To Thine Own Self Be Zoo,

Volume IV, Issue 2;

Summer Solstice 2026.

IN THIS ISSUE, a wolf’s laugh sounds like krr-keh-keh-keh!, and an admirer sees a guy and his golden being sweeties. Featuring the items: Multiversal Analysis, So Transgressive and So Relaxed About Everything, and Fam Tree, as well as a lyric.

Awooooooo!

1. There in the desert I then walked through a marketplace crowded shoulder-to-shoulder where human slaves were given to animal prostitutes to engage in sexual acts. Often directly out in the open, though sometimes inside of tents of thin materials, human men penetrated primarily donkeys (both jacks and jennies) though by no means was all of this relegated to only human men and only donkeys. Any act of bestiality that could be imagined, I warrant that you could find it being acted upon at this market, for sale, the human slave owners giving payment to the human animal owners for the act. I did not take it that any party, slave, animal, or owner, particularly gleaned enjoyment from these practices. The nature of it seemed, if anything, spiteful, angry, malintentioned. I cannot emphasize enough that there were tens of thousands of humans present here, and that prostitution of animals to human slaves was the entire purpose to which all of them were gathered. I do not know what to make of it.

2. The wolf chuckled, ho ho ho! With my ears, I will hear the slightest twig snapping or grass rustling under your oafish human feet. Wherefore, bind up my ears as well, wrap cloth about my head such that my ears are pressed flat, and I scarce should hear you. The human did so. The wolf guffawed, ah-haw-haw-haw! With my nose, I will surely smell your trail no matter how far you go, across valleys and hills, even at a wide river I shall merely find out your trail again on the other side, running about on my swift legs around and around from where your trail was known last. Wherefore, bind up my nose as well, drape a cloth upon my head entirely, such that my nose is all confined, and I scarce should smell through it. The human did so. The wolf snickered, krr-keh-keh-keh!, for as the human was distracted so, the wolf’s mate was at the human’s house, sexually pleasuring the human’s wife.

(Excerpts, 1: Walker R. Kansson’s diary 601-34-4444-542944, 1703/04/02. 2: A Fable From Earsin, “The Fable of the Woodsman’s Wife”.)

In the vast reaches of the multiverse, more variance can be seen, both in small details and in the fundamental macro nature of things, than the imagination unbidden would have reason to come up with, for the difference between one universe and another may be so mundane as to be effectively boring, or may be so drastically different as to be utterly impractical to consider in terms of what it means for one’s own universe, for it truly is a comparison of utterly no use, the one universe is so different from the other that lessons in one cannot be usefully applied to the other. There are universes where humans are primarily left-handed and universes where humans are primarily right-handed. There are universes where humans speak different languages as in another similar universe, but where, indeed, the similarities are otherwise in lockstep, evolution has otherwise played out and history has otherwise played out the same way in one universe as in another, sometimes even down to the effectively identical individual humans and animals existing in one universe and in another, only bearing different vocabulary. There are, also, universes primarily occupied with empty space and universes primarily occupied with filled space. There are universes with discrete multicellular biological organisms, there are universes with megamacro biological organisms, there are universes with ethereal lifeforms, there are universes with symbolic lifeforms only, and the list goes on. There are universes rigidly ruled by formal logic 1 and there are universes rigidly ruled by formal logic 2 and there are universes rigidly ruled by formal logic 3, and there are universes ruled by strange logic, and there are universes ruled by spiral logic, and there are universes ruled by fiat. There are not infinitely many universes. There are many universes. They are discrete, countable, finite. The number of universes is a large integer, but it is, keyly, an integer. There are not “no rules.” The nature of the multiverse does not support an argument of “There are infinitely many versions of meaning, ergo, there is no meaning, there are no lessons, there is nothing to know.” There are many versions of meaning; There are many lessons; There are many things to know; But there are not infinitely many of all of these; There are, for all the vast variances, also vast consistencies. Nothing, in the multiverse, is more consistent than the presence of bestiality. Some things are equally consistent with the presence of bestiality. Nothing is more consistent.

Here listed are some things equally as consistent in a universe as bestiality, which is to say, they are present in every universe:

1. There is something rather than nothing.
2. Jesus Christ The Savior.
3. There is a representation of sapience and a representation of non-sapience.
4. There is a representation of sexuality.

The last two, frankly, could be interpreted reasonably as mere operands, stepping stones, to arrive at the actually consistent thing, which is the presence of bestiality.

Here listed are things less often observed in a universe than the presence of bestiality:

1. Formal logic.
2. Euclidean or near-Euclidean space.
3. Time.
4. A representation of the concept of morality.
5. Literal life, e.g. literal biological organisms.
6. Music.
7. Alcohol.
8. Cannabis.
9. Predation.
10. Sport or indeed any form of trial.
11. Money.
12. A consistent name or names for Jesus Christ, if a universe allows for naming to begin with.

There is an example of all of the above on display that I find to be deeply cutting in its directness, its minimalism. I will quote from the observations made by one of the premier scholars on multiversal observation, Benjamin Tan Vel:

3. I observed a platform suspended in nothing and unmoving in time; This universe consisted of only this platform and that little which was atop it; I say “little” only in reference to quantity, amount, not “little” as a judgment of the value contained in the amount, you understand. The platform, if imagined in my universe’s rules for dimension, would be a flat platform, no more than 3 meters by 3 meters (in fact this universe did not, even distantly, abide by my universe’s rules for dimension, and all points in this space existed within all other points of space, a claim which I know is so outlandish as to be laughable, but I will elaborate on it later, to the best of my ability, and I think my justification for describing it as such will be nakedly apparent in its intended meaning, even if other persons may conclude with some other way to describe the sense of space here observed; The space was finite and discrete but was comprehensively interconnected, is the best I can do to summarize for now). What I observed atop this platform was all nameless but all identifiable. What I observed atop this platform was a statue of a human man and a demonic canid engaged in copulation; The demonic canid was mounted atop the man as a dog mounts another dog, and the demonic canid was using a phallus to penetrate the man in a way that nearly resembled how one might be penetrated anally, though the demonic canid was in fact penetrated through the man’s very existence; The unmissable fact at hand was that the demonic canid’s penis and the man’s penis overlapped in space, the two existed at the same points in a way that would not be possible by my own universe’s rules for dimension, and yet, here it was. There was one other statue, besides that which depicted bestiality; The other statue, I warrant the more important statue though I have less to say on its description, depicted Jesus Christ, facing the act of bestiality, his palms pointed behind himself out into the nothingness beyond the platform. It is my belief that Jesus Christ, in this universe, was the force which kept the universe together, inasmuch as such a description as that bears any meaning at all, when this universe was not acted upon by time; What I mean is that if Jesus Christ here were not keeping the nothingness at bay, this universe would truly have been nothing at all; But He was, and so, it was. How did I feel that this was the case even as I also could not observe any discrete causal connection between his presence and the limit between existence and nonexistence? I do not know. I do not claim that it added up. It truly is not obvious to me if he even meant anything by it.

(Excerpt, 3: Observations, by B. Tan, Volume 1, Chapter 30.)

There are often universes without money, and therefore without the pursuit of money. There are often universes without any form of trial, and therefore without the pursuit of victory. The list goes on, at quite a staggering length, of things that have been called the true meaning of the universe, which, even if potentially the true meaning of a specific universe, are very clearly not the true meaning of the multiverse.

Consistently, every universe contains bestiality. This was at one time considered an unsavory observation, an impolite statistical fluke to call attention to, but its utterly perfect consistency, particularly against the backdrop of a multiverse where utterly perfectly consistent elements are highly rare, is breathtaking, important, and should not be looked away from, inasmuch as one might believe in “shoulds” and “importances.”

I have now long held the opinion that bestiality is more common than love. This was not an admittance I reached lightly, but rather reached very begrudgingly. Among other implications, it would follow that, if bestiality is perfectly consistent while love is markedly rarer, then it is specifically bestiality, not zoophilia, which is the consistent element.

There is a duality apparently shared between bestiality and Jesus Christ, in their consistency if in no other regard. This invites several very immediate questions. Are bestiality and Jesus Christ fundamental forces in opposition, or fundamental forces in cooperation, if they are forces as such with meaningfully comparable directionality at all? Is Jesus Christ the creator, and if so, is bestiality his creation, alongside the self-creation of his own image? In the same way as it would appear necessary that there must be something rather than nothing before there can be the figure of Jesus Christ, is the existence of Jesus Christ somehow predicated on the existence of bestiality, or vice versa, or do the two indeed at an equally direct level both spring up out of existence, or alternatively, does existence itself constitute merely one part of a trinity with bestiality as another part and Jesus Christ as another part?

There have been humans who never once engaged in bestiality and never cared to, and were atheists. What are these humans, in a multiverse where they have so starkly avoided both of the available focal points? Are they electrons? Worse?

Sometimes in my studies on all of this, I feel I am ascending a great tower towards the promise of enlightenment; Sometimes I feel like I am a drunkard illogically fixated on a dirty rock and truly enraged that it isn’t revealing itself as God to me.

In some universes, the existence and divinity of Jesus Christ is utterly undisputed. In some universes, the existence and divinity of Jesus Christ and all of the details implicit therein are greatly disputed, to the point of enormous conflict. In some universes, the existence and divinity of Jesus Christ is ostensibly unknown.

In some universes, bestiality is ubiquitous and utterly unsurprising. In some universes, bestiality is highly taboo and controversial, to the point of enormous conflict in those for whom it comes to a climactic head rather than a stifling. In some universes, bestiality is risked rarely and done under great secrecy.

I have taken a side on the matter. Why should I not be glad to? Why, upon the face of a multiverse which very nearly only cares about this one thing, should I not be glad to stand out?

Dear BOY REPORT,

I just adore the beautiful sense of imagination Michael has. In every class he always sits there with his head down in his sketchbook drawing otherworldly creatures and fantasy landscapes, as well as portraits from memory of his friends and his golden retriever Seamstress. Mrs Cartwright, his math teacher, told me that on his exams he always answers every question right, and if she asks him about his answers he can talk about how he got them, which is why she doesn’t mind him drawing in class, because he’s talented enough to do both. He is such a bright star. He always looks so happy with life when he jaunts off into the woods with his new friends, laughing and teasing one another.

I just worry about him though. He pretends to be gay to fit in with his new friends. I overheard him talking to Alice, and he was telling her that he seduces men at all of these parties he goes to, and he told her about what all of his sleazy cheap pickup moves are, and he told her about how he goes back to their house with them after the party to have sex with them. He said that he has sex with one or two new males every week. I know he just wants to act like nothing matters to him, and that he’s so transgressive and so relaxed about everything that he’ll even sleep with guys. But proving it by having sex with one or two new guys every week is really getting to be too much. I miss him in the Sunday services. He hasn’t been to church in months, except sometimes standing outside to wait for some guy or another to go off and do really crazy things with.

I just know that in his heart, he isn’t gay. The way that he looks at his FEMALE golden retriever Seamstress, I know that there’s love for females in his heart begging to have a way to show itself. The way that he and HER will melt into each other in the park in the sunlight... the way that they share meals like every snack is the most romantic date... the way that he fawns over her, talking to her heart to heart and being all cute and making her happy... the way that he cherishes her, looks at her with such love in his eyes... I know that deep down he’s straight. I know that him acting like he’s gay is just a game that has gotten too far. I know that somewhere inside, he wishes he could find a way, without looking uncool, to come back to church again, start dating a girl, and stop all of his games.

He’s so cute when he sneezes!! (There I said it!)

Please everyone, join me in praying for Michael to stop thinking this is cool or a funny joke, and for him to be straight again.

—a secret admirer

Dear BOY REPORT,

Michael really has been driving me extra crazy lately. Things are getting really bad for him. He’s been dressing in girl clothes. At first just necklaces and bracelets that he would put on after the final bell before going off with his friends, but this week he’s been wearing makeup to school and really obviously feminine tops. Mr Spencer made him go home and change when he showed up to first period with nothing but a white dress on. Alice said he looked sexy in it but I don’t know. He also got his ears pierced and has been wearing earrings, people say that they’re real too (the piercings and the earrings are both real, the earrings are rumored to be really expensive green sapphire). He’s gotten way too serious about all of this. I miss sitting nearby him in church and hearing him sing. He has such a nice singing voice.

He said that he’s never coming back to church though. I know that it’s never too late for him to forget about all of this crazy stuff and go back to being his old self. But since he’s trying to be cool with his new friends he doesn’t have any interest. I know that God will not forget him, but WE have to FOLLOW God’s invitations, not shun them away just because church is not as popular now. And it really hurts to see that he isn’t taking the initiative. He’s still such a talented, handsome man, below all of the gay sex and the makeup.

People in Mrs Cartwright’s class saw that on his last test he got an F, even though he flipped the paper over really fast once he saw it, hoping that no one else would see. I think he’s been getting into drugs and it’s really effecting him. I’ve overheard him talk before about drinking wine with his new friends and smoking pot, I figured he didn’t mean it and was just bragging about being around that stuff but didn’t actually have any himself, but now I think that he was serious about all of that and it makes me really sad to see him throwing away his life like this.

I can’t tell what he’s doing in his sketchbooks anymore. He fills them up constantly and is going through so many of them. He writes really really long paragraphs in them, but I don’t recognize the language that he’s writing in, it’s all different letters from English and sometimes there’s some bigger, really detailed symbols. Sometimes he draws diagrams that look like really advanced geometry problems but they seem unrelated to the class. He doesn’t draw landscapes anymore, but sometimes on the pages with the writing and the diagrams there are still drawings of monsters, usually shadowy evil things with sharp teeth and drool. At first I thought the monsters’ eyes were angry, but I think they’re actually happy: happy about breaking rules and doing bad things just to look bad.

Deep down I still have a crush on him. But I have a crush on the REAL him. Not this fake version of himself that he’s gotten so obsessed with where he just can’t stop pretending to be gay and a tranny. I would hug him all night to keep his hands away from alcohol or drugs. It’s like one bad thing is building on top of another for him and I just don’t know where to fix him, unless he is willing to surrender himself to God, which he seems so unwilling to do, but I am still praying for him.

I know that there is still hope, because through all of it, he has never stopped treating Seamstress, his FEMALE golden, with such love. I still see the two of them going on walks, and it’s nothing like how other people walk their dogs, he’s never mean to her, you can tell from the way that he doesn’t yank her around and actually pays attention to her that he cares about her. Candidly, BOY REPORT, one time I was walking in the woods and from a distance I saw him and her making out, with tongue and caressing and moaning. He looked so happy, and even if it was weird and really disgusting to let a dog lick you in the mouth I felt happy to see it proved that he isn’t really gay. The fact that he always still carves out time just for her speaks volumes all by itself: he needs a girl in his life to devote himself to, and deep down, he knows it. There are girls he hangs out with but they’re all dykes or too bitchy to do him any good.

I think he can turn this thing around. I think that he still wants to, but he’s just really lost and confused about where to start at this point, and it’s easier to pretend to be gay and to ignore it all with alcohol and drugs. Like I said, my prayers are still with him always. (And I do still think his sneezes are really cute, for the record.)

—a secret admirer

Dear BOY REPORT,

The police were at Michael’s house yesterday to try to arrest him, but he wasn’t there. Nobody knows where he is. I’m really scared about what he might have done or what happened to him.

Everyone knows that he’s been missing school a lot. His grades have done a complete nosedive. I even heard some people say that he’s engaged now, to one of his fag so-called boyfriends, AND that it’s polygamous, so that he’s engaged to Alice and Seamstress too. I can’t even.

He’s been dressing so weird lately. He’s not exactly dressing like a transvestite anymore, but he’s just dressing weird. The last time I saw him he was in the woods by himself, wearing a black robe and a black hat with a really big circular brim: it’s the little field in the woods with the big flat-topped boulder in the center of it, he had painted symbols all over the sides of the boulder, and was walking in slow, pensive circles on top of the boulder, around and around. I wanted to go up and break him out of it but he looked really serious. Even before that, I’ve seen (when he’s even in school) that he’s been drawing symbols on his hands and on his face too. I’ve found out that some of the symbols are from tarot cards, but not all of them are, so it seems to be from other stuff too. His own imagination? I have no idea.

I don’t want to think he’s a lost cause, but this is all so bad. I think until the wedding happens, he still has an opportunity to break free from this, and go back completely to the guy he used to be. But I realistically don’t think he’s going to. And if he marries another man AND a slutty bitchy girl AND his fricking dog? Pray for me, BOY REPORT, I want to hurl every time I think about him and all of them doing married things. That’s so gross. And I don’t think he can marry them and then just put that in the past, I think marrying them would be a permanent scar on his soul. It would still never be too late. But that would be something he always has to live with.

He still has time to save his grades, if he’s ever allowed back at school, if he’s ever allowed to even show his face again, since now the police are trying to arrest him. He’s thrown away so much, but I think that if he admits his problems and devotes himself to recovery... I would still like to be there with him, to help him become the old Michael. The old Michael is who I wish that I could write these might-only-be-an-op-ed-or-semi-might-be-love-letters-of-a-sort to. The old Michael who was so smart at memorizing Bible verses and studying Bible stories. The old Michael who wanted to go to college and say no to drugs and believed in abstinence. The old Michael who did beautiful, nice art that always made me really happy to sneak a peek at during class.

Wherever you are Michael, I hope you’re safe, and I hope you’re thinking really hard about getting better from all of this.

—a secret admirer

Topic: Faggot In Tennessee Heralds The Apocalypse, BAM! Called It? CALLED IT Anyone? How Do You Like THEM Apples?
OP: Smaug77401834570

Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring RING ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring! Wake up call, anyone? “Smaug, you don’t know jack shit about meteorology, shut up about the weather maps!” “Smaug, you leave those poor nice faggots alone, what harm did they ever do!” EAT. SHIT. DUMBASSES. USA Today. CNN. Fox News. The Washington Post. TMZ. ABC. CBS. Liars? Absolutely. But these jackals now have one thing in common, and that’s that they’re sending reports to the one, the only, Orange Brook Tennessee. Why? BREAKING NEWS: GAY KID HARNESSES THE POWER OF THE OCCULT, LOOSES SODOMY, DEMONS, AND MAYHEM UPON SMALL TOWN COMMUNITY. Who called it? SMMAAAAAUUUUUUUG. I shant have much time to revel in my correctness, you disbelieving faggots, but ohhhhhhh is this bottle of Four Roses going to taste good on my lips which doth profess gospel. You idiots. The signs were there. I told you I needed that funding. I showed you my proof. The weather. The birds. The river water analysis was the major tip-off that something seriously no bueno was going down in We’re Fucked Ville. I would have stopped this. Found that kid, shot him dead, served my life sentence gladly knowing that I had stopped demons from finally ripping the partition wide open once and for all. Because, NEWS FLASH, there’s no going back. By this time tomorrow, the invasion will have already reached parts of Texas, Florida, and yes, it will at the very least be within sight of our nation’s capitol. Two days from now, you can call America Ameri-was. All that will be left of the continental US is Maine, Washington, Oregon, and Los Angeles: none of the parts of the country that were worth a shit, a-har-har-har-har-har!!! If you DO happen to call those particular shitholes home, congratulations, you’ll have about another half a day of filling your britches before the swarm feasts on your entrails too. What happens next? Depends. “But Smaug, you know everything!” Yeah, well, I only know as much as can be interpolated or extrapolated out of the information available to me, and we ain’t never seen anything like this before, comprende? What happens next depends on how the demonic swarm can handle different biomes, namely the sea, ye scurvy dogs! The Pacific and The Atlantic! The Indian! The Arctic! In the optimistic case, the ocean completely rocks their shit, and the Americas become the part of the Earth where the apocalypse resides, while Eurasia and friends now have at least a few more dark, horrifying years left to regret all of their sins and await the day that the swarm still inevitably gets across. That’s the optimistic case. The non-optimistic case is that water is all the same as land to these horrors, or, possibly, even an accelerant to their powers, and every inch of the planet is devoured within the end of the month. Sayonara, and good riddance to all of you. You fucking idiots.

Topic: What’s happening in TN communism?
OP: WeAreImmensiveWeRise

I’m visually really into this thing in the news about that Tennessee town, the creatures and the humans (those who stayed lol) all look to be living really lavish lifestyles, enjoying things to the fullest and not putting one another down. Do we know in detail how their society is structured?

Topic: COULD FURRIES BE REAL IN TENNESSEE?
OP: CardboardCan

Did you guys hear the news out of TN about how fallen angels live there now and their society kicks ass?? Magic, monsters, I want one of those centaurs to mount me and put otherworldly foals in my fox ass please please please please! On the news they showed a macro fox with an insanely hot ass I would love for that fox to sit on me and smother my face with his delightfully bad smelling sphincter! I need need need need need his ass to clench and relax on my needy muzzle!! macro furry ass is real!!!!!!!

From: Agent “Gearbox”
To: Secretary “Clutch”
Subject: Geography
Goblin = Elven

Operation Green Park reporting as of Day Two, 1900 hours. Goblin territory has not spread beyond the Orange Brook area since the halt yesterday at sundown, nor has the Goblin territory diminished. Motorheads amply occupy the surrounding territory, Racers from TN are an open presence, Racers from several surrounding jurisdictions lie in close proximity on standby.

Aerial view into Goblin territory not obstructed; Entry of state actors obstructed by Goblin guards, who employ supernatural talents to drown out the speech of any state actors and bar us entry via force field; Non state actors are generally granted free passage past the Goblin guards.

Intelligence has been gathered from aerial observation and from interviews conducted with civilians who at various points have left Goblin territory.

Last night and continuing into some daylight hours today, Goblins were busy altering their territory, such as by: vastly changing the terrain from rolling hills to staggered plateaus with slopes in between, the peaks of the staggered plateaus largely not correlated to where the peaks of the existing hills had been; spreading, by magic, lush new plant life that is red in color, and grows in tandem with the existing green plant life that had been present in the area; constructing new structures in place of certain existing structures which they have targetedly demolished, such as a square pool of water being constructed where the Orange Brook Police Department Headquarters had been, and such as hanging gardens with ornate metalwork being constructed across the plots of land where the town’s churches had been.

Also of note was proliferation of Goblins themselves, all of them bearing chiefly lithe human-like forms, but all able to shift fluidly into an animalistic form, marked by bearing animalistic features and lush coats of fur, some of natural colors, some dark red, some black, most dressed in robes of very high quality textiles and adorned in jewelry of gold and of precious stones, some quadrupedal, some bipedal, sizes ranging from 1 inch in height to 44 feet in height, with the greatest numbers occupying the smaller side of this spectrum and the fewest numbers occupying the greater side of this spectrum. All Goblins possess magical talents, all Goblins are armed with spears, swords, or bows, all Goblins speak primarily in an unearthly language but are also fluent in all earthly languages.

At 1100 hours today, alteration by Goblins of Goblin territory seemed to have largely pleased them. It was, I will note, indeed very thorough.

At 1200 hours today, Goblins began congregating in a vast public square, and have since been partaking in a celebration of their victories, the celebration marked by music, dancing, the drinking of wine, the eating of decadent foods. Intelligence suggests that they believe they are on the dawn of taking over the world, and that within three days’ time they are expecting to have destroyed existing power structures, proliferated Goblin life across the planet, and unrecognizably altered all terrain worldwide. They speak of doing so while welcoming in all life that will make itself coexist, but by ruthlessly eliminating all who stand unmovingly in between them and their goals. This new society would center around principles of, in their terms, abundance, generosity, polyamory, empathy, wellness, achievement, art, and pleasure. This new society also proudly proclaims itself to be Unchristian, and I would agree with this analysis. Overnight, this town has become unrecognizable from the American town it hitherto was.

Motorheads share a sense that this is drastically worse than if an attack from a foreign nation had simply wiped the Orange Brook area off the map, for two reasons. 1: Here the enemy now stands, within our nation’s borders, as an army that we have no apparent means of inflicting any damage upon, and which has demonstrated a willingness to take from United States land, and indeed already executed upon this willingness successfully. 2: Rather than a relatively contained erasure of assets, the Goblin transformation of the Orange Brook area represents a corruption, an unbounded and highly volatile spoiling of American values.

Goblin presence in TN or indeed anywhere on Terra is an existential threat to human life, and is certainly a targeted, credible existential threat against The United States of America.

Intelligence suggests that at sunrise tomorrow, Goblins will continue the spread of their territory beyond the Orange Brook area, vastly and rapidly.

Advising full assault tonight.

If spread does continue, advising broad nuclear option. Not requesting extraction.

From: Agent “Glass”
To: Head of State
Subject: Operation Dark Collar met with failure
Harpy = Elven

All Dark Couriers have been found and lethally eliminated by Harpy assassins.

Broad nuclear option is no longer in play.

God save you.

It felt like waking up from a bad dream and going back into the real world for the first time. I walked through the forest and breathed in the wind. As water is moved through a stream and wind is moved through grass, so too was I moved. I laid on a red hillside and felt the grass hold me in its snug, assuring clutches. I walked sometimes alone, sometimes with other creatures. I relaxed sometimes alone, sometimes with other creatures. I laid for a very long time in the soil and sank into it, and grew out again. One day I met an elf who was swimming in a lake that shined moodily in the evening light. His fire on the beach had gone down to embers. In the nearby woods I foraged about for small dry dead twigs and branches, and with care and by blowing onto the lakeside fire’s embers, I restored the fire as the elf swam. When he came up from the water, he and I sat by the fire together and cuddled and spoke long relaxing verses to one another. I learned that he was King Ai’li’na’los, one of the elven assassins who had prevented a nuclear attack from coming to fruition, back during the last days when a nuclear attack was still possible, entertainable. Who was I back then? I was someone who was getting sick of getting chewed out for being late to my job at the Chevron station. I was touch starved, annoyed at partisan politics, connected and disconnected to all the wrong things. Ai’li’na’los and I shared in sexual pleasures that night. Over the next few weeks we walked together, and arrived at a festival grounds where so many people were at peace, relaxing alone or with other creatures, walking alone or with other creatures, dancing alone or with other creatures. Through the festival grounds we walked, and arrived at a long table, where seated, among the others, were four I soon recognized as the beautiful King Michael, the beautiful Queen Seamstress, the Lotus Queen Alice, and the deft King Maxie. Late that night, I laid with my nose towards a flower made of wisps of magical light growing out of the ground in the woods near a river. While I laid there, looking at the flower, King Ai’li’na’los idly rubbed my back, and Queen Seamstress also laid on the ground nearby me with her nose also to the flower, as King Maxie gave rubs to her, and she relaxed deeply into his touch.

I got really into racing. Really, really into racing. Creatures bring me parts I covet. Not in the moment I ask for them, typically, but I speak of something needed, and a creature hears, and goes and seeks. 200 miles per hour. Faster, in good conditions. I feel like an otherworldly monster speeding over the track. I used to watch racing on the TV, with my dad. Then a lot of life happened, and then all of this happened. There are not very many things I would ever go back for. If I was able to venture back into that old life, it would be as a fisher: I would fish things out of that time, and carry them back with me, to now, to when it has all gotten better.

I join in howls. I howl to the stars above and I howl to my planet that is here with me. The pack howls. I am part of the pack. I howl.

I lie in an immense library, and the tablets and books and scrolls and tapes and disks and so on all whisper their stories to me, their scientific treatises, their languages and encodings and stylistic decisions, their doctrines, anything for which it is in their spirit to tell me, and for me to examine and learn about. Often I hold the media in my hands, and examine it with my own touch, my own vision. But also, often, I lie in some nook or another, and make my being into an open container for knowledge to pool into, and knowledge does so pool into me. I glean new insights and pleasures from rereadings and from new readings. Once in a long while, I pass by another reader.

I lie in a hammock this evening as the birds converse.

The world is an orgy now and I have a checklist of kinks that were fantasies and now are in progress.

Here now I spectate. Wander. Look. I see a human costumed as a fox who is cuddling with an elf he was just topping, who was transformed into a tiger, and the elf is now appearing as a tiger still, during the cuddles. The fox is telling the elf how cool it is that the entire world is an orgy now, every last person is having sex in all of the ways they always wanted to, and all is finally hedonism. Ha. Amusing. I don’t know. There’s other stuff too, but, whatever.

I picnic by a river in a field, and then one of the berries I was eating really hits, and it begins feeling like rolling waves are nudging through my body, and it’s a really nice feeling, I do love it. The world wobbles. I see the bright sky and I giggle at it. Unexpectedly, I am joined at my spot by King Michael, Queen Alice, and Queen Seamstress. I kiss them each at my insistence, and then Michael and Seamstress wander together up the riverside, while Alice lies with me a while, and I tell her what a fantastic mood I’m in and that I really just want some cuddles, and she cuddles me.

The world still grows. In some ways it grows upwards: red trees become taller, human and elven and hybrid offspring grow up. In some ways it grows longer: another chapter of time is added onto the last. What strikes me is the world’s capacity to grow richer. I see a human in a forest, lying completely at rest among a pack of wolves, and all of them are contented, all of them are peaceful, and the world grows richer.

In a living room, a HUMAN MOTHER, HUMAN CHILD, and HUMAN FATHER are seated on a couch. In front of them on a big board is a diagram of a family tree.

MAY: Okay Scotty, so, last weekend, at Easter, some people were upset that you didn’t know how you and them were related.

SCOTTY ashamed: Yeah...

MAY: But, we never taught you how you and them were related, did we?

SCOTTY shakes his head.: Uh-uh.

MAY: So you couldn’t have known, huh?

SCOTTY: Yeah...

MAY: So, we’re going to teach you today. We have our family tree here. This is OUR family tree, woooow, see that? Do you see where we are? Look, this is you, riiight here! And there’s us, that’s me, “May,” your mom, and there’s dad, look, there’s “Cliff,” your dad. Do you see how we follow along with the lines on this chart?

SCOTTY: Uh-huh we learned about family trees in school.

MAY: So, who do you think this is?

SCOTTY amused: I can see her picture that’s grandma.

MAY: But how do you know it’s grandma from the chart?

SCOTTY: Because the line is connected. It goes up one from me to dad and then up one from dad to grandma.

MAY: Wonderful! From the picture, do you see who this is?

SCOTTY: Um. Uncle Jeff but is he actually COUSIN Jeff?

CLIFF proud: See! He told ya he knows how to read a family tree!

MAY: That’s right, so, if we follow along, your dad Cliff and Jeff’s dad Rosco both have the same mom, Grandma Vivian, or Viv as a lot of people call her. But, Rosco is dad’s OLDER brother, and so, he and his wife had Jeff years and years and years before we had you. So Jeff is older than you, and he seems like your uncle, but actually, he’s your cousin.

SCOTTY: Mhm that makes sense I didn’t know but I understand.

Cliff pats Scotty.

MAY: Now. Over here, with Aunt Lisa, this is something that we probably didn’t tell you about before. Aunt Lisa divorced her first husband, and Uncle Mike is actually her second husband.

SCOTTY: Oh.

MAY: It’s okay. SO, her first husband’s name was Clint, and she had one daughter with Clint, and then they got divorced, and then she got married to Mike, and had another daughter with Mike.

20 YEARS LATER.

In a living room, SCOTTY and his two girlfriends SHREDDER and ANNA-MARIE are sitting on a couch, with MAY and CLIFF also on the couch to either side of the throuple. In front of them on a big board is a diagram of... a family tree?

SCOTTY: Okay, so. Mom and Dad. My girlfriends and I were talking, and, we felt that you maybe weren’t 100% on the whole ‘queer’ ‘gay’ scene kinda vibe that me and my girlfriends are all part of, and we wanted to OFFER to catch you up on the whole comprehensive web.

MAY: We understand. You’re gay and single but you have a lot of friends who are girls who are lesbians, and you’re very supportive of them, and we admire that of you, you’re a very good friend to people in need.

SCOTTY: That’s. Not correct.

CLIFF: I thought he put it in animals.

SCOTTY: THAT’S, ALSO, oh my god. No that WAS true, and then she DIED of rabies, and so now that was, a long time ago.

MAY: He IS gay now, dear, and just friends with lots of other gay kids.

SCOTTY: Please do not say it like that, that’s, for a lot of reasons that’s not true.

MAY: No it’s true honey, you’re a very good friend to all of these people.

CLIFF: We’re impressed with your selflessness. You’ve really put so much into helping those worse off than you for nothing in return.

SCOTTY: Okay well, no, no this is... Oh boy. Okay. Um. Mom, Dad, on this diagram here, we have, me, and Shredder, who is right here, you’ve met her, and Anna-Marie, right here, you’ve met her as well.

MAY 100% confidence: Two pretty girlies sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-

SCOTTY: MOM.

SHREDDER: Wait that rules, May you rule actually?

SCOTTY: Okay so YES, Mom, Shredder and Anna-Marie do have a line between them, they are girlfriends with each other, but you see, there’s also, a line, between each of them and me, it’s a triangle. So?

MAY: Friends.

SCOTTY: No, that’s, it’s, more than friends, actually. The lines are people who are having sex with each other.

May gasps, looking around at the whole board.

Cliff seems deep in thought.

SCOTTY: So, Shredder, IS my girlfriend, okay, MY, girlfriend. AND, Anna-Marie is my girlfriend, also.

MAY dumbfounded, looking at Shredder and Anna-Marie,: I didn’t know you two were boys- OH I’m sorry, not to say-

SHREDDER: Is your mom single?

SCOTTY amused: Okay no no no no, Mom, they ARE girls.

MAY: Well I know they “ARE” girls,

SCOTTY: Yes, but, also, they are cisgender girls, they were born and raised as girls.

MAY: Well I know they “were” “born and raised” “as girls,”

ANNA-MARIE to Scotty: I’m trying dude, I’m trying to come up with the key words that would explain it, but.

SCOTTY: Yeah. Ha. No it’s uh. Okay. So. Mom. Shredder and Anna-Marie are not trans.

MAY: OH, okay.

Scotty, Shredder, and Anna-Marie glance around amongst themselves to see if they agree that May actually gets it. Yes it seems like she does. Anna-Marie starts idly running her fingertips along Scotty.

SCOTTY: Okay, so, Mom. Me, Shredder, Anna-Marie, all together, makes sense?

MAY: Sure.

SCOTTY: Awesome.

MAY: So yyyyou’re a girl now, okay.

SCOTTY: NOPE.

SHREDDER: No let’s not move on too hastily, hang on.

SCOTTY: I am happy to date women AND men. I AM gay, but, I am also straight, and I am still a male, okay?

MAY: You can be honest.

SHREDDER: You can be honest Julia.

SCOTTY amused: NOT helping. Evil.

Shredder gives a tubular hand sign.

Cliff gestures to the chart.

CLIFF: How many of these people are dogs?

SCOTTY: We’re getting there.

CLIFF: I mean ballpark, 0 percent, 100 percent.

SCOTTY: Kind of 10 percent but kind of 80 percent.

CLIFF: Is it because of furries?

SCOTTY: It, honestly, I mean, yeah, close enough.

CLIFF: Alrighty.

MAY: So, does Anna-Marie have a wife? I had assumed that was another friend of yours named Anna-Marie who had a wife, but now I’m wondering again.

SCOTTY excited: Yes! So! Anna-Marie here does have a wife, who she is married to. The wife’s name is Autumn.

CLIFF: Anna-Marie and Autumn don’t have a line together on this chart.

SCOTTY: No they do not.

CLIFF: You have a line between yourself and Anna-Marie and yourself and Autumn.

SCOTTY: Yes.

CLIFF lowkey impressed: Wow no okay.

SCOTTY: So, a lot of these people identify as a lot of different species, or genders. I’ve written the quick bullet points under everyone, but, you can also see all of their photos and make of them what you will. Oh, I’ve also written their real names, AND their fursonas’ names, and all of the other aliases, that I’m aware of, although if they’re trans I’ve left out the deadname because we never use those.

MAY: So HERE, LUKE, is the man you’re having sex with right now.

SCOTTY: Yyyyyes.

MAY: So HE’S your new real partner.

SCOTTY: Wait what?

ANNA-MARIE to Scotty: No this really makes sense through not-you-vision trust me.

SCOTTY: Sweetie what?

ANNA-MARIE: Oh it’s not RIGHT it’s just that I would assume the same thing.

SCOTTY: Really?

SHREDDER: 100%.

SCOTTY: Well YOU would.

SHREDDER: 100%.

CLIFF: How many of these people are having internet sex?

SCOTTY: EVERYONE on this chart is having internet sex with EVERYONE else on this chart.

CLIFF: Okay I understand now.

MAY: So you’re all cheating on Autumn?

SCOTTY: No what.

SHREDDER: Kinda.

SCOTTY: Not even kind of!

SHREDDER: She calls us cheating harlots EVERY day.

ANNA-MARIE: She just calls everyone that, she calls people that in traffic.

CLIFF: When do any of you have time to go to work.

SHREDDER: God, right?

MAY: So Scotty, you ARE dating again, wow. Back in the running.

SCOTTY: Not exactly?

MAY: Oh what is it now?

SCOTTY: Well, in the running for WHAT, is what I’m not sure of in that.

CLIFF: Marriage and children, son.

SCOTTY: No, zero interest.

MAY: So you are homosexual.

SCOTTY: I am pansexual, polyamorous,

SHREDDER: Oh also everyone on this chart is a zoophile or a furry. Or an animal.

SCOTTY: That is true yeah- well no, Mark is just, a guy.

SHREDDER: IS he? Shit bro I thought he was so freaky I didn’t even wanna ask.

SCOTTY: I THINK he’s like, just a normal guy?

ANNA-MARIE: Is Mark not they/them?

SCOTTY: No Mark is he/him.

ANNA-MARIE: Oh he is so they/them coded.

Shredder types on her phone for 1 second.

SHREDDER: I sent him a message, ‘Hey are you like ultra freaky secretly or are you mostly super vanilla? What’s the weirdest interests you’re into? Here’s my own favs for a sense of what I’m into if you’re interested in comparing lmao, I think you already know most of these but to be clear these are ones I legitimately am hardcore into,’ and then a list of my favs.

CLIFF: Well kids,

SCOTTY: Not kids.

SHREDDER: Mark says he identifies as a little kid I fucking knew it.

ANNA-MARIE: That’s not freaky! By itself? That’s cute!

SHREDDER: He’s still typing.

ANNA-MARIE: Oh pfff, okay, well, we’ll see.

SHREDDER: I think it’s a LITTLE freaky even just by itself.

ANNA-MARIE: Oh it is not.

SHREDDER: I support him being a freak hardcore I’m just saying he is one.

CLIFF: Who makes the costumes?

SHREDDER: What?

MAY: Oh what he’s saying is, you’re all attracted to animals, who makes the costumes, for when you’re having sex with each other?

ANNA-MARIE: I do.

SCOTTY: What?

Shredder puts Scotty in a headlock and covers his mouth with her hand.

CLIFF: So, Scotty is a girl now and you all wear animal costumes and have orgies, is that what you wanted us to know?

SHREDDER: Yup thanks.

Scotty is frantically trying to keep talking but it is completely muffled by Shredder’s restraints on him.

ANNA-MARIE: Well Mrs May and Mr Cliff, thank you for having this sit-down with us, I think we clarified a lot.

Scotty is really-really trying to talk, Shredder is not letting him go. Everyone is getting up from the couch to leave.

MAY: Well it’s all quite a bit different from how WE used to do it, but, I understand.

SHREDDER: Thank you so much for your understanding.

CLIFF: So let me ask, with the actual dogs, do you have to drug them or do they just take it?

ANNA-MARIE: Oh we sometimes drug them but mostly we just train them to put up with taking it.

Scotty is frantically shouting under Shredder’s hand but his corrections cannot be heard.

CLIFF: Ohhhhhh, huh. I never thought of that.

SHREDDER: You learn something new every day.

ANNA-MARIE: See you two at the Blink concert I gotta sell Erin some smack.

SHREDDER: Kay, make that money babe.

Anna-Marie kisses Shredder who kisses her back, and then kisses Scotty on the forehead while Scotty is still trying to talk under Shredder’s hand. Anna-Marie then leaves.

Shredder glances at May and Cliff, and then at Scotty.

SHREDDER: I uh. Have to go take her to get her. Gynecologist meeting. Scheduled. She hasn’t had her special snip-snip but she likes to go there and pretend.

CLIFF: Well don’t let us keep ya, thank you for stopping by.

MAY: Love you Scotty, love you Shredder.

SHREDDER: Take care homies.

Shredder drags Scotty away kicking and (muffled-ly) screaming.

Pads on the blacktop
Pads on the dirt
Same run across my neck at night
Lover’s careless hurt
 
Fingers on the rope
Two wrestle four
Negotiate
What this patrol is for
Smell of fellow dogs
Sight of villain cats
A mark for mark
Canceled tit for tat
 
Pads in the morning fog
Pads in midnight dark
Same ran across my neck last night
Left a big red mark
 
Lips on the maw
Teeth mind the lips
A savored taste
Of red rocket’s tip
A nudge for nudge
The flesh it yearns
It does not care
Of what kith it burns
 
Coarse speech of dog
Coarse howl of man
The dancing partner
Understands
A want to be touched
A want to give touch well
A fine arrangement
This for Hell

To Thine Own Self Be Zoo,

Volume IV, Issue 1;

Spring Equinox 2026.

IN THIS ISSUE, a dog lover has time to think about dogs, and an influencer highkey wishes he was at the beach. Featuring the stories Yeoman Kit Colony and Arbitration, as well as a few poems.

Awooooooo!

Entry

Everything feels like dog. I’m in bed, in a perfectly dark room: my only available senses are smell, sound, touch, taste, gravity, and time.

My sense of smell: Dog breath. I may as well be inside of a dog’s mouth. It smells like the inside of a dog’s mouth unmistakably. I feel like I am in a room that has been wholly slobbered on from ceiling to walls to carpet, and not just cursorily, not just for a short time. My nose radiates euphoria in recognizing the scent of a dog’s chewthing, a dog’s breath, a dog’s saliva, as being what we are more or less surrounded by, as we lie on this bed.

My sense of sound: Breathing. It could be a human. When was the last time I was in bed in a dark room with a human? It isn’t a human. So this is canine breathing, somewhere in this dark room with me. The breathing in... the breathing out... the breathing in... the breathing out... It sounds like the dog here with me is soundly asleep.

My sense of touch: There’s blankets all around, one is bunched up around my head, one my feet have gotten themselves wrapped up into, one is draped across my torso, it feels like there’s another one or two off to either side of me; the blankets feel like adopted nerves connecting me to my sleepmate. In the way the blankets, the ones wrapped around my feet, draped across my torso, et cetera, are being tugged, I know, from that, where my canine companion is. On the bed with me. Not touching me. But very close by. It feels, in among the blankets, like me and this dog were earlier snuggled up very very very very very close together, and then, in the process of settling in...

Oh, wait.

Adding one: My sense of temperature: Warm. Hot. Melting via the furnace (FUR-nace) that is sharing a room and a bed and blankets and space with a dog.

My sense of taste: ...Paws?

My sense of touch again: There is a dog paw on my face. The coarse paw pad rests on my upper lip, and the claws touch the side of my face, next to my mouth, and my tongue (dry) is thoughtlessly sticking out of my open mouth, touching the flat of the dog paw that is on my face. Cool. Very into it. Genuinely.

My sense of taste again: Definitely a paw. I can taste the... salt? I can taste the fact that my tongue is touching the hair that grows between the paw pads. Whatever that taste is? That’s what I’m tasting.

My sense of gravity: There is gravity. Hell, there is always gravity, there’s never not. But, there is immediate gravity. Perceptible gravity. Appreciable gravity. I am lying on my back, on a bed, in a room that “has gravity” even in the layman’s sense. And, also weighing down on this bed, with bodily weight, is a dog; my gravity and a dog’s gravity cooperate, turning the bed into a sort of bowl, cone, basin, a shape where me and the dog are both naturally drawn to the center which is also the bottom.

My sense of time: I think I’m supposed to be in the middle of sleeping right now. I think that’s what time it is. I think I was supposed to be asleep for a long time already, and still have a lot of sleep left to come.

And yet. Here I am. Awake. With my dry tongue pressed against the hair tuft in the middle of a dog’s paw.

The dog, in the midst of dream, softly, barks.

I wait for the paw twitches; sleep barking and sleep running so often come as one thing. I wait for the dog’s paw to scratch my face, leave a line of torn skin, blood...

There was only the one bark. And then a sort of sigh... a frustrated, giving up sigh. And then a pause. Now back to breathing. The dog breathes in... the dog breathes out... the dog breathes in... the dog breathes out... the dog breathes in...

The dog wakes up, with a big exhale—a big sigh—and then a big stretch, the back arching, the legs going rigid during the stretch. The paw pad slides off of my face harmlessly.

The dog has awoken.

The dog had detected a sleepmate awake.

I still don’t know which dog I’m with. Shine or Joey.

I roll towards the dog, and rest a hand on the side of a canine ribcage. A BIG canine ribcage. Joey. If I moved my hand up his body, up the fur, I would arrive at pointy ears; if I moved my hand down his body, towards the hotter parts of his anatomy, I would arrive at a sheath, balls.

I crane my face forward and give him a dry peck on the front of his muzzle.

With his paw that had been on my face, he uses his claws to pull my body close to his body, and he holds me, close. He licks my forehead. Over and over again, he runs his tongue across my forehead, washing me.

No wonder everything smells like a dog’s chewthing. I am the chewthing.

I let it happen. I’m overjoyed to let it happen. There is nowhere else I would rather be than right here, bunched up in a hot bed against a hot dog, my human sweat being washed off by him.

I say, “I love you, Joey. I love you, guy.”

As his licking goes on, he pulls me even closer with his claws, and starts licking the back of my neck. Heh.

I put a hand on his back and a hand on his belly; He rolls onto his back, legs splayed apart, and I give him a big belly rub, rubbing my hands all over his fluffy big warm chest. He and I kiss, mouth to mouth, as he gets his belly rubbed. Moaning. Little giggles. I can’t help making little noises about how fun this feels, to be here in bed with him, again.

As we continue to kiss, I take one hand off of him, off of his belly, and I start examining my own body. I don’t mean masturbating, although, that’s not to say that we might not be going there. I just want to find out what I am right now. As one hand rubs my canine partner’s tummy, my other hand touches my own tummy; I find that I am flatchested, no breast growth to speak of; even pressing a palm flat against a nipple and rocking the palm back and forth, I can feel no mass of developing breast underneath whatsoever. I guess it’s always been one of the main clues, that tells me what part of my life I’ve arrived at.

Ever since I arrived at the Yeoman Kit Colony, my life is no longer lived in chronological order. I wake up, and sometimes I’ve woken up on a day three years before the last day that I had just lived. Sometimes I wake up and only a week has advanced forward.

Things change. So there are some questions that can give me a good idea of when I am, at least roughly. Am I with Shine, or am I with Joey, or am I damned to the lonely time, the time after everyone else but me has died. Is my chest flat, or has the estradiol given me breasts yet. What name do people call me.

Right before waking up to this, I was in the lonely time.

The floor outside of my bedroom creaks; speaking of “What name do people call me,” speak of the devil.

I stop kissing Joey, not that this stops him from kissing me. Within his claws, I turn myself around, so that I am little spooned, my back flush with his chest, his claws resting on my bicep, him licking the back of my neck, and then the side of my face, and then sticking his tongue in my ear.

From there in Joey’s grasp, among the nest of blankets on our shared bed, I look up to the doorway of our room; the sliding door is already slid open, apparently left that way whenever Joey and I had gone to sleep. By the soft light of some of the electronic display panels outside of the room, I can see when a figure with long black hair (and piercings on his nose, eyebrow, and earlobes, and tattoos of a flock of small black silhouette birds going across his face) appears in my doorway. Geoff.

Geoff says, softly, “You’re up, Joey and Roman?”

I hear Joey’s tail beat against the bedsheets as he wags; I feel the little percussions ripple across our bed; Joey continues to lick the side of my face clean.

I put a hand up at his muzzle for him to lick instead, giving him my fingers to have instead of my ears, which I need to borrow back for a second to better hear the human who has just arrived and called me Roman.

I say to Geoff, laughing a little bit at myself as Joey doesn’t let up on licking me, “We’re up, yeah.”

Joey tries to force his muzzle between the gaps of my fingers and get back to my ear, but I firmly keep him pushed away.

Geoff says, “I’m sorry, correction, you’re up Joey The Dog Himself and Lilly The Aforementioned Dog’s Girlfriend.”

Oh that’s really pleasing to hear. He does know the name that I end up changing to. And the trans of it all. And the zoo of it all.

I say to Geoff, referring to Joey and myself, “He and she are awake.”

He asks, “Wanna hit breakfast at the cantina, if you’re up for the day?”

Hearing that we’re going somewhere, Joey stands up on the bed, standing with his paws on me in fact, and he does a big shake-off, and then he leaps off of me and onto the ground, and walks quickly past Geoff out into the hall.

Geoff mentions, “Joey’s going with me, apparently. Ha.”

I say to Geoff, “Yeah I’d love to come get breakfast. What time is it?”

“Oh four hundred,” he says.

“Oh, do they even serve breakfast right now?”

“Twenty four seven, Lilly,” Geoff says, wearing the boredom on his sleeve, of re-explaining some piece of trivia that he probably had to remind me of as recently as his yesterday.

I’d forgotten, the cantina near Geoff, here in his neck of the colony, is indeed an all day and all night affair. More recently (in my own highly individual sense of what “recently” entails) I’ve been more used to getting snubbed by a cantina on the far opposite side of the colony that closes sometime between twenty hundred hours and twenty three hundred hours, seemingly at complete random, seemingly to avoid serving noisy drunks (my friends.) But yes. Geoff is right, obviously. I do have memories of getting a bite to eat in this nearby cantina in the dead of night, usually just with Shine, but sometimes with both Shine and Geoff.

As I’m thinking about going to this cantina with Joey instead of Shine for the first time (my individual sense of “for the first time,”) I feel a surprising pang of sadness, at thinking of Shine, and the fact that she is dead now. I don’t want her to be dead. I tell myself that I will see her alive again. Maybe the next time I wake up, or maybe a hundred times from now, but at some point, I will wake up, and it will be a black dog in bed with me, a smaller dog, with floppy ears, and she, alive, will roll onto her back for me to give her belly a rub. She, alive, will be there, getting her belly rubbed by me, and we will both, together, be remembering all the years we shared together, even before arriving at the far-off Yeoman Kit Colony together, back on Mars, our home planet. But then, as quickly as I summon all of these memories of her back to me, and as quickly as I summon up the reassurance that I will see her alive again, I feel unbearably guilty. I feel so selfish, so thoughtless, about the fact that I am trying to rationalize her death by assuring myself that I will go back to a time before it happened. Does that matter to her, or just to me? She is dead now. Either way, as me and Geoff and her replacement go to get food at the cantina, we do so in a world that is no longer graced with her.

Geoff asks, “Are you alright?”

“Um,” I say, and then suddenly I am crying. Not big sobs—maybe Geoff can’t even tell that I’m crying yet—but, my vision is blurred from tears that are here now, even if they have not yet fallen. With great effort, I force out the words, “Just remembering Shine. Be out in a minute.”

“Okay. I think about her too, sometimes, yknow,” Geoff says, and then I think he shrugs, but I can’t see him too well through my teary vision, and then he walks off, leaving me alone in my room.

I do cry. Joey comes back. He climbs up onto the bed, and he lays down with me, and he licks my eyes, and I love him. I love him more than my words could ever say. Words are not enough, or, more specifically, words are not the right kind of thing. But I say the words anyways. “I love you, Joey. I love you a lot. I love you.”

Desolate

It’s so quiet. In the times after everyone else. I sit in a park, on a bench, looking at dead leaves caught in a whirlwind of the station’s artificial wind. The dead leaves, pale greens and pale browns, circle around and around each other like animals chasing each other’s tails. They rise in the winds, they swoop, the leaves follow after one another... and then the wind stops, and the leaves fall to the ground. And then, indefinitely, the leaves just stay there. Unmoving. Fucking incredible.

This is my life, in three frames: 1) Me and Shine arrive at the Yeoman Kit Colony which I have been invited to in my capacity as a network engineering apprentice and she and I spend a year together here; 2) Shine dies and the next day I go visit my friend Sala fully intending to kill myself with booze with her that night and then I accidentally fall in love with her dog Joey instead and me and Joey spend a little over six years together; 3) Joey dies and the next day the colony is attacked and everyone else dies too, except for me, I am the only survivor.

What is the sound of one trans girl not having anyone around to say her name, and being almost completely deaf anyways from bombs going off in her ears on the day the last of her friends died, and not to mention she was already feeling quite dead inside herself from her first love and her second love both also being dead and so she probably wouldn’t want to talk to anyone anyways?

That’s a bad question. Terribly formed. Compound. Unclear.

The Yeoman Kit Colony is—well, “was,” maybe—a habitable structure orbiting the star Tau Ceti; the star is characteristically very similar to Sol, albeit smaller; as someone who has been under both suns, they indeed feel like they are both creatures of the same species, so to speak; the colony was formed, several years before my arrival, out of the combining of two spacefaring megaships, one ship being on a research voyage and bearing the namesake of Dr Miranda Yeoman and the other ship being on a voyage of a religious nature and bearing the namesake of Dr Melissa Kit.

Is this legacy one that Drs Yeoman and Kit ever even once saw coming? That their ships coming out all this way and then being welded together would ultimately result in a day where one faggy girl whose friends are all dead is sitting on a bench in a park on their colony, sad?

“Welded together” is an over simplification of the process of what actually happened, to integrate two ships into one another that were each already the size of a terrestrial city.

“Sad” is an over simplification of how alone I feel, some days.

Vested

I am sitting on the brown carpeted floor in a common room, putting Joey’s reflective work vest on him, making sure the straps are secured to just the right looseness or tightness. He is beautiful. His coat, in the sunlight that shines in through the big windows on the other side of the room... His coat looks like sweeping hills and valleys, waves, dunes. He should be photographed more often, is all I’m saying, I guess. Heh.

His vest is cyan, and says WORKER in black text.

My lanyard is a matching cyan, indicating I am a qualified animal handler.

Yeah. Yeah I’ve “handled” this animal, alright. Giggity.

But also yes I am a qualified animal handler. And therefore I am allowed to bring Joey to work without even really needing to justify how exactly it is that a huge burly stud dog helps me in my task of improving computer intranet uptime for the colony.

The vest seems good.

I say to Joey, “Should we check?”

Joey trots away from me to the center of the common room, rolls on the ground between all of the couches (one of which, I had forgotten, Sala is currently passed out on.) He doesn’t roll around for a particularly long time, just seems to want to proof-of-concept it, ‘yeah yeah, I did your trick,’ kind of thing. He stands up from the roll onto his fours, and then he does the world’s smallest little jump as a placeholder for what he’s ‘supposed’ to do, which is stand on his twos (his hindpaws) for a little bit. Satisfied with himself that he’s gone through the “check” routine, he trots back to me and sticks his tongue in my mouth.

I kiss him back, saying mid kiss, “You lazy, mmmmmwah.”

He doesn’t seem to mind being lazy.

I do say it as a compliment towards his sense of comfort, rather than a critique towards his lack of obedience.

The full “Check” routine that we trained on, as part of being able to demonstrate that he was a trained animal, basically involved a series of agility movements to be sure that the harness isn’t unduly restricting him, and also isn’t going to slide off at an inopportune time. Rolls, different speeds of movement, leaps, standing on twos, he’s supposed to (‘supposed’ to) find ways (wherever we are) to run all of the checks when I say Check.

But, pragmatically speaking, I know how to put on the harness; we both already know that it’s on correctly. He is already certified. The trick is no longer something he ‘has’ to do, just something I invite him to play out if he still wants.

I’m getting hard as Joey and I kiss. And, as much as that’s great, I also don’t need to smell like precum all day. ...If anyone would even notice. I guess I’ve already been to the future from here, and, nobody ever brings up, “Damn Lilly remember that day you and Joey softcore fucked before you came in to work and we could all tell and now we all make fun of you for it?” So I guess today will go fine, basically, is what I’ve decided. Based on the fact that I can’t think of anyone in the future who suddenly hates me after circa today, I guess today is not a day when I go out and make anyone hate me. Nice.

I break myself away from Joey’s kisses, and I grab my boots, and put them on and tie them up.

After they’re tied, I stick one leg into the air, rotate the foot around, flex the ankle.

...Feels tight around the ankle.

I put the foot back on the ground, and start untying the laces to try again.

I really do a better job with Joey than with myself.

When my boots are properly on and good, I pick up my backpack full of my tools. Little clippers and sensors and interface-y gadgets, All Of The Wires Ever, and in the front pocket things related to canine stewardship—little treats, a pretty complete set of first aid implements in the rare event that I need them although I know already that it will happen now and then, poop bags in the rare event that I need them although I know already that it will happen now and then. Joey mostly does his business in the courtyard at home, but, yeah. I don’t decorate the outside of my backpack too much, but, I do have one patch sewn onto it that says she/her/HERS, honestly mainly so that I can be sure it’s MY bag at a glance, not just a similar looking one. And, also on the outside of the backpack, I have strapped a water bottle, a little electric lantern, a little baby flashlight, and a momma flashlight. It is shocking how often someone in my proximity opens up a panel and sticks their head inside and says “fuck I can’t see shit” and then I and I alone am their salvation.

From the couch, I hear a long, pained groan.

I call to Sala, in a very musical voice, really exploring a range of notes up and down in ‘morning,’ “Goo-oo-oo-oo-ood mo-o-o-o-o-o-orning, Sunshine!”

“Lilly I will fucking kill you,” she groans.

I walk over to the couch, take my water bottle off of my backpack, and offer it down to her.

“Lilly I fucking love you,” she groans, and takes the water bottle, unscrews the mouth bit, and drinks. She groans again. The grimace on her face does not make me feel jealous of how her insides must feel right now. She was really hitting the booze last night. She asks, “Are you going in to work?”

I say back to her, “I don’t know, do I need to take you to the medical bay instead?”

Her grimace does not become any less intense while she tells me, “I’ll be fine.”

It’s fucked up that I know she does live until the same day everyone else on the colony will live to, and then her death will have nothing to do with her habits anyways, so, I can’t even tell her she’s being an idiot. She is being an idiot, but, she’s also right that she’ll be fine.

Suddenly, her expression changes. Well, it doesn’t completely change—the grimace remains—but, added to it, she begins looking at me with concerned scrutiny, as I am looking at her and pitying her.

She asks, “Will I be fine?”

I sigh, and say, “There could be things I haven’t learned about yet. I’m not an oracle. Maybe you do go to the medical bay and get a robot liver today and just never told me.”

She smiles at that. A pained, pained, pained, pained, pained smile. She says, blissfully in her misery, “In the future they make me a robot liver...”

“NO, chica fucking qué crazy, I am JOKING, those do NOT EXIST.”

Her eyes are closed as she smiles and she is not listening to me. “Robot liver...”

Musically on ‘fucking,’ “You are going to fu-u-u-u-u-cking spend a miserable week in the medical bay getting needles stuck into you all over and I’m not going to be sorry I never learned about it until it was too late, because I am not your time babysitter.”

She whispers, happily, to fuck with me I’m sure, “Robot liver...”

Whatever.

At some point me and Sala are both trying to learn Spanish together, doing flash cards and stuff. Neither of us are of that culture, neither of us are descendants of anywhere that spoke that language with any particular prominence. We just. Try it for our own edification, I guess. I’m not aware of any point in time that either of us actually does speak Spanish with anything even vaguely resembling fluency, so, I guess it doesn’t go well.

I call her a dumb bitch in Spanish (I think) and she just says robot liver again and I guess I don’t know what else I was expecting.

I tell her to drink the rest of the water so that I can go refill it and leave for work.

She does gulp down the rest of the water, and hands me my water bottle back.

As I walk to the sink, in the long kitchen area that’s off to one side of the common room, she calls to me to ask, “Are there any dirty dishes?”

Yes. “Ye-e-e-e-es.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” she groans. “I used a lot of pans last nighttttt, I remember now. They should make cooking but with no dishes to do after.”

“I think that’s called having a romantic partner—”

“Shut upppppp!”

“I’m just sa-a-a-a-aying,” I sing. I turn on the faucet and start filling up my water bottle again, pushing a stack of dirty pans in the sink out of the way a little.

She groans, apparently having heard them clink and stuff.

Heheh.

She mentions, “I don’t see YOUR fuckbuddy ever doing your dishes.”

“He does, he helps lick them clean.”

“Which is GROSS,” she says.

I mean, his tongue was in my mouth not one minute ago, so, obviously we have very different perspectives on that matter. But yeah. She never used to let him lick plates, participate in meals, before I kinda stole him from her. She literally screamed the first time I held a plate down for him. Heheheheh.

Joey is sitting by the front door, facing me, waiting for us to be done with our dumb Lilly-and-Sala human time-wasting so that we can go already.

I call to him from the sink, “Almost baby, very soon.”

I screw on the top of the water bottle.

I call to Sala, “Want me to get you anything from the kitchen while I’m up?”

“Cheese.”

I go to the fridge and slide the door open.

Standing there in front of the open fridge, looking at our goodies of packaged up foodthings, I try to remember if I ever even noticed a difference, when going from Martian food to Colony food. On Mars we had a hybrid approach of food from farms, food from hunting, and food from vats. Here on the colony it is allllll vats, babyyyy. Vat algae. Vat meat. Vat things that are... somehow... derived from vat algae and vat meat. I mean, there are also gardens, actually, but, Sala and I kiiiind of aren’t the most conscious eaters, and so we’re both prooooobably eating almost exclusively from gunk scooped out of Yeoman Kit’s finest aluminum cylinders that has then been prettied up a little and made to look like potato chips and summer sausage.

...Is ‘aluminum’ right, or do the vats just look like aluminum but they’re totally some other metal?

Anyways. Molecularly speaking, the cheese is cheese, the meat is meat. It’s just used-to-be-in-a-vat cheese instead of used-to-be-in-an-udder cheese, and meat that was raised brainless and cylindrically in a vat instead of meat that had grown up with legs and thoughts and might have had a cute animal name once. And as far as I can remember I have never noticed a difference. Taste, texture, it’s all a perfect recreation.

After everyone else dies I don’t know how to keep the food production machinery going but there is enough excess already preserved in various storage facilities to where I’m not worried about it.

I reach into the fridge, and am about to tear off one cheese stick from the set of cheese sticks that we have in here, but then I just grab the entire thing of like ten cheese sticks, let the door of the fridge slide over back to the closed position, walk over to Sala, and set the like ten cheese sticks down on the couch with her.

“I love you,” she says. “You are a hero.”

“Have a good day girl,” I tell her.

I walk to the front door, open it, and Joey in his cyan vest runs out of the door ahead of me, into the sunlight, into the courtyard of our housing complex. Right away, his first business is to run around with his nose to the grass, and then he finds a spot to pee.

Shielding

Sometimes I live the same day over again. Like, the same calendar date, I perceive it again. And, incredibly, the fact that I do this doesn’t... really... make it any clearer to me whether or not free will is real.

I make different choices. One time I lived the same date three times in a row, and on the first two I went to work and did my job just to watch everyone else closely and see if they did anything differently, and then when the third consecutive instance of that day rolled around, I said, FUCK IT, and I called in sick and went to a furry rave with Joey and Sala and Natalee and Nicki and Girl Avery.

I have not been able to find out, on dates after the fact, which version of this day the universe thinks I actually lived.

There should be proof, right? It should be easy to tell for sure?

Sometimes I’m in pictures from the rave that night and sometimes I’m not. Sometimes station records reflect that I did work tasks on that day and sometimes station records reflect I called in absent. Which way it is has never shifted directly in front of my eyes, at least, not yet, but it has shifted back and forth over the course of the same day, without me ever having had a gap where I went to sleep and have clearly come back on a different “run” of the day that I’m now presently living.

And it doesn’t seem to particularly matter which way that day went. Does Natalee remember feeling overstimulated and leaving the rave and taking a walk around the block with me and Joey? Or does Eli remember auditing the breaker box in a station library with me after library hours? Either way, Natalee and Eli both still like me later. They either go, ha ha, yes, I do remember that, what an interesting day, or they go, hm, no, must have been someone else with you, I don’t remember that at all, but sounds like quite a time. It feels about the same as talking to Sala about something that happened while she was blackout drunk.

If a trans girl makes a choice in the woods and no one remembers what it was did she make a choice at all?

I don’t know if free will is real. I think it is. I think free will does exist, but, also I am only human.

I’m at work sitting in my cubicle with Joey asleep on my feet.

I’m pretty sure this is a day I’ve lived before but I don’t know for sure, since a lot of days are kind of similar anyways, and I guess I’ve been at this for a long time.

On my desk is a cardboard box stacked full of routers that I am inspecting one by one. It’s a process that involves selecting the next router off the top of the stack and plugging different wires into all of the ports, and then over those wires, I send signals from my computer making the router think that it’s plugged in to a busy real-life network, and I can see which of these routers is performing as expected, and which one is an anomaly that is causing dropped packets that then cause the clergy in a nearby sector to think that their chapter is being sabotaged deliberately.

Two cubicles over, I hear Eli and Mariana talking about a head-scratcher in Networking Closet 6B of Data Center Kai IX. As they go on about seemingly randomly dropped packets (sometimes I feel like a human whose main desire in life is to suck dog cock and other times I feel like a dog whose main desire in life is to chase dropped packets) I am losing my mind hearing them not be able to figure it out because I already know the answer because I remember it from the future—

Frustrating. Disorganized. I should just let it happen because everything is going to happen anyways.

I work on my routers.

Eli says, “Well I’ll tell ya, I isolated everything in that closet, top to bottom. Every single element, I spent a good twenty minutes on, one and then the next.”

He hasn’t. He would know what the problem is if he had done what he’s saying.

Mariana asks, “Have you been working on this alone, or do other people come and go from the closet? Like, could someone else be changing some element of this back and forth?”

Eli says, “Well Kyle’s been in and out of there the most, but he wants this figured out as much as I do.”

Mariana says, “Yeah that’s so weird then,” even though Eli totally just basically ignored her idea.

Eli says, “I’m about ready to submit a request that we just pick up all of the equipment in there and relocate it to another closet, it’s gonna be a pain but, it’s about all I can come up with.”

That won’t solve it.

Fuck it. Fuck it I can’t focus on my work like this.

I call, “Hey, Eli, come here a sec.”

Joey wakes up and stands and slinks out from under my desk, and sits beside my chair.

I bend down and give Joey a big smooch on the top of the head, and then I turn in my swivel chair to face Eli as he approaches. I recline back hardcore in my chair, draping an arm over Joey, petting him.

Eli appears, having wheeled himself over on his own swivel chair. He asks, “What’s going on, Roman?”

Should he be calling me that?

Oh yeah I guess it is that early, at this point. If I looked down at my lanyard right now, my badge would say that name on it.

Whatever.

I say, “Eli, the spectre-3-augmented firewall on the rack in this closet, does it have a cooling fan?”

He thinks. “Well, yes it does. Same grade of fan I’d expect to see on a tower like that.”

I shake my head. “How cold is that data center?”

He thinks. “Well, holy smokes, it’s freezing in there.”

I nod. “The fan was sourced from Venetian standard—it doesn’t matter, nevermind. The power supply to the fan has inadequate shielding and so when the fan turns on to run its exercising routine every few minutes it’s sending out noise and that’s what’s killing your packets. If you refit the fan with a power supply that matches the rest of the environment then that would be one way to solve the problem, but, also in that data center, the fan on that rack is completely redundant anyways, you can just unplug the fan.”

“How in the world did you solve that one just from overhearing me and Mariana?”

“Call it a hunch, anyways I gotta run, there’s a meeting I need to catch really soon here.”

Holy shit that was fun.

Me and Joey scamper off to one of the more secluded bathrooms in the office and I get down on the tiled floor and butt my head against his flank and caress his sheath and he gets humpy and fucks my hand and I suck his cock.

I do feel a lot more productive for the rest of the day, though I do pause in my work kinda regularly to sniff my hands and feel really, really happy with myself and with my boyfriend.

Sightseeing

Seventeen minutes ago I woke up from a nap on Geoff’s couch to the subtle sensation of Shine dropping a slobbery tennis ball on my face.

Seize the day. I hadn’t seen her in a really long time. I got up and went straight to my boots and put them on and we went out the front door. I held her slobbery tennis ball as we walked, and she ran around, orbiting me, making friendly approaches to different strangers and sniffing different trash bins. Sightseeing. Scentsmelling. I watched her taking in the world through her eyes and nose and paw pads and floppy ears.

Now, me and her are walking through a park. It’s a long amalgam of trail that spiderwebs over the uppermost surfaces of the colony, with valleys of genuine rock and dirt and grass and flowers, streams of genuine water.

We get to a long stretch of clear open grass, and she zooms ahead of me and then turns back and faces me, posture tall, alert.

She’s so small, compared to Joey. Black coat, very very wavey hair, droopy floppy ears, and small. I never really used to think of her as small, back when she was my one and only, back when she and she alone was my entire world, and so she was just my default concept of how big a dog is, and I didn’t know that an ostensible canine giant was going to be in my future. But her version of “standing tall” wouldn’t bring the top of her head up to the top of Joey’s back, I don’t think.

I don’t know. I’ve never seen them together. As far as I’m aware, Shine and Joey never meet, even though technically, somewhere else on the colony, Joey is alive already.

Shine is staring at me to throw the ball.

I throw her tennis ball as far as I can.

She sprints after it. When it hits the ground she is already right next to the spot where it hits, and she snaps towards it and grabs the ball in her teeth. Holding the ball, she does a sort of victory lap, galloping with the ball around the grass, and then she comes back to me, and drops the ball at my feet, and runs a few paces away again, and then looks back at me again, ready for me to throw it.

I do grab the ball again, and throw it again, and she sprints along with it again, and gets it again. This time when she has it, she doesn’t come straight back to me. She trots around the grass, looking at other people who are in this park, seeming very proud to have the ball, be the master of fetch.

Scared

I sit on a boulder alone in a dry valley of dead grass.

My greatest fear is that someday I will stop living my life out of sequence and I will never be able to go back to her or to him.

Cantina

I sit at a booth in the cantina with my uncle Geoff and my girlfriend Shine. Shine is sitting on my side of the booth, staring at the french fry in my hand. I hold the french fry up between the two of us, making a show of examining it, considering it. I bring it to my mouth, take a bite, and then what’s left of the fry, I offer to her. She eats it out of my hand and smacks on it in her mouth for about a second and a half and then she swallows it and then she continues sitting and staring at me, waiting for me to pick up something else for us to share.

Geoff says, while gesticulating with his glass of unsweetened iced tea, “You know, most people who look at each other like you and Shine look at each other, I would accuse them of dating.”

Heh. Yeah. Funny that, Geoff.

He’ll know someday, and he’ll be cool about it.

Is this the day that he finds out?

It could be. It doesn’t need to be.

I guess I don’t really care if it is or it isn’t.

I rest my hands on either of Shine’s shoulders and I go in and kiss her cheek, smooching the very corner of her salivating canine mouth.

He laughs at my audacity, and says, “Like father like son.”

Wait, what?

Aching

I am in a bedroom and I feel like puking and all of my muscles are sore. It’s one of the few days, during my stretch of years on the colony, when I am truly, deeply, medically, sick. My nose runs and I sniffle and then I keep snorting in my snot and then I have to cough and I cough until my throat hurts but it feels like I haven’t actually gotten all of the mucus out of my nose and my throat and everything is awful and I hate that this is my existence right now.

Joey is in the bed with me and I am wrapped around his belly, melding to him, I am trying as much as physically possible to fuse my cold aching out-of-order body into his healthy warm furnace of a body.

I am covered in sweat and fur and I am not having fun. I want so badly right now to shed my skin and leave my bones and become one healthy creature with the dog who is holding onto me.

Honesty

I’m at the rave again. It’s that day again. I went to the furry rave again instead of work.

There are actually... different zones, of the rave, I guess. There’s the one deep inside of this facility that has all of the strobing lights and deafening music. And that’s a really big room that very many people are packed into, it’s very popular and very fun and very well liked. It’s also not ideal to bring a perfectly nice dog into, I suspect. So I haven’t gone into that room, I haven’t taken Joey in there. There are also other rooms. Rooms that still have intriguing lights and hypnotic music and fursuiters—rooms you can still really get lost in—and those are the rooms that Joey and I wander through, at the rave.

There’s also an alley where two dozen people are smoking tobacco, as cigarettes and vapes.

I’ve never been a smoker, but, I’ll admit I find the scent nostalgic. Reminds me of hanging out with my school friends on Mars, shooting the shit.

Here, too, a lot of my friends smoke. And so in this alley is where I can pretty reliably find one or two of my friends, throughout the night. So at some points in the night me and Joey are popping out of the facility and into the alley, to hang out in the smoking section, and yap with people.

Right now Nicki is on her phone texting someone and I am lying on my back on the ground atop all of the grit down here and Joey is lying completely on top of me and me and Joey are making out. He has me pinned under him, completely putting his entire weight onto me, and my boner could not be harder, grinding against his heavy furry belly through the fabric of my pants and shirt. His slobber covers my face. His tongue, as always, is at home in my mouth. A few furries in the alley are staring at us. Like, there’s a pair of furries who are whispering quiet remarks to one another while looking at me and Joey making out, and then there’s another furry, a guy in a fox shirt and neon green paws, who is completely gobsmacked by us, just staring, slackjawed, enraptured.

Joey is pinning my neck and shoulders with his forepaws, holding me down against the ground with his claws, tilting his head as he sticks his tongue in my mouth to get down into my throat as deeply as possible. I run my fingers deep through Joey’s coat as we softcore fuck, pressing my fingertips to the depths of his hair, massaging all of his skin and muscle and bones underneath.

With bestiality like this, why isn’t everyone a zoo?

Joey shifts his weight on top of me a little bit for balance, and he ends up pressing all of his weight down on one of my boobs, and I cum. Literally I just orgasm, unexpectedly, my diamond-hard femme prick still inside of my clothes, pressed under all of Joey’s weight.

Me and Joey share little smooches in the afterglow. He would gladly keep tonguefucking my esophagus, I’m sure, but, my body is completely flooded with happy sleepy reward chemicals now, and so, just cuddling with him now feels very peak. Cuddling and little kissies. I pet him, and cherish him, and tell him he did a very good job, and that I felt so good, and that my god I needed that, and that he did to me all of the perfect things.

Eventually he agrees that we are done kissing and he rests his chin on top of my face. Like. My entire face is now under the weight of his dog head, my nose and mouth finding a home in the hollow of the underside of his jawbone, my face is blanketed in his jowls and his drool. I am in heaven. He is literally perfect.

This lasts for very many minutes, and then eventually some furries who are closer to the mouth of the alley a ways away start barking at each other and being really loud and playful and maybe start fucking (who knows?) and Joey stands up off of me to go walk over to them and see what kind of fun they’re having.

Lying there on the ground, I straighten out my clothes a little bit (move my dick so that it won’t flop out over my waistband for everyone to see as soon as I stand up) and I glance around to see if anyone is still kinda looking at me at all.

Yes the gobsmacked furry with the neon green paws is still looking at me.

The other two who had been talking about me have gone away.

I say to the guy with the neon green paws, “You know, I actually read in a wildlife magazine that wolves solidify their social bonds by sticking their noses inside of each other’s mouths, and it helps them test their levels of comfort with one another, like, how close are you and I, well, let’s find out by sticking my nose in between all of your really sharp teeth and we’ll see if we’re both okay with that or if I get bit, is kinda the idea.”

The guy nods.

I go on, “I’m a zoo though, I was already kissing dogs for a long time before I read about that, but, when I saw it in the magazine I was like, huh! Light bulb moment, that seemed to totally add up, with my experiences with canine bonding and intimacy.”

He nods, and then he glances around the alley.

Nicki is the closest person nearby besides me and Greenpaws. She’s still texting on her phone, standing nearby a wall.

I mention to Greenpaws, “That’s my friend Nicki, she’s cool.”

Nicki kinda gives a very vaguely playful sneer and under her breath says “hey” and continues focusing on texting.

Greenpaws nods. He then gets down onto the ground with me, on his chest. I roll over so that we’re both on our chests, our faces both really close to one another, looking really close at each other eyeballs to eyeballs.

He puts his paws up to shield a whisper from any eavesdroppers, and he whispers to me, “I’m uh. I’m gonna run away from you right after I say this. But. You will be the first person I say this to. Literally ever.”

I gasp, and nod rapidly a bunch of times.

He glances around again, sees that Nicki is still the only person nearby, and, even with her, there’s hardly any chance that she could be able to overhear us. Greenpaws whispers to me, “That was really hot, because I’m a zoo too!”

He then hops up to his feet and books it towards the mouth of the alley.

On the way, Joey starts running alongside him.

Greenpaws skids to a halt, cautiously pets Joey on the head once, and then goes back to running away again. Joey wags and looks, but does not follow.

Greenpaws disappears out of the mouth of the alley, around the corner.

I stand up, brush the grit off of myself, stick my hands in my pants pockets, and casually saunter over to be standing side by side with Nicki. I resist the urge to like, look down at myself and see if there’s a very obvious cum stain on my shirt, or if there’s only a slightly obvious cum stain on my shirt. Either way it’s kinda... too late to undo whatever is there anyways.

Nicki mentions to me, “Natalee is freaking out and is coming out here...” she trails off as she glances up and sees Natalee shuffling slowly towards us, her hands crossed over her stomach, her posture very small. Nicki says to her, “Oh hey.”

Natalee says back, “Hey.”

Natalee looks tired. Natalee looks like her body is full of the same sleepy post-a-lot-of-excitement chemicals as mine is, to be honest. But, I wouldn’t know. I’m not her, obviously. I’m not in her brain right now.

Arms still crossed across her stomach, Natalee looks down at my shirt, and says, “Ha, spill a drink on yourself, or?”

Ohhhh fuck me.

Nicki looks down at my shirt, and then she falls over onto the ground pointing and laughing at me.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Yup. Yup this is what my night is. Okay. Yup. Sure.

Natalee grabs Nicki’s wrist, and pulls her back up to her feet, saying, “Uuuuupsy-daisy, cmon, this is a yucky place to touch the ground.”

My cheeks burn even more. Nicki nearly falls right back over again, laughing at me in regards to Natalee’s comment about avoiding touching the ground.

Yeah. Yeah I deserve this. This is the consequences of my actions. This is what happens when you get too kissy with your feral dog boyfriend in the furry smoking alley with the girls.

Nicki, completely breathless, tries to explain to Natalee, “Lilly and- was mwah mwah mwah- she was dry hump- Joey on top of her- GROUND- getting looks from soooo many people- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA!”

Natalee is hugging Nicki, still helping her keep her balance, patting her on the back. “Okay, sounds like fun. Zoo girl was sharing a little special time with her dogfriend. And got very excited about it?”

Nicki wipes tears out of her eyes, and nods.

You know, fuck it, I would literally rather have my trans tits out than keep having the shirt on at this point.

I take off my shirt aka impromptu cum rag, use a dry part of it to wipe off my bare stomach, and then I throw the cum rag aka shirt onto the ground against a wall.

I guess I’m still wearing a bra, so. That’s something.

Natalee, who is wearing a black shirt and an extremely cool jacket with arctic foxes all over it, takes off her jacket and holds it open out to me.

Oh I feel bad. “Oh Natalee don’t—”

“Shhhhh cmon.”

“I’m covered in—”

“Shhhhhhh I’ll survive, cover up, get in.”

I do back into the jacket, getting it on really smoothly with Natalee’s help. She zippers the jacket up for me.

“Thanks,” I say to her.

“Mhm,” she says. She then says to Nicki, “Ya good?”

Nicki nods, and says, “I just need to breathe for a minute.”

Natalee says, “Okay. I was gonna go walk around outside of the venue for a while, and just, decompress.”

I jump on that. “Would it be alright if I walk with you too?”

Natalee says, “Yeah, please, I would love your company.”

Soon enough, it’s just like I’m back in the last time I went through this night, all over again. Me and Natalee and Joey, sauntering slowly along around the block outside of the facility the rave is in, decompressing from it all. Except this time I have her jacket, I guess.

She’s telling me about food her family made for the potluck at their church.

Then there’s a lull in the conversation, and we walk along quietly for a little while.

And then she says, “So, this time anomaly, that you live in.”

I nod. “Life on shuffle.”

We keep walking.

She asks, “How long has it been happening, to you?”

I need a moment to think about that.

Tonight, per the calendar, is six years after me and Shine arrived on the Yeoman Kit Colony; five years after Shine died and Joey entered my life; long enough on HRT that it has done a very significant amount of work on my body and I well and truly pass to strangers as a woman (which feels nice, since, I am one) and everyone calls me Lilly; it will be about one year from now that Joey dies and then everyone else dies and I am all alone and mostly deaf on account of the bombs.

But how long has it been from my lived perspective? The time anomaly began for me when I first came to Yeoman Kit. Skipping to random days. Sometimes repeating days.

Right now, per the calendar, it’s six years after me and Shine arrived on the Yeoman Kit Colony; 6 × 365 is 2,190; so, do I feel like I’ve lived more than 2,190 days on Yeoman Kit (albeit out of order) or fewer? Probably more. Like, by a lot. I still haven’t seen every day that the seven years pre-bombing has to offer. But, most of my days are not spent pre-bombing. Not even close. Sometimes I spend months post-bombs before visiting the living again. So with the years and years I must have spent by now alone, post-bombing... And with the frequency that the same days pre-bombing have played over again... As I walk beside Natalee, I am older in spirit than I am in body, there’s no doubt at all.

I say to Natalee, “In your time, my anomaly began six years ago; in my time, very roughly estimating, all together, I’ve lived the anomaly for fifty years so far.”

That answer knocks the wind out of her.

We stop walking, and hug.

She says, “I wish I could make it all better.”

I tell her, “It’s worth it to keep seeing Shine and Joey again.”

“Is it worth it though, for all the time you spend alone?”

“Yes.”

She squeezes me, and then we stop hugging, and go back to walking.

There’s no explanation that I’m aware of for why all of this started happening to me. Why I alone survive the bombs. Why I alone am scraped across the years under Chronos’s boot.

Over these seven years pre-bombs, I lay everything I know bare to scientists, commanders, friends, family, tabloid writers, and religious elites; I know something that nobody else does and it’s infuriating being able to see the doomed trajectory this entire station is going on while most people flat out disbelieve me and those who do believe me don’t do anything about it. The scientists are busy staring at profitable vat gunk under a microscope. The religious elites consider bragging to be a sin. Nobody important has time for my “imaginary” games (which, they say behind my back, I’m definitely just making up from the HRT turning me crazy.) I think some people just want to be so wrong that the magnitude of their wrongness kills everyone and no one is left alive to call them out anymore. The fact that everyone will die in the bombing, from my friends and family all the way up to the high chairs and the commanders... it’s not because nobody told them it was going to happen someday.

Apathy

I would rather lie naked in a field from sunrise to sunset and get blistering sunburns on my cock and tits and soil myself and dehydrate and become malnourished than play a video game.

My days alone pass in pain because my days alone are painful.

Relay

I am back. Everything feels like dog again. I’m in bed, in a perfectly dark room: my only available senses are smell, sound, touch, taste, gravity, and time.

My sense of smell: Dog breath. Dog paws. Dog coat. How much I have missed it. How utterly incomplete I have been in its absence.

My sense of sound: Breathing.

My sense of touch: I feel a little smoldering ball of warmth pressing against my left arm.

I roll towards Shine on the bed, and bury my nose in her scruff, and inhale deeply, taking in more of the scent, taking in the sound of my nose bristling her coat, taking in the feeling of my nose and my lips and my chin nestling into her hair.

Taste, gravity, time, yeah yeah yeah, they do exist, check check check.

I lie in bed with Shine for nearly an hour as she continues to sleep, and I do nothing other than meditate on sensing her, living in her smells, her sounds, and the fact that we are physically located here with one another.

Eventually, there is a change in her breathing. Very minutely, I can feel some of the hairs on her face bristling my face, in a way that tells me her eyes are moving around, and she is now awake, and she is trying to sense if I am awake.

I say very, very, very quietly, “Is she awake?”

Her tail thumps against the blankets, and she does a big stretch, pressing her shoulder blades back into my face, and then she rolls towards me onto her back. I rub her belly, as she wags.

Within a minute and a half of her being awake, I am dressed and have a tennis ball in my hand and she and I are leaving our front door; the sun is not yet visible itself, but illuminates the sky a very slight amount; Shine and I walk together through our familiar neighborhood, on a mission to play some morning fetch in one of the nearby parks. There are a few to choose from. She leads the way.

The park we arrive at is more or less a very large square lawn, with a children’s playground and some pavilions at the center, but, mostly, the space is wide open expanses of green grass, perfect for playing fetch in.

She runs ahead of me a few galloping paces, and then turns back to me, and stands, facing me, ready for me to throw the ball.

I throw the ball. I throw it as far as I can, and she turns and darts out into the field after it.

When she snatches the ball up out of the grass, she gallops around with it in a big loop, victorious, proud, happy.

As she is out there, doing her first victory lap, I notice another dog, running towards us over the grass. Specifically, the other dog is booking it straight towards Shine. The dog has a collar on, and a leash attached to the collar, and no human attached to the leash: the dog runs with the leash flailing behind, masterless. Heheheheheh.

The dog seems fairly young, not a tiny puppy but, very puppy-like in appearance, behavior.

Shine turns to face the oncoming dog, and idly drops her ball as the other dog nears.

The other dog’s pointy ears... the coat... the face... it can’t... it can’t be...

Joey and Shine stand snout to snout, both of their noses gently twitching as they take each other in.

Joey being so young, he and Shine stand perfectly eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder.

Puppy Joey then play-bows and barks at Shine, and Shine plays along, and the two of them run around the grass with one another, chasing, playing. I run towards them, and fall to my knees with them, and for the only time in my life, my pack is all together.

Future

I didn’t know if I was going to be able to go back to being alone, after that. Going from one of them to neither was pain enough; Going from both to neither... I didn’t anticipate being able to take it well.

As it turns out, after that day, I was released from the time anomaly. It happened like this.

I woke up, and I could tell that it was some day after the bombing, because I had no sense of hearing, and nothing smelled alive, and there was no other warm body in bed with me. I’m not sure how long I laid there, waiting for the sun to come and shine in strongly enough through the windows that it would annoy even my most stubborn, depressed, and annoyed self out of bed for the day. My thoughts ranged from life with Shine and our old friends back on Mars, to attending church services with Natalee now and then, to hexadecimal addresses of key components of the numerous common systems I’ve worked with throughout my career, to Joey asleep on my foot, and constantly throughout my thoughts, I was circling back to “yesterday,” when Shine and Joey and myself were all together, in that unexpected moment.

I waited in bed for a very long time, for the sun to come up.

The sun did not come up, nor was it ever going to for as long as I continued laying there.

Eventually I did get out of bed. Not for any need; Not because I had to pee, not because I was hungry or thirsty, and certainly not because I had any appointments that I needed to keep. I just wanted to go walk outside. Lying there in bed, I was remembering times in my life when I went on dead-of-night walks with Shine or with Joey; Usually with Shine back on Mars, when I was younger, less established in existing; But sometimes on Yeoman Kit too. And... Yeah. Yeah if there was anyone who could use a good, long, dead-of-night walk to process through some feelings, it was me.

I got out of bed. I was already dressed in black jeans with holes in the knees and black underwear and a black bra and a grey long-sleeve undershirt and a t shirt from some metal band; I don’t think anything I was wearing was stuff that I owned before the bombs; after the bombs, it was always finders keepers when I saw some sick threads, who the fuck cared.

After getting out of bed, I brushed my teeth. Peed. Looked at my face in the mirror. And then I sat down on the bed again to put on my boots. And then, with those on, I stepped outside into the night.

I wandered around colony streets in the dim starlight, thinking. Thinking about the time Joey got a cut on his shoulder when we were out walking, and I didn’t see it when it happened, I just noticed at some point that red was painted down part of his coat, and on the inside I was freaking out about my best friend being injured and how he didn’t deserve whatever had happened to him and I didn’t know if the cut was deep and I worried about him being in pain and I worried that he would associate me with the pain and he would think that I had done this to him. Outwardly, I just asked him to halt, and I knelt down with him there as people passed by us on the street; I got my little flashlight off of my bag and shined it at the wound, gently moving some of his bloodied hair out of the way; No foreign objects were stuck in the wound, whatever had caused it; The wound was pretty fucking deep, and I was terrified, but I got out my first aid kit, and I stuck him with a numbing agent, and I stitched him up, there on the spot. Medicated and bandaged the wound on top of the stitchwork. And then I picked him up, and carried him home; We walked several blocks, step by slow and careful step, me carrying this dog who was my own body weight plus a few pounds, and him letting himself be carried by his handler. When we were home I set him down and then went to the kitchen sink and washed his blood off of my hands, and the loose hairs from him that had become stuck to the blood.

As I was thinking about his blood being washed down the drain, I kind of snapped out of that series of memories, and became more aware of my present surroundings.

I was on a nature trail that me and Shine had walked before, a long time ago. We had played fetch here, in this elongated clearing of grass, in a valley of rocky slopes.

Standing in the center of the clearing, as I walked through a dead and empty world, was another person.

She stood on two legs, her height eye to eye and shoulder to shoulder with my own. She had a muzzle and tall pointed ears and a black coat of fur, and it was not a costume like all of the other furries I had seen before; her ears turned minutely to take me in, head to toe, as I at first approached; When I noticed her, I froze in place, and her ears shifted from being aimed at my footfalls to being aimed at the rest of me, scanning me up and down. She wore jewelry but no clothing; She had breasts akin to those of a human though covered in her black coat of hair, and a sheath and testicles akin to those of a canine, her penis’s white tip extremely impossible not to notice poking out of its sheath a little, as it and her eyes were the parts of her that glowed white, very brightly; Her mouth, as well, glowed, when she opened her mouth to speak.

She stood at the center of the long clearing, and I stood a significant distance away, and when she spoke, she spoke calmly, yet I could hear her across all that distance, and in spite of my rattled ears; She said to me, “The winds of time as we stand here now calm for thee, o Lilly, o passionate youth; come hither, o sister in the cosmos.”

I walked towards her over the dead grass that her radiance illuminated.

When I arrived at her, she curtsied, lowering herself before me.

I stepped in and wrapped my arms around her in a hug, pet her head, rubbed her ears, scratched her scruff and her throat and her back and her flank, as she wagged and leaned into it all and let out noises that were halfway between human laughter and excited canine exhales. I had known, when I first laid eyes on her, that she was a god. She was Tau Ceti, as we humans had dubbed her; The star around which the Yeoman Kit Colony orbited. From the way that she glowed as all of the other starlight glowed, and in the way that she roared, and in the way that Tau Ceti was missing from the sky in what should have been the daytime, I knew that I was petting a star, giving rubs to a being who was ancient beyond even my anomalous comprehension. I laid a big kiss on the front of her muzzle knowing that a star’s surface was supposed to be hot enough to transmute my body instantly into plasma. Instead of experiencing death by turning into a cloud, I experienced my lips squishing against dog lips. I tucked my head in against the side of her neck, and hugged her, and she hugged me.

She said to me, as we still hugged, “Not to brag too much, but I feel vindicated that I have judged very well, and you will be perfect for this.”

I asked her, as we still hugged, “What in the world has happened here? Please.”

She squeezed me tighter. “What has happened here is a tragedy. And in all the days which I create, I will never forgive those who did this. I will tell you what has happened, for it need not be a secret, and indeed, you would be better to know it. I am not much for war, though. I want to move forward, and I have an idea, if you will hear it.”

I nodded, nuzzling her neck as I did. “I will hear it.”

I then turned my face in towards her and planted a deep kiss in her coat on the side of her neck. She pet the back of my neck in turn.

We stopped hugging, and began pacing across the long, vacant, dead field.

She told me that her name was Sword Of Sin, Love, Amnesty, And Devotion. She told me that she was, indeed, Tau Ceti.

She told me that when myself and Shine had first neared her gravity, upon our arrival, our love across species bounds had been a brightness unto her that was unmistakably powerful, and she had marked us as being under her protection, before my feet ever even touched Yeoman Kit’s surface. And she told me of how, with her protection threaded through my days, she has been able to weave my timeline out of order, show me parallels and contrasts and pains and euphorias not obvious to a life lived in an unexamined blur; since my arrival here, she did forge me, test my devotion to canine kind, test how I would acclimate to spending many long years alone.

She told me of the war that was now taking place on my home system (on Earth, Luna, Mars, Titan,) and all that had led to it, and how bombings much like the one here had now clipped humanity’s wings: in the wake of our own destruction of our own most advanced technologies, humans were once again relegated to our own home planets, no longer a spacefaring species.

She told me that it was time for me to run from a dangerous household into the wild.

Standing now at the other far edge of the long clearing, and looking back at where Shine and I had played fetch, those many, many years ago...

Sword Of Sin, Love, Amnesty, And Devotion said to me, “Though you have thought yourself alone on the colony since the bombing, there have, in fact, been a number of dogs who have survived, deep within the colony’s tunnels and chambers, packs subsisting off of food reserves and unintended streams of filtered water, once meant as artificial rivers here above, now trickling through the battered wreckage down to them.”

My mind raced to questions of their wellbeing: whether they were getting along well socially with one another; how dire their need for veterinary care must be, if not already, then eventually; did they have vast networks of tunnels to roam through and explore or were they confined; were there lights in these chambers or were they in the dark.

I asked all of these questions and more, of the god beside me.

She wagged, and said, “Be assured, they are well; My hand has been upon this matter thus far. Though... I would like to transfer their stewardship to another. Another who, when left alone, and then when returned to all that the world has to offer, keeps coming back again and again to her dogs. Another who has fed them, pleasured them, exalted them, exercised them, mended them, and is indeed made whole by them, as they are made whole by her.”

I nodded. “What do you propose?”

She said to me, “I will break off a piece of myself and give it to you, so that you may wield command of divinity as I do, and so that your days may be prolonged, and so that your form may be multiplied; I will give you my tail; For every hair on it is a day which you have already lived; And, with this tail, you will live in my orbit with these dogs, tending to them until the days when even my light has gone out, and the universe has seen that here, with us, at least one species of life from Earth has had a long, good run.”

There was nothing to consider.

I turned to her, and offered out my hand. She shook my hand, and then we hugged.

As we hugged, she moved a hand back to her tail, plucked it off of herself, reached around me, and placed it on my person, and I wagged and I wagged and I wagged and I licked her muzzle, and she licked me back, and we kissed.

And I did kind of go down on her, while she was there.

In the days that followed, true to the promises made by Sword Of Sin, Love, Amnesty, And Devotion, I found myself multiplied; Every day that I had lived within the time anomaly became another duplicate of myself, each of us now walking as our own consciousness, as our own person, in our own body; walking the station to work together to dissect the production facilities, learn about them, and repair them for the long future ahead of us; most of us with breasts though not all, most of us deaf though not all, all of us with black tails. We all wasted no time getting down into the depths of the tunnels and chambers within the colony, and, indeed, found multiple packs of canines living down there, overjoyed to see us, their tails and our tails matching one another in speed as the dogs all jumped up onto us at our first arrival.

And so it is that the Yeoman Kit Colony, orbiting Tau Ceti, now exists as a far away bastion where dogkind lives, generation after generation, and eon after eon, circling around sin, love, amnesty, and devotion.

BRYCE and MATEO, the prosecuting attorneys, are sitting in an office together, looking at a few items of discovery material.

BRYCE: Goddddd dammit.

MATEO: This isn’t good.

BRYCE and MATEO are both currently looking at color-printed sheet of paper that shows two images side by side; on the left is a human’s face with blonde hair and stubble, and on the right is a Doberman who is photographed midway through licking his lips.

BRYCE: I hate how hot he is. God. Dammit.

MATEO: They’re gonna have this really big?

BRYCE: Yeah, blown up on a big poster board, behind the defendant.

MATEO: Fuuuuuuuuuck.

BRYCE: Can YOU come up with a reason this shouldn’t be admitted?

MATEO: I mean, that’s him, isn’t it?

BRYCE: Yeah, the left one is one of his old profile pics, the right one is his current profile pic.

MATEO: I think they’ll be allowed to put it up then.

BRYCE makes a pistol gesture with his hand, and pantomimes shooting himself in the head.

MATEO: Yeah buddy, too late now, we just gotta go out there and make it look like we tried everything we could.

BRYCE: Let’s get this horseshit over with.

MATEO: That’s the spirit.

BRYCE: Why did he have to be FUCKING HOT.

15 MINUTES LATER.

IN A MOCK COURTROOM.

The quote-unquote judge, JUDGE PARKER, is seated at the judge’s seat.

The Doberman seen in the picture earlier, TANGERINE BLAKE, is seated nearby the judge in the witness stand. A bench has been brought up for him to sit on in the witness stand, rather than trying to make the dog sit awkwardly on a human chair.

Attorneys BRYCE and MATEO are seated at the prosecution table. BRYCE is acting busy reading some papers in his hands.

Tangerine Blake’s friends LISA, GABRIELA, ANA, ABBY, CAITLYN, and ALICE are seated at the defense table. LISA is chewing bubble gum.

A jury of 12 is seated in the jury box.

The gallery is completely packed with spectators and media reporters.

GABRIELA raises her hand.

JUDGE PARKER points to her with his gavel.

JUDGE PARKER: Yes, something you’d like to raise?

GABRIELA: Can we put up Tanjey’s poster before we start?

JUDGE PARKER: Any objection?

BRYCE: Your honor we have reviewed the defense’s last-minute discovery material, and I am going to OBJECT to this so-called “poster” being admitted into evidence, it is IRRELEVANT to the matter at hand what Mr Tangerine Blake HAPPENED to look like BEFORE any of the events in question. The older picture is in fact the one he used on a different website than the one in question here today, I see no reason this should be allowed to be presented.

JUDGE PARKER: Any other basis for your objection?

BRYCE: To clarify, I am specifically objecting to the left half of the proposed exhibit. The right half, which reflects how Mr Tangerine Blake looks today, I have no objection to, albeit that it may be redundant with Mr Tangerine Blake before us here today. But the left half, the much older photo, I don’t think it should be shown, it is NOT relevant, it has NO basis to be admitted.

JUDGE PARKER: Thank you. I will find that the exhibit IS relevant, based on reviewing the defendant’s outlined theory of defense. It also, I believe, will help us better understand the context for... well, I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth, but I believe the photographs will help us all understand Mr Tangerine Blake’s background, inasfar as is relevant to this case’s facts. So, YES, Ms Gabriela, you may bring the image up to the witness stand. I trust you will be marking this as Exhibit 1?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Yes your honor, the defense presents this image that Ms Gabriela is bringing up here as Exhibit 1.

GABRIELA approaches the witness stand, and places a very large printout of the image we have seen before up on an easel behind the Doberman. After doing this, Gabriela cups her hand under the Doberman’s jaw, and gives him a big smooch on the side of the muzzle. She then proceeds back to the defense table. As she is returning to the defense table, TANGERINE BLAKE, the Doberman, gives a kiss to the back of one of his own forepaws, and then “blows” the kiss off of his forepaw aimed at Gabriela.

Some JURORS and some REPORTERS scribble down notes.

BRYCE sits with his head down, rubbing his forehead with his hand, shaking his head.

JUDGE PARKER: Any other preliminary matters? From the plaintiff?

MATEO: No your honor.

JUDGE PARKER: From the defense?

TANGERINE BLAKE: No your honor.

JUDGE PARKER bangs his gavel.

JUDGE PARKER: We are here today to settle a matter, LyrpicsPages Vs Blake Herington. On behalf of LyrpicsPages we have attorneys seated at the prosecution table, and, on behalf of Blake Herington, we have, Blake Herington himself, seated in the witness stand. LyrpicsPages, which is... a social media website... brings the allegation that Mr Herington, a user of this website, through his conduct on the LyrpicsPages website, caused significant damages to the website’s public reputation. Furthermore, LyrpicsPages alleges that Mr Herington’s conduct was in violation of a user agreement on the website, which, as one of its rules, expressly forbid using the platform’s services to transmit images of bestiality, which, they allege Mr Herington did do. Have I misstated anything thus far?

TANGERINE BLAKE: No your honor.

MATEO: No your honor.

JUDGE PARKER: See, I told you, I’m pretty sharp for at least the first five minutes after I’ve had my first caffeinated beverage of the day.

TANGERINE BLAKE laughs amicably.

JUDGE PARKER: To be clear to the jurors and to the public, this is NOT a court of law. HOWEVER, the parties have agreed that the decision we reach here today WILL be honored by both parties, in a way which WILL be considered legally binding. One big difference between this and a real court is, we’ll probably have this all wrapped up before lunch and I might in fact bump into some of you in line at the Chipotle on Jefferson, how ’bout that?

Polite laughter from the gallery, the jury box, the witness stand.

JUDGE PARKER: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you—

TANGERINE BLAKE: Your honor?

JUDGE PARKER: Oh, yes?

TANGERINE BLAKE: I believe eleven of the jurors are wearing nonbinary pride accessories, I see some earrings, necklaces, a REALLY nice flannel.

BRYCE’s face is fully making contact with the table in front of himself. MATEO is patting him on the back.

JUDGE PARKER: Oh! So I should instead say... citizens of the jury...

One JUROR snort-laughs very loudly, and then covers their face. The laughter spreads to other jurors, the gallery, the defense table, the witness stand.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Good, good citizens of the jury, it will be up to YOU to decide the facts of this case, based on what is presented before you here today. The attorneys representing LyrpicsPages will be asking that the defendant fork over 1.2 million dollars for damages. The defendant is making a counter offer of 0 dollars. It will be up to you to decide an amount that the defendant will owe to the plaintiff, whether that be 1.2 million dollars, 0 dollars, or somewhere therebetween.

JUDGE PARKER: Thank you, Mr Herington.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Oh, you’re totally welcome, and, please, I don’t really go by Mr Herington, I think just about everyone knows me as Tangerine Blake.

ABBY: WE LOVE YOU TANJEY!!

JUDGE PARKER: Mr Tangerine Blake, being that you are the defendant in this arbitration, you are allowed the floor first if you so choose, OR, as the plaintiff is the one bringing the accusation against you, you may defer the floor to them to explain their accusation, if you so choose.

TANGERINE BLAKE: I would like to speak first.

JUDGE PARKER: Very well.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Good morning everyone. I don’t know about all of you, but, personally, all day I have been dreaming about the beach, with the weather being as nice as it is today. Standing on the warm, warm sand, and feeling this residual heat from Papa Sun himself traveling up out of this baked ground, soaking the heat up through my paw pads, standing there with my tongue lolled out, breathing in the hot air rapidly so that it actually cools me off, and just basking in how nice the day is. Going out into the heat to pant and cool off, heh. I love it.

TANGERINE BLAKE (CONT’D): So, at the risk of sounding goofy, I want to clarify to everyone that I am not a hologram. I am, in effect, a real Doberman Pinscher. But, I wasn’t always. Most of my life, I looked like this guy, back here.

TANGERINE BLAKE turns and swipes a paw at the image behind himself, indicating the left half of the image which shows a human.

TANGERINE BLAKE: But then, in August of last year, I was Freaky Friday’d with a Doberman Pinscher who I met at a party, and I have spent every moment of my life since as an animal, while that Doberman is now walking around with my former human body.

BRYCE: Your honor, I am going to OBJECT to the term “Freaky Friday’d” to refer to Mr Tangerine Blake’s change in appearance. I think calling it “Freaky Friday”-ing implies some kind of karmic basis for the body swap, some kind of grand moral lesson that both Mr Tangerine Blake and the dog were supposed to learn from being forced to live their lives as each other. I believe that that is NOT the case, I believe that Mr Tangerine Blake simply lives such a life of hedonistic indulgences and flippant decision making that he simply was presented with the opportunity to body swap with a dog and didn’t even really think about it much before agreeing.

TANGERINE BLAKE laughs really, really genuinely.

TANGERINE BLAKE: You are COMPLETELY right about that. I can call it a “body swap” instead of “getting Freaky Friday’d” if that makes things more clear.

JUDGE PARKER: Very well.

TANGERINE BLAKE: So, um. Yeah, I body swapped with a Doberman Pinscher at a party, and, that’s why there is a talking Doberman Pinscher, talking to you from the witness stand, that’s all there is to that part of it. To back up for more context... Basically, my job is being a science communicator, mostly on the internet although I did have a television show for a few years, and I have appeared in papers, journals, what have you. But yeah, I make videos and blogs that tell people about scientific investigations into different questions of the universe. And it’s not so much my job to find out the answers to those questions myself, but it’s... to make the questions and the process of solving them interesting to a big audience, so that more people, smarter people than me frankly, may become interested in solving these things, and then we can all grow, progress, advance, you know.

CAITLYN gives a cute playful wave to Tangerine Blake. TANGERINE BLAKE does a little giggle and wags.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Caitlyn. But yeah so anyways, in the course of making these videos, I have met quite a lot of other creators, at first I kind of stayed within the science bubble, although, eventually I started forming connections with all different types of influencers. And it has come to be the case that, to meet all of these people and foster constructive relationships with all different types of creators, I attend a LOT of parties.

ANA gives a cute playful wave to Tangerine Blake, copying after Caitlyn’s wave. TANGERINE BLAKE again wags.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Ana. And so um, while attending these parties, you know, human beings aren’t all too different from our fellow mammals, as they say, and, I have often had occasion to mate with females at these functions. And, I guess, earlier on in my career, some people were trying to paint this as scandalous, somehow? And, at the encouragement of one of my dear friends who I was getting with at one party, she said I should just film it, and post the videos online. And so, that’s what I started doing. Not every single time I hooked up, but, pretty regularly, I will post videos of some of the sexual escapades that I get up to at these parties. I just post those among all of the science communication. It’s just part of the pastiche of a life being lived, you know?

ABBY waves.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hiii Abby. And so, bear in mind, this was all the case while I was a human. And then, when I got body swapped with a dog, I guess it didn’t occur to me to stop posting these same kinds of videos. Because, from my perspective, it’s really kind of the same thing as it ever was, I’m having sex with really enchanting women, and sharing what a good time it is. It’s sex positivity and it’s also just, you know, admittedly kind of fun to brag a little bit about the beautiful people I get to spend such close time with.

GABRIELA and ALICE both wave.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Gabriela. Hi Alice. So, obviously, I am a dog now, and so it looks like bestiality when I have sex with homo sapiens women. And, like I said, I never really thought much about that I guess, beyond going, ha, oh hey, some women are more into that than I would have guessed.

GABRIELA waves again.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Gabriela. So, because this sex looks like bestiality now, I was asked pretty severely NOT to post any more sex videos to any of the big social media websites. I mean, I say I was “asked,” actually what happened is in the course of 24 hours I was fully banned from these places where I had a few hundred thousand followers apiece, and then, over the following weeks, I was able to get most of the accounts restored, but, the deal was that those kinds of posts couldn’t happen anymore, the ones I had already made had to be deleted, and, I wouldn’t be allowed to post new ones of a similar nature, or I would get banned again. And, that was disappointing. I wished people at these websites would see it like I do, but, explaining my story didn’t really change anyone’s hearts. Rules were rules, to these websites. But thennn...

TANGERINE BLAKE turns and stares directly at the prosecution table.

BRYCE and MATEO both lean back in their chairs, meeting the Doberman’s stare. BRYCE fakes a small yawn, covering his mouth, attempting to look bored.

TANGERINE BLAKE: A website I had never heard of, called LyrpicsPages, reached out to me. They said that they were a social media startup, and that, as long as I was never convicted on bestiality charges, they would be eager to host any videos that I posted on their platform.

ALICE waves again.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hiii Alice. So, basically a win-win, I start posting my videos again, the first one was with Alice and that felt SO good, you are just, woof, you do things to me, you make me feel ways I like to feel, baby.

ALICE gives an “oh stop, you,” gesture.

CAITLYN leans over and nuzzles Alice.

ABBY puts a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder and begins massaging the shoulder. CAITLYN turns to Abby, and CAITLYN and ABBY kiss.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Abby. So, yeah again, win-win for me and for LyrpicsPages, I get to keep expressing this thing that others want me to feel shame for and I’m like, ha, nope, and then LyrpicsPages also gets... frankly all of their traffic, ALMOST, was from my videos, for quite a number of months. Eventually the site did gain sooome other viral attractions that brought more users in, but, my videos of hooking up with friends remained the main thing that the majority of users were coming to this website for. Figuratively speaking, LyrpicsPages was my website.

BRYCE begins to make an objection, and then changes his mind.

JUDGE PARKER: From the prosecution table?

BRYCE: No your honor. The LyrpicsPages website is not, nor has it ever been, in ANY sense, “owned” by Mr Herington. But he said he was speaking figuratively, so, he is entitled to his opinion.

JUDGE PARKER: Okay. The witness may continue, if you had more.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Yeah! The whole reason we’re here! Sorry for kicking off a chain of events that miiighta led to everyone being HERE instead of the BEACH on such a nice day, but uh, now that we ARE here, now we have to talk at least briefly about the thing I did that was uh, oops, was, heheh, well, what I did here was controversial, I guess.

GABRIELA pantomimes a phone next to her head, and mouths to Tangerine Blake,

GABRIELA: Call me. After this, call me.

ANA retrieves a red popsicle, seemingly from her purse, seemingly already unwrapped. ANA and ABBY take turns licking it as Ana holds it up between them.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Gabriela. Hi Ana. Hi Abby. So, very much on the theme of my “flippant decision making,” you know, just, doing things that feel right in the moment... I was at a party. And, my friend Susan was also at the party. And her girlfriend Megan was at the party as well. And me and Megan really, really, and I mean REALLY hit it off. We were like, magnetically being drawn into one another, I just felt so... under the spell of everything she did. It just so happens... that Megan is also a Doberman Pinscher. Susan, my friend, is a human lady, and she happens to be girlfriends with her Doberman Pinscher, whose name is Megan. And Megan isn’t... Well, no, I can’t even bring myself to say, “Megan isn’t a talking dog like I am,” because that seems so, so, so strongly to be missing the mark. After the bond, that, CONNECTION, that me and Megan shared that night, I fully believe regular dogs are blessed the same as we are with VERY full, complete minds. There’s no difference. They are people in exactly the same way you and I are people. But, Megan is a regular dog, quote-unquote, and that becomes relevant to what happens next, that eventually brings us all here today.

TANGERINE BLAKE (CONT’D): So, as you may see coming at this point, me and Megan hooked up at this party. In that moment it just felt so obvious that it was right to do. There was not even a moment where doubt arose to me as an idea. Not any kind of inkling that, oh, this is, you know, “bestiality,” and so I shouldn’t. I was having sex with my friend Susan’s girlfriend while Susan filmed it. It felt good, I felt really happy with what Megan and I were sharing that night and that Susan was on board with it and that we had all gotten to hit it off so incredibly well. And um, woof, dog anatomy, of my own breed no less, would you believe it felt like, OH, I have been MISSING OUT, oh-KAY, yes MA’AM.

ALICE waves.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Alice. So, now we’re here. Because Susan sends me the video, and I post it to my LyrpicsPages profile, thinking, ha, people will get a kick out of this one I bet, like, oh this is a little funny, this is kinda filling a conclusion that seemed like it was inevitably going to happen someday. I go home and I go to bed, not thinking much about that side of all of it, I’m mainly still just swimming in euphoria at the actual events with Megan and Susan, you know. And then, the next day, I see that my profile has been removed. And I google myself, and, I see headlines about, Tangerine Blake, controversial edutainment influencer, at it again. So uh. Oops. Here we go again, apparently.

TANGERINE BLAKE (CONT’D): So THAT is where LyrpicsPages has decided to say that I crossed a line, where, they say that I did something that was beyond what their invitation’s scope had been. They also claim—and I dispute this—that my activity on their website had ALWAYS brought shame to their website. That. Is. Bogus. They invited me, in their own words, EAGERLY, specifically FOR content that looks to the untrained eye exactly like bestiality. If they didn’t want me anymore, fair enough, bygones can be bygones, but to act like this hadn’t always been EXACTLY the arrangement they wanted, and to take legal action requesting 1.2 million dollars from me in damages? Absolutely cowardly, pathetic, desperate, and unflattering behavior from the LyrpicsPages team. People of the jury, I would like you to send them home with 0 dollars today. I think it’s what is fair. I think it’s the only measurement that makes sense. Thank you.

CLAPPING erupts from the gallery. TANGERINE BLAKE wags.

ANA and ABBY have finished their popsicle and are now taking turns dabbing the red residue off of each other’s mouths with a damp wipe.

TANGERINE BLAKE: And uh, I think at this point, just to cover any topics that I might have glossed over too quickly, my friend Lisa was going to ask me some questions to guide the conversation from here.

LISA swallows her gum.

LISA: Yes. First of all, I would also like to say, good morning, citizens of the jury.

Smiling and general approval from the jury box and from the gallery.

LISA: Tangerine Blake, have you ever received money to perform in pornography, or otherwise been paid for any sexual services?

TANGERINE BLAKE: No, it’s actually cost me quite a lot of opportunities professionally.

LISA: Elaborate on that.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Many uh... traditional educational entities, are very averse to working with someone who has had a sex video leak, or someone who has shared one intentionally as is the case with me. I fully believe that my sex videos are the basis for why my TV show was never renewed in spite of it performing well. Although, I never actually got much of an explanation from the network so I can’t say what the reasoning was for sure, they, mainly stopped returning my phone calls, in a way that FEELS very similar to how I’ve been ghosted by other traditional media entities. And so it’s stuff like that.

LISA: Are you married or engaged?

TANGERINE BLAKE: No.

LISA: Is anyone mad at you for the multitude of different sexual partners you sleep with?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Yeah my aunt is concerned for my soul. Not everyone approves. But, all of my sexual partners themselves are cool with it.

LISA: Are you heterosexual, bisexual, something else?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Um, it’s mostly the ladies who make me feel really excited and make me feel special, but I’m not afraid of penises, I have done homosexual things now and then, like, just me and a cute man, it has happened. Actually, one thing I really do like doing is going down on a dude, WITH a woman, so it’s like, me and her are on the same team, it’s like I’ve been invited to tag in on Team Woman, and our goal or whatever is to suck this dude’s dick super good until he cums. And it IS gay but it BARELY feels gay when you’re kissing this woman and just happen to be doing it around this phallus.

ANA play-faints onto Gabriela. ABBY, with a fold-out hand fan, waves cool air at Ana.

BRYCE: Your honor, objection, this is OFF TOPIC.

JUDGE PARKER: Um. Sorry, I was, really following along, imagining that. I forgot, um, what WAS the relevance of that description, to the matter at hand?

LISA: I was getting there.

JUDGE PARKER: Okay, you can continue, just, keep the attorney’s objection in mind.

LISA: Roger. So, Tangerine Blake, circling back to the question, are you saying that you are sexually active with primarily cisgender women, occasionally cisgender men?

TANGERINE BLAKE: OH my gosh, sorry, I didn’t even remember to clarify. Um, that IS accurate, that MOST of these people are cisgender yes, but also a nonzero number of them are not. There are genderqueer, trans, and nonbinary folks who are part of what I was describing sometimes.

ALICE waves.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Alice.

BRYCE raises his hand, makes a “Well?” gesture at the judge.

JUDGE PARKER: Ms Lisa, I’m not completely sure that that has brought us closer to the topic at hand?

LISA: Mr Tangerine Blake, these sexual escapades you describe, such as going down on a dude alongside women,

ALICE waves.

LISA: were these things that you did when you had a human body, or that you have started doing now that you have a dog body?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Hi Alice. Lisa, the truth is, nothing changed. I did these things as a human, and then when I was a dog, I just kept on.

LISA: Are you a dog?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Yes.

LISA: I don’t have anything else your honor.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Thank you so much, Lisa. Your honor, the defense will now defer the floor to the plaintiff for their case.

JUDGE PARKER: Very well. The floor is yours, attorneys for the LyrpicsPages website.

MATEO: Thank you your honor, and thank you for taking us through the background of all of this, Mr Tangerine Blake. People of the jury, I am not here today to tell you that Mr Tangerine Blake is “evil.” I am not here with the power, NOR the desire, to put him behind bars for anything he’s done. But I want to be very clear about one thing, and one thing alone: He cannot have it both ways. LyrpicsPages eagerly offered him a platform on the basis that he was still a human, and his HUMAN rights were being trampled upon. A human does not have the right to have sex with an animal. If after he switched, he had ALWAYS from that point forward had sex with other dogs instead, then maybe THAT could have been the way that he chose to have it. But to do one, and then the other? The logic doesn’t add up in his favor: any way you cut it, Mr Tangerine Blake has performed bestiality. He CANNOT have it both ways. Thank you.

BRYCE: Mr Tangerine Blake, did you read the user agreement on LyrpicsPages, when signing up for the website?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Yes, I did read that very thoroughly, Mr Bryce.

BRYCE: Does the user agreement say anything about bestiality content?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Videos and pictures depicting bestiality are forbidden on the LyrpicsPages website, according to the user agreement.

BRYCE: Did you ever upload any videos or pictures to the LyrpicsPages website depicting bestiality?

TANGERINE BLAKE: I don’t believe bestiality exists.

BRYCE: COME AGAIN?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Like I said earlier, between the consciousnesses of humans and the consciousnesses of dogs, there is NO difference. We are the same thing. Every living being. I am a dog and I am a human. Just like I am a man but I’ve had fun playing on Team Woman in bed.

BRYCE: Are you proposing the argument that bestiality is morally good?

TANGERINE BLAKE: That would be an equally meaningless statement as “bestiality is morally bad,” to me. The “bestiality” keyword is a red herring, it sounds alarming but it’s not the thing that matters. If we were talking about abuse, mistreatment, THAT would matter. If not, who cares?

BRYCE: Mr Tangerine Blake, I cannot believe what I am hearing right now, that BESTIALITY is somehow defensible in your view.

TANGERINE BLAKE: That’s not really what I said.

BRYCE: So you DO think bestiality is wrong?

TANGERINE BLAKE: I think you’re just making up misstatements to put in my mouth at this point.

BRYCE: Mr Tangerine Blake, you can’t keep dancing around these questions, you need to commit to what your position actually is here.

TANGERINE BLAKE: Oh I’m very afraid of commitment.

Laughter from the gallery and the jury box. LISA sadly lets herself slump over onto Gabriela, GABRIELA gives comforting pats to Lisa.

BRYCE: Mr Tangerine Blake, how would YOU define bestiality?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Well that is the crux of our disagreement, maybe, is that I WOULDN’T define bestiality. I DON’T care about whatever framework would have to exist for bestiality to mean anything.

BRYCE: But you agreed to the user agreement?

TANGERINE BLAKE: I proceeded with making the account, so, yes, I think so.

BRYCE: But you had no intention of actually abiding by the user agreement that you had agreed to?

TANGERINE BLAKE: I am saying that it would be impossible TO post bestiality content, when bestiality isn’t a real thing. And, again. You invited a dog to the website to post his sex videos. So. I think your position is very weak.

BRYCE: I don’t need your opinion, Mr Herington.

JUDGE PARKER: Are you... done examining the witness, then?

BRYCE: Yes your honor, if he wants to sit up there and say one plus one equals zero, I don’t think there’s much further that needs to be extracted of him.

JUDGE PARKER: Very well. Any final remarks from the prosecution?

MATEO: People of the jury, I urge you to think logically. Mr Tangerine Blake cannot have sex with two different species and claim that neither act was bestiality. Mr Tangerine Blake agreed not to post videos depicting bestiality. Mr Tangerine Blake posted those videos. Thank you.

JUDGE PARKER: Any final remarks from the defense?

TANGERINE BLAKE: Science is not about memorizing the periodic table. Science is about asking questions. Science is about asking WEIRD questions. And then, science is about observation, and marking down the answers to those weird questions, even if it leaves you realizing that something you’d assumed before was actually incorrect, and there is a much, much larger truth underneath. Why does the talking dog say that there is no such thing as bestiality? Thank you.

Gentle applause from the gallery. Members of the jury speak among each other, with much nodding.

JUDGE PARKER bangs his gavel.

JUDGE PARKER: Ladies and—er, citizens of the jury, I suppose is what we’ve decided to call you. I saw quite a bit of nodding among you just now. Have you reached a verdict in this matter?

FOREPERSON: Yes your honor.

JUDGE PARKER: Do you have any questions that you would like the parties to elaborate on before you render your verdict in this matter?

The jurors glance around among each other.

FOREPERSON: No your honor.

JUDGE PARKER: What is your verdict on the matter of LyrpicsPages Vs Blake Herington?

FOREPERSON: Your honor...

End.

From Yapping With A Friend One Night

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From An Old Notebook

Stinky dog stinky dog
Better than shampoo
Stinky dog stinky dog
Love the smell of you

From An Old Notebook

You’ve been such a bro, dog of mine. Last night we had both hopped into bed to get some sleep, and we lied under a shared blanket, and my arm was wrapped over your familiar back, and your fur pressed to my skin as you tucked yourself in closer, our faces rested against the sides of each other’s faces, both of us using a bunched up little blanket as a pillow, sharing its toasty warm wrinkles and folds. Two dudes who couldn’t love each other more and couldn’t be any more comfortable about it, snuggling up and getting some shut-eye.

Onward

I thank you for those transits nightly made
And all the acted love I have since played.