Albert Wilson opened his eyes for the third time, only to be met with the same vast, cloudless blue sky stretching endlessly above him. This was definitely not the dim glow of the energy-saving bulb in his bedroom. Growing up in the city, the last time Albert had seen a sky this blue was during a childhood trip to the countryside to visit his friend Bentley's family. But the color of the sky was the least of his worries right now.
He was lying on the ground, his head resting on his arms—or rather, his front paws. The limbs stretched out before him, crossed over the grass, looked eerily similar to the paws of his neighbor's Samoyed.
"Did I just wake up in a dog's body?!"
That was the only explanation Albert could come up with after a few seconds of stunned silence. He tried to stand, feeling his legs—no, his hind legs—push off the ground as they tucked under his body. His front paws lifted instinctively, supporting his weight as he rose onto all fours. Holy crap, he was standing on four legs! And it felt so natural, like his body already knew what to do.
Albert opened his mouth to let out a frustrated scream, but what came out instead was a loud,
"Awoooooo!"
"…Is that how dogs howl?" he thought, momentarily blanking out. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to examine his body. His neck was far more flexible than it had been as a human, allowing him to see the thick, matted fur covering his chest and limbs. The fur was filthy, caked with dirt, grass, and who knows what else. His paws—both front and back—looked undeniably canine, but they were large and muscular. Definitely not a small breed. He lifted one paw, grimacing at the dirt clinging to it, but there it was: a paw pad.
Albert wasn't just a dog. He was a stray dog. A dirty, matted, probably flea-ridden stray.
"Great. Just great. People who reincarnate as cats at least get humans to feed them. But me? I get stuck as a homeless mutt?!"
Feeling utterly defeated, Albert flopped back onto the ground. Lying down as a dog was surprisingly comfortable—except for the faint stench of something foul mixed with the fresh scent of grass. Once he noticed it, the smell hit him like a truck. Instinctively, he tried to cover his nose with a paw, only to realize he'd just smeared even more filth onto his face.
Albert groaned. "This is the worst."
He rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air like a dramatic toddler.
"I don't wanna be a dog! I wanna go home! I have work tomorrow! Let me out of this nightmare!"
As he thrashed around, sending grass and dirt flying, Albert suddenly froze.
He had just shouted those words out loud. Not in his head, but out loud . His voice wasn't his own—it was deeper, rougher—but the words were clear and unmistakable.
"…Dogs can talk?" Albert muttered, his voice smooth and articulate.
He blinked, then yelped,
"Wait, I can talk?!" He clapped his paws over his snout, horrified. "What kind of dog am I?!"
After a long moment of stunned silence, Albert reluctantly got back on his feet. He shook himself off like a dog after a bath, sending clumps of dirt and grass flying. He tried to clean himself up a bit, but the idea of licking his fur like a real dog was too disgusting to even consider.
With a sigh, Albert looked around. He seemed to be in the middle of nowhere—just endless plains of grass, dotted with the occasional hill or shrub. This definitely wasn't his hometown in the south. Back home, mountains surrounded everything. He'd never seen land this flat before.
"Okay, so I'm a talking dog in the middle of nowhere. Great. If I can find people, maybe I can figure out how to get home. Assuming I don't get dissected first."
Albert started walking, heading toward the sun. Moving on four legs felt surprisingly natural, and the soft grass beneath his paws was almost pleasant. But after about half an hour, exhaustion hit him hard. His body felt weak, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. His steps grew slower, heavier.
"This is bad. Really bad. What if this dog was starving to death before I took over? And why does everything look the same? Am I in some kind of African savanna or something?"
Dizzy and desperate, Albert collapsed onto the ground. He panted heavily, his tongue lolling out like a normal dog's. The thought of drinking blood briefly crossed his mind—something he'd seen in a survival show—but there were no animals around, just insects and the occasional lizard.
"Am I really gonna have to catch a lizard?" Albert muttered, staring at the endless expanse of grass. "This is the worst day of my life."
Albert swallowed hard, but the meager saliva did little to ease his parched throat. As he trudged through the endless grassland, he had yet to see a single rabbit, deer, or any other animal that should have been grazing here. Instead, the place was teeming with insects and the occasional lizard. But the thought of biting into a lizard and drinking its blood made his stomach churn.
"Seriously, is this why I got reincarnated as a dog? To die of thirst and hunger? Come on, universe, cut me some slack! How many talking dogs are there on Earth? If I'm gonna die, at least give me a decent meal first!"
Just as Albert was about to give up hope, something caught his eye. About a kilometer away, a patch of gray moved against the sea of green. Before his brain could even process what he was seeing, his body sprang into action. He bolted toward the movement, instincts taking over.
"Blood! Meat! I need meat!"
Albert's human rationality vanished, replaced by pure, primal hunger. He ran like a mad dog, tongue lolling out, eyes locked onto the distant gray shapes. After a few hundred meters, he could finally make them out: a herd of large, antlered deer with thick, coffee-colored fur.
"Elk? Moose? Wait, aren't these supposed to be extinct? Or are they some kind of modern deer? Where am I, anyway?"
Even as his human mind struggled to make sense of the situation, his body kept moving. The herd, numbering about thirty or forty, noticed him immediately and scattered. The stronger males bolted ahead, while the younger females and fawns followed close behind.
"Oh no, you don't!" Albert growled, eyes gleaming with desperation. He wasn't about to let his meal escape.
The herd was fast, but not all of them were in peak condition. An older deer, its antlers broken and its movements sluggish, began to fall behind. Albert saw his chance and pounced, using his weight to tackle the deer to the ground.
"This thing's smaller than I thought. Is it even an elk? Maybe a Japanese deer or something?"
He had managed to pin the deer with his front paws, but now he faced a new problem: how to actually kill it. He wasn't about to sink his teeth into the deer's throat—that was way too primal, even for his current state. But without a knife or any tools, how was he supposed to turn this struggling animal into a meal?
"Okay, think, Albert, think! You've killed chickens and fish before, but this is a whole different level. Bear Grylls never covered this!"
As the deer thrashed beneath him, Albert glanced around frantically. Then he spotted something—a large rock lying in the grass nearby. With a grunt, he shifted his weight, using his hind legs to keep the deer pinned while reaching for the rock with his front paws.
The rest of the herd had stopped a short distance away, calmly grazing as if nothing had happened. None of them seemed particularly concerned about their companion being attacked by a dog wielding a rock. Albert, now fully committed to his plan, raised the rock high and brought it down with all his strength.