According to the library’s dusty growth chart, you were no bigger than a blueberry when they first came. Tails flicking in warning or promise.
For the first rememberable years of my life, I was a dog. I would walk on all fours and refuse to eat unless food was placed on the floor before me. Dolls and teddies were hastily decapitated, cranial plastic and snowy intestines swept from beneath furniture months post-mortem.