Eighteen Years

I'd waited many years for that day - eighteen years, to be exact. Eighteen years of waiting for the day that I turned eighteen. If I'd have had to wait any longer I think I'd have gone crazy - Mostly because you can't really wait more than eighteen years to turn eighteen can you? I don't think so. But wouldn't that be weird? I mean, you waiting like nineteen, twenty or more years to turn eighteen. Because to be eighteen you have to have lived eighteen years, and living nineteen or more years would mean you were nineteen or something. But no, you'd only be eighteen and... Oh! But it was my birthday. My eighteenth birthday. That big birthday where you jump from teenager to "No, Mom, I'm eighteen now so I'm an adult and I can do what I want to." But then it also meant that my parents were probably going to kick me out of the house soon, since eighteen is an adult and all that. But what would I do out on my own? I'd never lived on my own. I'd never fixed my own food, for crying out loud. It's always been served to me, bowl fixed and given to me. And I don't get out much. I mean, Mom and I went out running every day, but I don't really like it outside my house. It's so nice and warm in my house... But my birthday! It was finally here!

I brushed my excessive amount of hair after getting ready and ran down stair, excited to get the day started - even if I did have school. I didn't mind school. I like people. People are nice. And I'm on the track team. That's fun. I enjoy running. Running is fun. I get distracted easily, though, so I sometimes end up chasing butterflies or squirrels or even jumping in the puddles after the rain. The track team gets angry, but I can't help it. I'm a spontaneous person. I do what I want. Those wants are just often persuaded by distractions.  Anyway! I ran down the stairs quick as I could to see my mother and father. To see what they had gotten me. They always gave me the nicest things. Like that necklace I got for my birthday last year. Or the computer last year. Maybe this year it'll be a car. I'd wanted a car. Of course I've wanted to go and get my license the past two years but I always seem to have trouble actually driving a car. But I still hoped that it could possibly be a car. Maybe not. But I hoped.

My parents weren't standing there holding car keys when I got down stairs. They didn't have anything in their hands. They weren't even standing. It kind of scared me. But why should I be scared? They're just sitting. Every normal human being sits down. Most of them in chairs. I prefer the floor. Or sometimes even the couch. It's nice and soft and the best place to curl up.

"Happy birthday, honey," my parents said.

"Happy birthday to me," I said, nodding my head excitedly. "So what'd you get me?"

"Well, we need to talk to you," Mom said.

"Talk? Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong? Is it really not my birthday? Have you lied to me my entire life?"

"Hush. You're not in trouble. You've done nothing wrong. It is your birthday. But..." Mom got quiet and looked at Dad. He nodded his head. "But your father and I have lied to you your entire life."

"What?! You've lied to me my entire life? Am I not really pretty? Do you really have other kids? Are you not my real parents?"

"You're beautiful," Dad said.

"And we don't have other kids... But we're not your real parents..."

"I'm adopted?" I cried. What an awful birthday present. 'You're an adult, so I guess it's time to tell you you're adopted. Ha, in your face!'

"It's not just that," Mom continued.

"There's more!?"

"Yes... Uh... Sweetie, you're not human. You're a dog."

"I'm a what?"

"A dog."

"How is that possible? I can't be a dog! I've got friends. I go to school. I'm on the track team! Nobody has said a thing about me being a dog!"

"We adopted you from the Mystic Moon Humane Shelter in the next town. You were a dog then, but we were told that on your first birthday you'd turn into a human. The only down side to that was that on your eighteenth birthday you'd turn back into a dog. We thought it was great. I can't have kids, and were just going to accept having a dog, but we found you, and I've been able to have the best of both!"

 "I'm not a dog!" I protested.

 But she pulled out a full-length body mirror and sat it in my face. And then I saw it. There I was, standing on all four legs, a tail wagging behind me. My "hair" was actually fur-and that would make sense since it's all over my body. My tongue was hanging out of my mouth and I was panting like a dog. I was a dog. A dog who could talk and who was wearing a very fashionable pink skirt -It's Wednesday, and we wear pink on Wednesday. Or at least humans do. But I'm not a human. I'm a dog.

Sure, it was shocking that I was a dog. But it made sense. I mean, the quickly getting distracted, the excessive amount of hair, the perpetual itching behind my left ear. It ALL made sense. I'm a dog and my parents never told me.

I was allowed to go to school. I grabbed my backpack like I always did, but when I went to get on the bus they shooed me away. I had to walk all the way to school. And when I got there I was turned away. There was a sign above the door that said "no pets allowed." I tried to argue that it was still me, but was once again shooed away - this time with the janitor's push broom.

Back at home I was upset. I wanted to go to school. I wanted to finish my senior year. I had a month left. But I'm a dog, and dogs aren't allowed in school.

A squirrel ran past my window. I ran outside and chased it through the neighborhood. I guess I could get used to being a dog.