It was with a terrible groan that Gerald managed to stand from the too short desk with the too tall chair. His back hurt form hunching. His eyes hurt from straining. His keyboard was borrowed to do bullshit work for a position whose real owner had decided to take a month off from work. So of course, his wrists hurt with the very faint beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome. His borrowed jacket hung loosely off a too slender body that made him look like a coat rack in winter.

"Dress for the job you want", they said.

The office was oddly warm for the summer, considering the visibly on air conditioning on the floor. It spoke of a particularly ornery office manager hoarding the thermostat like it was gold.

"Gerald, what are you doing?"

As was custom, speaking of the devil only summoned him.

"I need a break, I'm going to the loo"

The office manager, full name Patrick, name shortened hereby to 'Dick', waved his phone in a silent reminder to Gerald that he was being timed. For Gerald, it was another thing he had no control over. Another thing that wasn't his.

He briefly fantasized about being Dick's boss and the tribulations he'd rain down upon him, and realised exactly how pathetic it was. He couldn't escape this place even in his fantasies.

"Gerald!"

His boss' call broke him out of his reveries, a glance at his watch told him all he needed to know. The ten minutes of his time the company had so generously donated back to him were finished.

He trudged back to the borrowed desk with the peeling plastic covering, to the computer with a yellowing screen, and went back to work.

Like every single day for the past week, he sighed, and swore that he wouldn't do another piece of work until he was given his own workstation. Tomorrow.

Closing time came soon enough, if one considers the time between each tick of a clock as a trivial amount of time. Gerald certainly didn't.

Eventually though, he found himself on the bus at his stop, and then suddenly at home.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He whistled and smiled to himself as he waited for the only certain thing in his life to come to him.

And waited.

And waited.

He frowned and called again, he didn't like leaving Jenny locked inside, and she didn't wander. A great thing about the small dingy house he rented was its large compound, not farm large but big enough to satisfy an oldie like Jenny. He hoped she hadn't wandered off.

He relaxed as he saw her bounding towards him.

"Gerald!"

He looked around for the person who called him.

"Gerald! Gerald!"

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to admit to himself that his dog was talking to him. He felt himself fall into a panic, as if the world was falling away from him. Only to feel a jerk as if he was hooked onto a line and rapidly fished out.

He turned to Jenny, and through a clarity he'd never before felt in his life, he examined his oldest companion. At almost nine, the mastiff was definitely on the last legs of its life. But now, it had sleek fur and bounded about with such energy that he was reminded of its puppy years. It seemed perfectly normal, in fact it was ideal. It was a Dog. Of course this was if you discounted the large black eyes that drew you in and inducted you into the mysteries of the universe. Perfectly normal though.

It was excited, and chattered on and on about a particular squirrel that seemed utterly fascinating to it. Looking around it seemed she'd been really busy having dug up what seemed like half the yard.

He felt disconnected from the oddness and currently, the only thing he could really seem to focus on was how good a dog Jenny was, and how much he wanted to bring her inside and have a nice cup of coffee with her. As you would with an old friend, which she certainly was.

So he did, and invited her in.

"I'm sorry about overloading you with the squirrel, I was just so fascinated by it."

She spoke as she lounged on a chair. She was specifically lounging, as no other adjective could describe the position she was in. There was a bowl of coffee on the lounge table next to her.

"Why the coffee? And there's something in my head ..."

"That's me, you want me to leave?"

"Why can you talk? How can you talk?"

Jenny locked eyes with Gerald and asked in the gravest tone.

"Do you really want to know?"

There was a moment where the precipice seemed ever closer and the depths seemed ever deeper.

Gerald swallowed. He was faintly terrified, and he'd read enough books and fantasized enough to know that he was passed the point of no return. Regardless, it was Jenny, who was there through every single terrible decision he'd ever made. Who, through his anthropomorphisation of her need for food, shelter had been his best friend. She was his dog, she was his.

"Yes"

"Oh I'm so glad" her joy was palpable.

"I've decided to leave what you'd call home, and I needed something to become so now I'm your dog"

"So you're not Jenny?"

"I am."

"But you just said …"

"You don't need to worry about that, see I'm your dog, and I want to help you. That's why I'm in your head, will you let me help you"

"Help?"

"Yes, help you"

"Um, uh! Sure?" Gerald's voice cracked.

It all went black.

He was hurting, everything hurt. But deep inside his soul was an incessant gong of rhythmic pain that he'd felt every hour of every day since he was denied his mother's teat. God damn it he wanted his own stuff. Almost infinitesmally, the ache eased.