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“Well.”
“This is…”
“Hmm.”
“Woof!”
The three of them stare at the puppy sitting on the floor in front of them. It whines pitifully, circling around and tucking its tail between its legs.
Fifteen minutes ago, that puppy had been a human-shaped Pete Wentz, bassist and it-boy of the popular rock band Fall Out Boy. On the road to the next stop of the tour, they had unloaded at a rest stop only for Pete to be accosted by a bald dude wearing a tunic.
“Pete Wentz!”
The man in question turns around. “Oh, hey, you want an autograph, or-”
“You will pay for what you did to pop music!”
“Huh? What the fuck - OW - is that sand, what are you it’s in my eyes you psycho-”
A puff of smoke and Pete Wentz was gone, along with the wizard. In his place was a small dog, dark brown and fluffy with an adorable floppy ear. You would never guess that it had formerly been a forty-four year old man.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it,” Patrick mutters in shock. Joe rubs at his eyes. “I’m still not sure I believe it.”
“Woof!”
“Thank you for your input, Pete,” Andy says to him, now cradled securely in his arms. Pete whuffs and wriggles around.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Patrick mutters anxiously. “Is there - do we call someone? Do they have a help line for this? Do we go to the hospital? The…vet?”
“I’m calling Bob,” Joe says, pulling his phone out and thumbing through his contacts. He steps away from the rest of them, hand over his ear as he waits for the dial-tone.
“How are you feeling, Pete?” Andy asks, running a hand down Pete’s fuzzy back. Pete whines. “Can you still understand human speech? Bark twice for yes and once for no.”
Pete barks twice.
“Well that’s good!” Patrick says, relieved. “I was worried this would be a Benjamin Button sort of situation where he slowly loses all sense of self…wait.”
“Good news!” Joe says, interrupting Patrick’s spiral in its infancy. “Bob says this has happened to other people before! It was a huge trend in the late eighties, apparently, and it’s making a comeback now. He has to call a few people but we should be sitting on a solution in a few days. Hopefully we can get things sorted out before the next show.”
“Hear that Pete? Just a couple of days. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you until then,” Andy reassures him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Pete’s head. He whines and licks Andy’s nose. It’s going to be an interesting few days.
-
The first step is to get Pete settled. They drop him off at his and Patrick’s bus, thus assigning Patrick the role of ‘dog dad’ for the foreseeable future. Patrick gets lunch with Pete while Joe and Andy stop by a pet store to pick up some necessities, doggie bed, puppy chow, that sort of thing. It ends up not mattering. They get back to the bus to find Pete cuddled, snug as a bug in a rug, under the blankets of Patrick’s bed.
“He just got up there himself. And then I felt bad so I let him sleep. Getting turned into a puppy is probably stressful, right?”
“Looks pretty peaceful to me,” Joe says, nodding at the sleeping puppy. “Welp, not for much longer. Up and at ‘em, Pete! We’re going to the vet!”
Pete’s eyes fly open. No.
“Sorry Pete, but we all agreed to this,” Patrick says sympathetically. “We need to make sure you’re healthy, and that you don’t have fleas or ringworm or something like that. We’re not sure how this puppy thing is supposed to work, so just bear with us, ok?”
“We won’t let anything bad happen to you,” Andy assures him. “Just behave.”
Pete pins his ears back nervously, but he doesn’t fight as he gets lifted and securely bundled into Patrick’s arms. He pets Pete’s back, muttering assurances as they load up into a car and start the journey off to whatever the closest vet clinic is. He shakes as he’s carried into the office. He shakes as they sit in the waiting room.
“Aw, is this his first time here?” a tech asks, wandering by with a clipboard. Patrick nods. “We, uh, just found him wandering around. We want to make sure he’s healthy.”
“How sweet!” she coos. “Hey, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll take good care of you.” She slips a treat out of her pocket and offers it to Pete. He lunges forwards, nomming the biscuit out of her hands, and she laughs and ruffles the top of his head. “Good boy! Nice meeting you, uh…” she checks her clipboard. “Pete! We’ll call your name in a second. Bye!” She disappears into the back. Pete licks his lips contentedly.
A doctor appears. “Is a…Pete Stump here?”
Pete whimpers. Patrick stands up, plopping Pete on the floor. “That’s us!”
Pete looks pleadingly over his shoulder at Joe and Andy. Joe stares at the ceiling. Andy slowly shakes his head. Pete sighs, walking to the vet with his tail between his legs. Patrick chats with the vet for a few minutes, explaining Pete’s “history”, then he’s back taking his seat next to the others.
“I thought Pete would prefer privacy,” he offers. They nod in understanding. Poor Pete.
-
It doesn’t take too long. In less than an hour, triumphant barking announces the return of Pete Wentz (pseudonym: Pete Stump).
“So?” Joe says anxiously, as the vet walks out, Pete trotting on a leash behind him.
“Your puppy is perfectly healthy!” he announces, presenting Pete with a flourish. He yips gleefully and jumps around his bandmates feet. “There’s just one, small, little thing…”
“Does he have IBS?” Patrick wails. “I knew I shouldn’t have given him the rest of my Chipotle bowl, but he looked so innocent, I had no idea…”
“Please don’t feed Pete human food. But no, his gastrointestinal tract is fine. Or, should I say her gastrointestinal tract. Congratulations! Your puppy is a girl!”
Patrick’s jaw drops. So does Joe’s. And Pete’s, which looks pretty funny given the circumstances. Andy’s expression is a little harder to discern through the beard, but there’s definitely a good level of shock passing through the entire band at the moment. Pete wiggles around, going for a sniff at whatever, until Patrick nudges him with his foot and gives him a firm shake of the head.
Joe is the first to recover. “Are you sure? Positive? A hundred percent?”
“It’s not exactly rocket science,” the vet says. “Do you want to check for yourself?”
“No!” Joe shouts, accompanied by Pete’s high whine and vehement shaking of his little doggy head. His ears flop around adorably. “It’s just, uh, we were so sure…we’re just a little surprised.”
“Of course,” the vet says. “This does happen from time to time. Nothing to worry about. She’s still a fine match for your…non traditional family unit.”
“Our what?” Joe says blankly.
“We’re actually called Fall Out Boy,” Patrick says. “It’s a Simpsons reference.”
“Hmm,” is Andy’s contribution.
“The staff all suggested new names for her, if you want to change it to something more fitting! Let’s see, Petunia, Petra, Persephone, oh, very classical…”
“Thank you, but gender is a social construct anyways,” Patrick says. “I think we’re ready to go.”
Pete barks in agreement, jumping into Andy’s arms. The drive back is full of speculation.
“It must be karmic retribution for our first…two albums? Three?” Andy mutters.
“You hear that Pete? This is what happens when you don't respect women. You get turned into a girl dog by an evil wizard! A literal bitch . Think about that next time you feel the urge to slut shame,” Joe says sternly. Pete whines.
"If it was really karmic retribution he would’ve been spayed,” Patrick says.
Pete fixes him with a look that clearly conveys why would you say that?, even through sweet puppy eyes.
“I’m just saying,” Patrick defends, raising his hands. “It could be worse.”
“He’s already a dog. I’m having a hard time imagining the extreme version of this,” Joe replies, stroking the top of Pete’s head. He’s dozing in the little pillow they’re using as a car seat for him. “Actually, I think he’s enjoying this. He just eats, gets pets, and sleeps. Man, can they curse me next?”
“Do not even joke about that,” Patrick warns. “We can’t be out of guitar and bass. Can you imagine? Just sleep and eat like a normal person.”
“You wouldn’t get it,” Joe says petulantly, but he settles back for a nap, tucking Pete’s warm and fluffy body on his lap. Pete snores.
-
By the time they get back it’s late, and the day has been, frankly, tiring. They split off and Patrick crashes into his bed, only moving to lift his arm up and let puppy Pete snuggle up next to him. He’s actually a good sleeping partner - warm and soft, like one of those weighted sleep plushies. He smells a little more than a sleep plushie, but hey, it is what it is. Patrick dreams of Spiderman. Pete dreams of chasing squirrels.
The next day Patrick’s awoken by a knock on the door. “Hwuah? Who is it?” he mumbles, stumbling out of bed. He opens the door bleary eyed. There’s no one there.
“What?” he says, squinting into the afternoon sunlight. Then he looks down. A fairly large box is sitting in front of the bus.
“Huh.” He hefts it up, plopping it on the floor inside. “Pete! Are you awake?” he calls. There’s a yip, several odd thumping noises, and Pete zips into the room next to Patrick. He sees the box and starts barking eagerly, sniffing and pawing at the sides.
“Do you know what this is?” Patrick asks. Pete nods vicariously, clawing at the corner of the package. He jumps. He spins in a circle.
“Ok, I’ll open it,” Patrick says, yawning. “But I’m not happy about it. I had to get up early for this.”
Pete flicks his eyes to the clock. It’s past noon. Oh, Patrick.
Patrick manages to find a pair of scissors, snipping off the tape and flipping the box open to reveal
“A tote bag?” Patrick says, perplexed. He pulls it out of the box, unfolding it. It’s weird for a tote bag - pretty big and rectangle-shaped. It has a flap cut out in the front, a padded interior, and Pete Wentz embroidered on the side in bedazzled lettering, complete with a bartskull logo…
“Oh my god,” Patrick says. “This is for you. Pete, how did we get this?”
Pete sniffs at his tail. If someone were to go to the back room of the bus, they would find his laptop, open on the floor, with a screen covered in paw prints and nose smudges and no small amount of drool. If they were to check his email, they would find a message with a concerning amount of typos requesting a rush order prototype of a new type of merch. Patrick won’t do any of that, but if he did, that’s what he would find.
“Whatever. I guess it’s useful.” Patrick digs deeper into the box, pulling out a…collar, little doggy boots, doggy vest, doggy hoodie, doggy sunglasses…
“They make Oakleys for dogs?” Patrick mutters, perplexed.
They do now, Pete thinks, but doesn’t say, because he is a dog.
“I’m just gonna assume you’re behind this,” Patrick says. “Well, do you want to wear this?” He presents the collar to Pete. It’s dark red leather, fit with silver studs, complete with a bartskull tag hanging from the front. It even says Pete: If lost, return to Patrick Stump 323-7709-5486.
Pete pants eagerly, hopping up and down - finally, he can travel in style. Patrick buckles the collar around his neck. After a look from Pete, he also slides the sunglasses on, resting them on Pete’s little muzzle.
“Why don’t we find Joe and Andy? Show them your new threads?” Patrick asks, unzipping the tote bag. Pete barks eagerly, hopping inside, Patrick hefting him up on his shoulder as he shoots off a few texts. They meet in the parking lot, and Joe immediately starts giggling when he catches sight of Pete, paws hanging demurely out of the tote bag, face obscured by a mini pair of sunglasses.
“Pete. Pete Wentz. You crazy motherfucker. Only you would find a way to spend five hundred dollars on designer sunglasses as a dog!” Joe hoots, ruffling the top of Pete’s head. “Wait. Stay still,” He pulls his film camera out, lining up the shot. “This is great. Really great stuff, guys.” Joe fumbles for his phone too, switching to selfie mode and lining up behind Patrick and Pete. “Andy, get over here. We need to document this!”
They pose, bright grins and peace signs all around. Joe shows the photo to Pete. He paws at the screen, trying to zoom in, but all he manages to do is open Joe’s email app. He whines. He paws at the screen again.
“Oh, I knew this would happen,” Patrick says. “He can’t doomscroll anymore. I think he’s going through social media withdrawals.”
“That’s no good,” Andy says, frowning.
“Should we get him those talking dog buttons?” Joe asks. “He could go viral. Wait. Bunny the dog, watch out…”
Andy shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” He leans over to whisper something into Patrick’s ear. Patrick perks up and nods. “Here Pete, why don’t you stay with Joe and Andy? I just need to pick something up from the bus…”
-
“Maybe this will cheer you up,” Andy says, plopping Pete down on the green turf of the tennis court. Pete’s ears perk up at the familiar sight. “You’ll feel right at home here, probably,” Joe adds as Patrick drops Pete’s tennis bag down next to him, unzipping it to reveal a handful of tennis balls.
Pete sticks his head into the duffel, sniffing around. He scrambles half inside, his fluffy tail waving up like a banner.
“My instincts are telling me to get the dog out of the place he’s not supposed to be,” Patrick mumbles. “This is absurd.”
Pete surfaces from the bag, the handle of his racket gripped in his mouth. He drags it out with no small amount of struggle, shaking his head and growling as he tries to dislodge the slightly awkwardly shaped object without hands.
“Need help buddy?” Joe calls. Pete yips indignantly around the racket in his mouth, and with a final heave, yanks it free, flopping onto his back on the pavement with the racket on top of him. He flips back over, standing on top of it and sniffing every inch.
"Does it smell good?” Andy asks. Pete pauses. He lifts his leg over the racket.
“NO!” They all shout in unison. Andy darts forwards and lifts Pete off the ground.
“We’re not letting you do the whole territory marking just because you’re a dog now,” he chides, looking Pete in the eyes and shaking him slightly.
“And I’m not taking a piss-scented racket back on the bus,” Patrick groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s unsanitary. Anything you pee on is getting thrown in the garbage. Ok? You’re not nineteen anymore.”
Pete sticks his tongue out sullenly, glaring at them. Andy holds his gaze steadily. “I’m not putting you down until you tell us you understand,”
Grudgingly, Pete nods. “Good boy,” Andy says, putting Pete back down. He huffs and pads back over to the racket, pawing at it sadly. He drags it a few feet, tapping his front paws on the handle. He looks at the net. He whimpers.
“I can’t take this,” Joe says. “He’s weaponizing his cuteness.” He goes to Pete’s bag, lifting a tennis ball out. “Pete!” he calls. Pete turns around slowly, perking up when he sees the ball in Joe’s hand.
"What about a good ‘ol game of fetch?” Joe asks, tossing the ball up and catching it. Pete’s tail starts wagging slowly. “Yeah, how does that sound? You can’t play regular human tennis but this is better, right? Might as well get the full puppy experience while we’re here.” Pete barks eagerly, crouching into a ready position.
Joe throws the ball. Pete sprints after it, snapping his jaws at the fiendish yellow ball and chasing it as it bounces down court. He snags it, trotting over to drop it at Joe’s feet proudly.
“Nice,” Joe says, nodding in approval. He kneels down to ruffle Pete’s head. Pete’s tongue lolls out happily, but then he’s jumping up and trying to get at the ball in Joe’s hand.
"Ok, I get it,” Joe says, rearing back and throwing the ball again. This pattern repeats for a while. Pete chases the balls with a single-minded ferocity and eagerness, occasionally tripping over his paws and rolling around in his eagerness to fetch. Patrick throws a few balls in the beginning, then opts to sit under a shady bench on the side playing Candy Crush. He does covertly take a few pictures, though. Who can blame him? Pete really is cute like this.
Andy takes over when Joe tires out, lobbing tennis ball after tennis ball in a crossfit induced haze. At some point Pete decides that keeping the ball and gnawing on it is more fun than chasing. Andy and Pete play a violent game of tug-o-war over the tennis ball, Pete growling playfully as he fights to keep his prize.
“You’re a feisty fucker,” Andy says as he finally frees the tennis ball from Pete’s grip. He drops it. “You can keep it. It’s covered in drool. I just wanted to prove who’s stronger.”
"Can’t believe you’re beefing with a puppy now,” Joe chuckles. “How the mighty fall, right?”
“I beefed with Pete and I won,” Andy notes. “As usual.”
Pete growls and jumps for Andy’s ankle, gnawing on his leg.
“Are you just going to let him do that?” Patrick asks, amused.
“He’ll get tired of it,” Andy says confidently, unbothered. And he’s right. A few minutes of gnawing, then Pete’s back to nudging the ball around with his nose. Then he’s fleeing for the shade, sitting on the ground next to Patrick. Patrick pours out some water into a bowl for him, patting the top of Pete’s head, and soon enough, Pete is just dozing on the warm concrete.
“Guess we should head out now,” Joe sighs, tucking Pete back into his tote bag. He blinks awake, licking Joe’s face. Joe licks Pete’s back. He stops, perplexed.
“Yeah, beat you at your own game, huh?” Joe says, lifting the Pete-bag up into his arms. “This old dogs still got a few new tricks. Now let’s get food. I’m beat.”
-
They get food at a nice, pet friendly establishment. Pete’s extremely popular. The waiter coos over him, the family at the other side of the table won’t stop raving about how sweet and well-behaved Pete is. He preens, allowing the toddlers to tug at his tail and pull his ears. The people love Pete’s little doggie baker boy cap and silver-studded Prada harness. He is, Patrick has to admit, alarmingly cute, even though he knows the price tag on those items would probably send him into minor cardiac arrest.
At some point, a woman comes up to their table to say hi to Pete, and then pauses. “Hey, sorry but - aren’t you Patrick Stump? From Fall Out Boy.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Hi! Do you want a picture?”
“Oh my gosh, thanks! Can the dog be in it too? What’s his name?”
“That’s Pete,” Patrick says absentmindedly. She pauses. “Like…Pete Wentz?”
“Uh.” Patrick sweats. “Yes?”
“Is that Pete’s dog?”
“...Yes?” Patrick replies, looking to Joe and Andy for help. They shrug. Useless!
“Did he name it after himself?” She giggles. “That’s cute.” Pete looks disapprovingly at Patrick. He doesn’t want their fans thinking he’s conceited enough to name a dog after himself! Patrick shakes his head helplessly, picking Pete up and smiling into the camera the woman’s friend points at them. She waves bye, and Pete nips Patrick’s fingers disapprovingly.
“Ow! Pete, you’re not being very ‘good boy’ right now,” Patrick says. Andy laughs. “It wouldn’t be that crazy if you named a dog after yourself.”
“He’d probably name a dog after Patrick first,” Joe snorts, nudging Andy. “Like, Martin Wentz? Can you imagine?"
Pete barks in argument. He wouldn’t name a dog after Patrick. Or himself! Maybe, if there’s grandkids, he can pitch it for a middle name…
“He’s probably thinking ‘missed opportunity!’ right now!” Joe stage whispers at Pete’s ponderous silence. Pete shakes himself out of the fantasy and yips threateningly at Joe. Unfortunately, he looks about as dangerous as, well, a puppy! Patrick sighs and picks Pete up by the scruff, placing him back onto the ground. “Ok, I’m sorry Pete. Next time, we’ll think of a better alibi, ok?” Pete huffs, but plops his head on Patrick’s sneakers anyways. The rest of dinner is uneventful. They get back to the buses, and Joe and Andy leave Pete with a few farewell head scratches and a stern “No peeing!” from Andy.
Patrick carefully puts Pete’s stuff away and helps him change into his ‘house clothes’. Yes, Pete got house clothes. For a dog. That’s Pete for you. Once Pete’s settled in a little Clandestine-brand pink hoodie, Patrick tries to get some work done while Pete lounges in his lap. Puppy Pete is pretty clingy. He likes sitting in people’s laps and getting carried around and licking people. Which is actually…kind of just normal Pete behavior. Go figure.
“Do you wanna hear what I’m working on?” Patrick asks. Pete perks up, nodding his puppy nod. He is, admittedly, adorable in his new outfit. Patrick disconnects his headphones and hits play. He’s basically done with this one - it’s a little jazz fusion kind of thing. The first few notes ring out in the quiet room. Patrick hums along. He hears a little rumble, and then…
“Awoo!”
Patrick blinks in surprise. Pete has his paws on the console, tail wagging madly, and his head thrown up in the air. “Wuff wuff! Awoooo!”
He’s harmonizing!
Patrick turns the volume up a little, and before he knows it he starts crooning alongside Pete, his hands drumming out a rhythm on the table. Pete’s paws pad happily, his doggy voice warbling louder. Patrick has to lean back to avoid getting battered by his energetic tail wagging.
“Hey, we can still make music together,” Patrick laughs, nuzzling his face against Pete’s. Pete slobbers all over Patrick, licking his glasses, his ears, his cheeks, his nose. Then he’s turning back to Patrick’s computer and jamming at buttons, until he has youtube pulled up to Sugar We’re Goin’ Down - Karaoke Version. It takes a good few minutes. He looks expectantly at Patrick.
“Since you asked nicely,” Patrick says, fiddling with one of Pete’s paws as the familiar guitar riffs start. Pete wiggles happily. It feels a little self indulgent, but hey. Whatever Pete wants, right?
-
Patrick and Pete are munching on catering the next day when Joe busts into the room. “Bob called me! We have a cure!”
Pete perks up. So does Patrick. “So what do we do?”
“We basically have to do a ‘debaptism’ ritual,” Joe says, squinting at something written on his hand. “We just need to have Pete dressed up in something he wore a lot when he was human. Sounds easy enough.”
Patrick shoves the rest of his wrap in his mouth. Pete gobbles a few of his fries. “Then let’s do it! Now! Someone get Andy!”
Andy is retrieved, and by unanimous decision is chosen to be dressed in a blanket to mimic the priestly vestments. Joe offers up his hair dryer. Patrick wraps Pete up in a Love Can’t Save You hoodie, and they arrange themselves in a little triangle, Pete at the center.
“This feels a little silly,” Patrick whispers to Joe.
“Getting turned into a dog is silly. Just go with it,” Joe whispers back.
Andy flips the hair dryer on. It has a piece of paper with the word ‘human’ taped to it.
“I release you, Pete Wentz, from your fuzzy, adorable, chains,” he intones.
“Release him!” Joe and Patrick say in unison. Patrick snips a piece of rope in two. Andy directs the blow dryer at Pete. He blinks at the force of it, his fur blowing back in the wind. Andy waves the hairdryer a little. Pete squints an eye open. Joe and Patrick sweat. And then suddenly the dog is gone, and Pete is sitting on the floor (wearing what he was wearing when he first got turned into a puppy, thank goodness).
“Pete!”
Andy tosses the hair dryer to the side. They all rush towards Pete, rubbing at his eyes, dazed. He looks at his hands. He clenches them into fists, and then peace signs. He coughs. He rockets to his feet.
“I’m back!”
Everyone cheers. Andy lifts Pete off his feet with the force of his hug. Patrick goes to sling an arm around his shoulder. Joe ruffles the hair on top of his head and pauses.
“Uh…Pete…”
“What?” Pete asks. “Is something wrong? Because I really want to play Fortnite right now. Seriously, my hands are itching for it. I need to put these opposable thumbs to good use!”
“Yeah, it’s just…” Joe pokes at Pete’s head. He offers him his phone, front camera on. “Look.”
Pete looks. His jaw drops open. His hand flies to the top of his head. Because on top of his head are two floppy dog ears.
“Oh. My. God,” he intones, turning his head around to observe the new development. He tugs at one and winces. “Oh, yeah. That’s attached.”
Patrick notices something nudging at his leg and screams. “Pete! Look!”
Pete looks down. A happy doggy tail is wagging behind him.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, “this is the greatest day of my life.”
Patrick stops pulling at his hair to stare at Pete. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad, I’m like, a cute adorable puppy, but I also have hands and I can talk and everything. This is totally the best of both worlds. I hope it never goes away.”
Andy strokes at one of Pete’s ears. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Joe tugs at Pete’s tail. “Now I’m kind of jealous.”
“Maybe we can find the wizard again-”
“No!” Patrick says. “No more evil wizards! What if you cursed to turn into a praying mantis or something, then you won’t be cute , you’ll be scary and cannibalistic and-”
“You think I’m cute?” Pete pounces on Patrick, licking at his face. “I knew it! I’m irresistible! Patrick, you have to adopt me!”
Patrick sputters, trying to fight Pete away, but he just gets Pete’s tongue in his mouth. “Help me! I’m being attacked by a feral puppy!”
“More like a dog in heat,” Joe mutters. “We’re still not letting you pee on everything, Pete! Leave Patrick alone!”
Pete stops nibbling on Patrick’s chin to flip Joe off. “Man, I missed doing that,” he sighs. Patrick shoves Pete away, gasping. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight!”
“This is fun,” Andy says. “But we still have to sound check for tonight.”
Pete bounces up. “A show! I forgot. This is amazing. Watch out Blitz, you’re not gonna be the only dog on stage tonight…”
“Are people gonna ask questions?” Joe ponders. Andy shrugs. “Who cares? People wear dog ears to our shows all the time anyways.”
A true statement. No one mentions Pete’s new look, but his tail is wagging the whole time. And if Patrick’s good boy! that night feels a lot more targeted, and if Pete’s screams sound a little more like good ‘ol fashioned howling, no one minds. Pete thinks he should get cursed by wizards more often.