The Transformer

Handsome lives with a Transformer.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean for you to believe for one second that Handsome has a sentient car or truck that can shift, change, and transfigure itself into a giant humanoid robot with huge guns and jump jets.

Now, that would be extremely cool, but I don't see it happening any time soon. No, what I'm referring to is a flesh and blood Transformer. Flesh, and blood, ...and hair.

I'll call him Dog.

Dog is a small creature. He's half Poodle and half Cairn Terrier. For those of you who don't know (and I did not), Toto from the Wizard of Oz was a Cairn Terrier. Picture a blonde Toto with floppy ears (rather than pointed, like Toto) and a fluffy tail that's almost 2/3 the length of the whole rest of his body. Oh, and a twisted front leg, the result, we think, of a birth defect.

I know. Sounds really cute, right? Well he is. But he's also either the wimpiest looking dog you've ever seen or, when he's in a playful mood, a little goofy-looking. Wimpy, goofy, and cute.

Wimpy, goofy and cute, that is, until someone brings out the Transformation catalyst.

When I got there today, I was eventually met (once he'd screwed up the courage to come out of the bedroom) by the Wimpy version of Dog. Skulking. Tail tucked tight between his legs. Flinching and bolting at the slightest sounds I made. He was such a wraith I forgot about him entirely …until, that is, I unthinkingly brought out the Catalyst.

Food.

I sat down behind my laptop as it sat upon the dining room table, and opened the Cheeze-It box. As I reached in for my first little square of cheddary goodness I felt hot breath on my calf. I looked down.

There sat Dog, Transformed.

Eyes bright yet soft, open wide to show their deep, liquid brown to the best advantage. Ears perky, yet also soft-looking; ears that simply cried out for scratching and patting. His head was tilted at the most fetching of angles, and his posture was upright and elegant. This was a dog to make advertising executives cry with wanting, knowing that this dog, this dog, could sell dog food to people who owned only cats, and they wouldn't even know what hit them.

“Who are you?” I said, “and where the heck did you come from?”

He merely gazed at me, doing nothing so crass as begging but deserving a cracker. You could see it in his eyes.

I held strong.

“You are not getting my crackers,” I told him. “You better just step off right now, little dog.”

I ignored him, turning to face my computer and scrolling through FaceBook as I ate my Cheeze-its. Every thing was going just fine until, in a break in my own chewing, I heard a conspicuous crunching coming from the floor next to me. I looked down to see Dog, chewing contentedly and licking suspicious orange crumbs from his mustache. He finished his cracker (he must have found that on the floor or something, I thought) and gazed up at me again.

I ignored him again.

He crunched again.

I ignored him again.

He crunched again.

Eventually, though I had only eaten about half the crackers, the box was empty. Somehow sensing the the catalyst was gone, Dog shifted back into 'Wimpy' mode and slunk away. As he slunk I noticed a definite swollen look to his little doggy gut.

"How did you do that?" I shouted.

Strange, inhuman Transformer powers, I'll bet!

Talk to you later!