Diary of a Were-Dog
an excerpt

What if you were the only were-dog (not a were-WOLF, mind you) in a city crawling with were-people. It's not like you can fit in, you know? There's even a flock of were-parrots flying around. They're kinda big for birds, but the non-were's excuse these huge flocks of giant birds on irresponsibly bird owners letting their Scarlet Macaws out loose in the sunny LA weather. There are even were-pigs, if you can imagine that. They don't like to let it be known who they are, but I can tell you, some of Hollywood's biggest suits are were-pigs. So are some of their stars, but they'd never let you know it. They just say they're on vacation to their ranches out in Arizona or up North and build tall fences so that the paparazzi can't take pics of them in their natural state. There are one or two foxes who are big producers, and go figure, they're the most successful ones. No, not relatives of mine, at least, not directly.

But for some reason, I'm the only were-dog in the Valley, and I don't know why. Tons of wandering dogs with and without collars. None of them can talk human, or were-dog, so I had to learn their language. No, I'm not brilliant with languages, but really, it's not like Dog is so hard to learn. A few tail-wags, some 'rrrr-rrrrrr' sounds, and you're good to go. The domestic types, the ones raised exclusively with humans are really short on vocabulary, human and dog. I feel sorry for them sometimes. But at least they don't have to look for jobs. They have one: being pampered (some of them) and eating and pooping and jogging around their backyards chasing squirrels.