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While Leaping usually engaged all of Sam’s senses as he entered another being’s body, the first thing Sam realized this time was the odd weight around his neck. As the energy faded, Sam reached up to touch whatever encircled his neck, only to realize he had no thumbs.
Or fingers or—oh God, what was all that hair?
“Good boy!” A blonde woman crouched in front of him. “Good boy, shake!”
“Oh boy,” Sam tried to say, only it came out as an anxious whimper. He heard the imaging chamber door open and swung his head that way, the sound hurting his ears. Al stared down at him, the handlink forgotten in his right hand.
“Al!”
“Oh my God, it’s true,” Al said, putting a hand to his mouth. “I thought it was some kind of mistake!”
“Al, what’s going on?”
“Scout! What are you barking at?” The blonde woman came at him and Sam stumbled back as Al stepped forward.
“Sam! Don’t stand up! Stay on all fours!”
“What?”
“You have to stay on all fours because—” Al nodded to a nearby mirror and Sam blinked as he caught the image. He turned toward it, approached, stared.
His reflection was that of a large golden retriever. The weight around his neck was a purple collar with tags that jingled as he walked. The woman, presumably his owner, laughed.
“What? That’s you, you silly pup! Now come on . . . into your crate, I’m late for work.”
“Crate? Ohhh, no, I’m not getting into any crate!” He scrabbled away. “Al! What am I here to do?”
Al poked at the handlink. “You’re here to win first prize at the local dog show! Sam, you won’t believe this—your—I mean—Scout’s pedigree is one of the best in the nation! And get this! You're a stud! It’s literally your job to make puppies!”
“Quit being jealous and tell me what I’m really here to do!” Sam snapped, and his owner shook a bag of treats at him.
“C’mon Scout! What’s wrong with you? You never act like this!”
“Sam! Ziggy says there’s a 98.9 percent chance you’re here to save—” He turned to the front door, where the woman’s toddler daughter had managed to open the front door and was now giggling and running down the sidewalk toward the road. Sam followed his gaze and ducked around the blonde woman, shouldering the door open. He could hear the drone of a large vehicle, maybe a garbage or delivery truck, and put on an extra burst of speed. He heard the woman shriek in terror behind him.
“No, no—gotcha!” Sam cried in triumph as he knocked the toddler off her feet in a doggy tackle. A furniture delivery truck sped by only inches away from the crying child, and Sam put his arms around her, then kissed her cheek. The woman was at his side a few moments later, hugging him and the toddler and ruffling his hair repeatedly, sobbing.
“Oh Scout . . . oh, what a good boy, that’s why you wouldn’t go into your crate, you knew, you knew Brenda got the door open!” She rubbed him behind the ears, a sensation that Sam found wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he stared up at Al. The observer grinned.
“Atta boy, Sam,” he said, and Sam found the praise just as pleasant. He grinned, and in the reflection of a nearby puddle, Scout gave a pleased, open-mouthed doggy smile just before Sam leaped again.