. Anything was better than nothing at the time.

So I was at my lowest then, for sure. I did at least have a better sense of myself. I was a person with Kanis. No different than anyone with any other disease that doesn’t define them as a person. My illness is just less understood and more highly stigmatized than most. The dog isn’t some separate entity haunting me. It’s just me having a medical emergency. If I could accept myself more than others could too, I really, really hoped.

*******

Back to present and things are looking up. Course they kinda had to coming up from my lowest point. In the three months and a week since I’ve collected a whole lot more rejection letters from companies not interested in hiring me. I’ve gone on two dates that were shockingly incident free. It does also mean that neither date sparked much emotion in me so I’m just as single as I was then. These dates were known the wiser to my condition and were just there usual shelves. Neither really clicked for me but it helped my confidence knowing I was still dateable.

So work and dating appear to be going badly but that’s not quite everything. Through my friend group that spawned from those humble chat groups I’ve developed a small following you could say. As I suspected I was the only Kanis case in the group but when I revealed and confirmed my diagnosis what I primarily got back was support and understanding. I tried to be open and honest in answering. I know the only way understanding will come is through positive interactions so I try my best and currently I have ten or so people I’d call friends that I talk to throughout the day. Has helped me cut back to just two therapy sessions a week, freeing up a lot of time for me.

I mentioned that primarily the attention I get is from supportive, nice, and well meaning people. Some trolls pop up occasionally but are quickly kicked out and things return to normal. There are other folks, ranging from polite to blunt, whose interest in my Kanis syndrom is more… intimate. I would get requests to privately film my transformations for people who actually enjoyed seeing such a thing. I was pretty reluctant to most requests. Then someone offered ten thousand dollars for clips of just my hands becoming paws. My reluctance, it turns out, has a price point.

It had never occurred to me to monetize myself. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it but in just two months I’ve managed to raise enough to buy a much better used trailer for myself that I currently reside in. It’s still a trailer parked next to the garage but I had room to move, a shower, and space for my things. Most people just want short clips of specific things or my feet changing on velvet or a backdrop. None of it really gets my motor going but for the money I’ve been triggering my own transformations and recording aspects or all of it to sell. Currently all to specific people since I haven’t really told my handlers about this new source of income. As far as they know I’m still applying to places. My current plan is to save up enough to get my own place. Someplace rural so I don’t have neighbors or prying eyes to worry about. Also want to pay Aunt Margot back for her hospitality all this time. I won’t tell her where the money is coming from and she won’t ask. She’s just happy to see me picking myself back up.

My therapist is on the fence about my income source. They see it’s helping me tremendously but definitely fear about me being exploited or landing in danger. I’m taking it as it comes and doing what I can to keep my head above the water. Kanis fundamentally altered my life so why shouldn’t I be able to use it to rebuild a new life? I do agree I don’t want to be doing this forever. For now, with where I am, I’ll take all the wins I can get. My therapist was happy knowing I used good emotions to trigger my willing changes. Emotional songs that I had to stop myself from listening to since my diagnosis I could enjoy again.

Opening myself up like this has brought on some conversations I never thought I would have. The number one request I have to turn down is people wanting me to pretend to be their dog for a time. Aside from my transformation not functioning in such a clockwork manner, I worried about meeting people in person who wanted dog me more than me me. There are two persistent, polite people who have been separately trying to convince me to do it. Both keep offering more and more money while ingratiating themselves more with me. It’s totally working and they’re both amazing people so by the next time I update that might be a reality. I promise if I do there will be a lot of rules set down first, so I feel safe. Then we’ll go from there.

Aunt Margot is talking to some of my family, cousins and my one older brother, trying to get them to talk to me again. I’ll have to put a pin in that one too for the future. I’m not planning on either option working but it would be nice to have some support outside of my wonderful aunt.

My ex-boyfriend reached out for spotify logins. I don’t plan on responding.

I had a couple ex-workers email me wanting to check in and seeing how I was. I don’t think I’ll respond to them either. Their wording wasn’t very sincere (I got the impression from the one that she was just searching for gossip) and I’d been so cast out by the industry that it left a sour taste in my mouth. I am really trying to leave some scars in the past where they belong.

Some days are good and others, like today when I’m writing, I’m in a worse mood. Bitterness about the lies surrounding when I was bit are the hardest to get over. If some people had just been honest I wouldn’t be in a trailer trying to rebuild my life from scraps. Because I know that even with all the medicine, therapy, improved self control, support, and money in the world I would still have times when I lose control. It’ll never not scare me knowing that I’m one unexpectedly emotional event away from barking, scratching my fur, and sniffing butts. Fear keeps me a recluse.

My hope for the next update is improvements like last time. Not expecting a miracle or anything. Just to not embarrass myself.

I may have jinxed myself.