Title: The Curious Case of Leo
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Leo was my golden retriever—loyal, goofy, and utterly adorable. He had a knack for being wherever I was, whether I was cooking, working, or binge-watching TV. He was my best friend, my confidant, and, most importantly, a good boy.
But one morning, Leo wasn’t quite the same.
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It started when I woke up to find a stranger on my bed—a strikingly handsome young man with tousled golden hair, mischievous brown eyes, and a wagging tail. Wait, a wagging tail?
“Uh... who are you?” I stammered, clutching my blanket.
The man grinned. “It’s me, Leo!”
I blinked, certain I was still dreaming. But no, the man had Leo’s tail, Leo’s floppy ears, and Leo’s absurdly happy expression. He even barked—actually barked.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said, scratching his ear with his hand. “I went to sleep a dog and woke up like this!”
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Adjusting to human-Leo was... weird.
For starters, he still behaved like a dog. He refused to wear shoes, insisted on eating his meals on the floor, and barked at the mailman with terrifying enthusiasm. Worst of all, he had no concept of personal space.
One evening, as I sat on the couch scrolling through my phone, Leo flopped down beside me—too close. Before I could say anything, he leaned over and licked my cheek.
“LEO!” I shrieked, recoiling.
“What? It’s how I show affection!” he said, looking genuinely confused.
“You’re human now! Humans don’t lick people!”
He tilted his head. “Not even a little?”
“No.”
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Taking Leo out in public was another ordeal. He couldn’t stop sniffing everything—or everyone.
At the park, he darted over to a woman jogging past us and sniffed her. She shrieked, understandably.
“Sorry!” I yelled, dragging him away.
“She smelled like peanut butter!” Leo protested.
“Leo, you can’t just sniff strangers!”
“But how else am I supposed to know who they are?”
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Despite the chaos, I couldn’t stay mad at him. Leo was still Leo—unfailingly kind, hilariously clueless, and utterly devoted to me. He even tried to help me with work, though his version of “help” involved knocking over my laptop and wagging his tail proudly.
One night, as we sat under the stars, Leo turned to me, his usual goofy grin replaced by a thoughtful expression.
“Do you think I’ll stay like this forever?” he asked softly.
I hesitated. “I don’t know. Do you... want to?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. “I don’t care, as long as I’m with you.”
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The next morning, Leo was gone. In his place was my golden retriever, tail wagging furiously as he jumped onto the bed and licked my face.
“Leo!” I laughed, hugging him.
He barked, his eyes sparkling with the same love and loyalty as always.
And though I missed the handsome, chaotic version of him, I was glad to have my best friend back.
From then on, every time Leo wagged his tail or gave me a sloppy kiss, I couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered. But whether he did or not didn’t matter. He was still my Leo—the best boy in the world.
