"Why me?" Mike moaned to himself. "Why was I the only one who had to turn out like this?"
He didn't notice Peter, who was standing just outside the door. But Peter had heard. He sighed, and sat down outside the door. He thought for a few minutes, and then got up and headed into the bathroom. I suppose I should inform you all now that the reason Peter went into the bathroom was so he could metamorphosise into a dog. The reason I am not describing it in detail, as I did with Mike, is because Peter took great care not to allow anyone to see him changing. Therefore, none of us knew what happened when Peter changed. Why, I do not know, but it was true, and so Peter went into the bathroom so that no one would see him. He emerged a few minutes later as a cute, lovable looking golden dog. He went over to Mike and put his head under Mike's hand. Mike turned and looked at Peter.
"Pete?" he asked. "What are you doing?" Peter whined in response and looked up at Mike with a sad puppy look. His blue eyes, looked as though they were about to burst into tears if they could (they couldn't because dogs are unable to cry). Mike petted Peter's head. He didn't know why Peter had changed. Then he remembered what he'd said a few minutes ago. "Oh, Peter, did you hear me? I'm sorry, I forgot that you were like this, too. But what I meant was that it's different because you have a choice and you're in control. I'm never afraid you'll hurt me. It's just.." he sighed. Peter interrupted him. He jumped onto Mike's bed and made himself comfortable next to Mike. Mike reached over and patted Peter's head. "I knew you'd understand, pal," he said, and fell asleep. Peter stretched out and fell asleep also.
Meanwhile, downstairs, an hour had gone by. Micky and I had eaten breakfast, and were not as tired, due to our long nap on the plane.
"Do you think I should bring some eggs up to Mike and Peter?" Micky asked.
"Nah," I said. "Don't bother. They've probably gone to sleep already anyway."
"They haven't made any noise at all," he observed. "We ought to go check on them." So, we both headed up the stairs. We paused at the door to the bedroom, and looked in. There, we saw Mike, fast asleep, stretched out on the bed, and a golden-colored dog next to him. I knew immediately it must be Peter. I looked at Micky, who had never seen Peter as a dog before. He was staring, mouth agape, as if it were the oddest or most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. I motioned to him to be quiet, and dragged him down the stairs. I say dragged because he was practically addicted to just staring at Mike and Pete.
"Was that Peter?" he asked. I nodded. "Wow," he said. "That is not the kind of dog that I'd have expected Peter to be." I looked at him and shrugged.
"Oh, well," I said.
Since there wasn't anything to do, we decided to spend the morning unpacking and cleaning. The place was pretty dusty, since we hadn't been home in about a month. Around noon, we decided to take our clothes to the laundromat. Then, Mike came downstairs.
"Hey guys, what's for breakfast?" he asked.
"Mike, you've left breakfast at the starting line," Micky said. "It's nearly noon."
"Oh. Well then I guess I should ask what's for lunch," Mike said, grinning.
"Chicken sandwiches, " I called from the kitchen. "Want some, guys?"
"Sure," Mike and Micky called, simultaneously. It seemed as if, for the moment, our life was back to normal. But we'd forgotten one little thing.
Actually, we hadn't forgotten it, we just hadn't known.
That night, Peter remained a dog. He slept on Mike's bed, I suppose to comfort him. I slept in my bed, and Micky in his. We were all sleeping when, suddenly, in the middle of the night, Micky awoke, screaming. We all awoke to try to find out why he was screaming.
"Micky, what's the matter?" I asked. "What's going on?"
Mike ran over, with Peter at his heels. "What in God's name is going on?" he asked. I think he was more worried about why he was awakened then what the cause of the screaming was.
Micky looked at me. "Davy?" he asked. "I just had the worst dream."
I looked at him. "That's why you were screaming?" I asked. "Because you had a bad dream?"
He nodded. "Well, what was it about?" Mike asked. Micky shrugged.
"I don't remember, man, but it was very scary," he said, looking up at Mike, and then me. We looked at Micky, and then at each other.
"Well, Mick, just remember, it's only a dream," Mike said. "Let's all go back to sleep." Mike and I went back to our beds.
Peter, however, stayed near Micky. He whined and shoved his head under Micky's hand. Micky was at first surprised. He had forgotten about Peter. Then, he sighed. He rubbed Peter's head and Peter took this as an invitation to climb up on to the bed, which he did. He remained there the rest of the night.
The next morning, Mike was the first one awake. It was his turn to cook breakfast, so he woke up early. He rose out of bed and surveyed the scene. I was off to the left, sleeping soundly with my head under a pillow. Across the room, Micky was lying in an odd contortion and snoring quietly. In the bed which was next to his, was Peter, a non-descript lump under the covers with only a few blondish hairs peeking out. Mike glanced over the room to make sure no one had disappeared in the night, and headed downstairs to cook breakfast.
About half an hour later, Micky was the next to awake. He sniffed the air and smelled the faint scent of coffee floating up the stairs. As though it was a TV commercial, he got out of bed and, still in pajamas, drifted downstairs, still half-asleep. He ambled down the staircase and into the kitchen. Mike was sitting at the table, still in his bathrobe, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. Micky floated into the room.
"Hey Mick," Mike said. Micky did not respond. Still half-asleep, he went to the cabinet and took out a large mug. He picked up the pot of coffee, poured the remaining two-thirds of a pot into his mug, and took a large gulp.
"Hey Mike," he responded. "You'll need more coffee." Mike turned around and observed Micky's large mug and the now-empty coffee pot. He was just about to say something when they were interrupted by a sound from the stairs. They turned and looked at the staircase curiously as to who it would be.
"Hi fellas," I said. "What's for breakfast?"
"Well, certainly not coffee," Micky said. "Mike didn't make nearly enough. " Mike glared at him.
"I've made scrambled eggs," Mike said. "Want some?" I nodded. He turned to Micky. "You," he said. "Make some more coffee." Micky gave Mike an innocent look, but proceeded to make the coffee.
After Mike had served the scrambled eggs, and Micky had made the coffee, we all sat down and ate breakfast. Mike, Micky, and I split up the newspaper and were eating, reading, and drinking as we ate breakfast. Mike was reading the classifieds, Micky the sports, and I the news. Suddenly, we all stopped reading, put down the newspapers, and looked at each other.
"Peter," we said simultaneously.
"What?" came a sleepy voice from the stairway. We all did a 180 and looked to see. Peter was standing on the bottom step and rubbing his eyes sleepily.
Mike stood up and went to Peter. "God Pete, one day you have to tell me how you do that," he said, looking Peter over to assure that he was still there.
"Do what?" Pete asked, rubbing his eyes. He was still half asleep.
"What's for breakfast? I'm hungry," he said, half whining.
"Eggs," Mike replied, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Peter. "But no coffee," he added, glaring at Micky. Micky glared back.
"Yes there is," he said. "I made some more. Where were you, Mike?"
Mike ignored Micky and sat down to continue eating his eggs. Peter looked at them, rubbed his eyes sleepily and sat down. I handed him a fork, and he began eating, still half in dreamland. His hair was rather disheveled, and it was in his eyes. He brushed it out of his way half-heartedly and continued to shove eggs into his mouth. Micky poured him a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. Peter picked up the cup and took a gulp. Breakfast continued.
It was my turn to make dinner, so as soon as we finished lunch, which was Micky's concoction, I began thinking of what to make. I remembered the delicious chicken soup that I'd helped Fiona to make, and decided to try to see if I could make it. I first went to the store and picked up the various vegetables, since we had basically no food in the house other than eggs and coffee. When I returned, I found Micky sprawled out on the large reclining chair, amusing himself in some cartoons. Mike and Peter were nowhere to be seen. I headed into the kitchen to begin. In a short while, the kitchen smelled of the wonderful aroma of soup. Around this time, Peter came into the kitchen. By this time he had at least made his hair semi-presentable, and it was no longer in his face.
"Hey Davy," he said. "You need some help?" I looked at him.
"Sure Pete," I said. "You can cut up these vegetables." I placed a platter of carrots and celery in front of him. "Just cut them up the way I did," I added, showing him a few I'd cut up already. He nodded and began immediately.
Peter continued to cut up the veggies and I stirred the soup. Making soup from memory is not exactly easy, but I was figuring it out.
Then, after Peter had been cutting for about ten minutes, Micky entered the room. The show he was watching had gone to commercial, and he wandered into the kitchen to get something to drink. Peter was standing at the counter, cutting up the vegetables. Micky reached over Peter to get a cup out of the cabinet. I turned to add some of the chicken to the soup (which at this point was only broth) and heard a crash. I turned around just as I heard Peter crying out in pain. The sound of glass breaking and the scream from Peter alerted Mike, who immediately came into the room from somewhere.
"What was that?" he asked. He looked over the room. Micky was frozen in an odd position, looking at the floor, which was covered in glass. I was still at the stove, the plate of chicken still poised over the pot, though there was no more chicken on the plate. Peter was standing over the vegetable platter, obviously trying hard to hold back tears.
