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“Hey, you guys!” she said the moment she saw us. “Decided to see how the other half lives?”

“Brutus has decided he wants to become a dog,” I said. “So we decided to keep him company on one of his first outings as a New Dog.”

“Brutus wants to become a dog?” asked Fifi, much surprised as she studied Brutus intently. Our butch black friend was sniffing around a nearby tree, clearly debating whether to lift his hind leg or not. “But how? And why?”

“The how is a mystery, and the why even more so,” I admitted.

“I think he’ll have plastic surgery,” said Dooley. “He’ll surgically get himself changed into a dog.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“No, but it’s true,” said Dooley when Fifi merely gawked at him. “He’ll have to change his ears, and his face and his tail, of course. And then he’ll change his name to Rambo.”

“No way!” said Fifi.

“Dooley is simply speculating,” I said. “None of this is even remotely true. Yet.”

Though as we all looked at Brutus, suddenly he actually did raise his hind leg, and he actually did have a tinkle against that tree.

“He’s learned lesson number one of being a dog,” said Fifi admiringly. “And his technique is impeccable. I have to give him that. Ten points for Brutus—or Rambo.”

“He’s also learning how to play fetch,” said Dooley. “And he’s getting pretty good at it, too.”

“Brutus is playing fetch?” said Fifi.

“Oh, yeah,” I said with a grin.

Just then Rufus came lumbering up.“I can’t watch this,” he said. “Max, can’t you do something? Other dogs are starting to make fun of me behind my back. They’re calling me names and telling me I’ve becomes a cat friend.”

“Is that so bad?” I asked.

“It is to some dogs. For them being a cat friend pretty much amounts to treason.”

“They need to learn to relax.”

“You tell them that,” he said, gesturing with his head to a small group of very mean-looking dogs, who stood eyeing Brutus with menace written all over their features.

Harriet now also came sidling up to us.“If this keeps up, Brutus is going to get mauled,” she announced.

“Yeah, unless the operation is a success,” said Dooley. “In which case he’ll join them.”

“Hiya fellas!” Brutus called out to the dangerous-looking dogs.

They didn’t respond, but merely growled something unintelligible that didn’t sound very hospitable at all.

“I think Max was right and Brutus should see a shrink,” said Harriet. “A cat shrink.”

“Or a dog shrink,” said Dooley helpfully.

“Any shrink!” She sighed. “If this keeps up, I just might have to leave him.”

“That would do the trick,” I told her. “If you threaten to leave him, he just might snap out of this delusion, and come home.”

“Do you think the Pooles will take us back?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “They’ll be very happy to welcome you back. No doubt about it.”

“He’s going for it, you guys,” said Fifi suddenly. “He’s going for number two!”

And as we watched, Brutus assumed the position and deposited a neat little pile of doo-doo on the ground, and in perfect canine fashion, too.

“Good boy!” said Ted, and with a flourish took a little plastic baggie from his pocket.

“Gee, thanks, Ted,” said Brutus, looking very pleased with himself. “I didn’t know I had it in me.”

“It’s happening,” said Dooley. “He’s turning into a dog, and he doesn’t even need surgery!”

“This is a nightmare,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “An absolute nightmare.”

“It could be worse,” I said. “He could be…”

Suddenly Brutus started gamboling around like a dog, yapping and jumping up and down.

“… prancing.”

“Don’t come over here,” Harriet murmured. “Please don’t come over here.”

But of course Brutus did come over here, and announced, as he kept practicing his prancing moves,“Hey, you guys. I just had a great idea. From now on I’m denouncing the name Brutus. From now on I want to be called… Rambo!”

“The fever is getting worse, Max,” Dooley whispered. “Soon he’ll be beyond salvage.”

“You can say that again,” I whispered back.

From the corner of my eye, I suddenly thought I detected movement. And when I turned in the direction of the movement, I saw a man, hiding behind a tree, holding up his smartphone, and filming us!

“Look!” I called out. “That guy is filming us!”

“What man?” asked Harriet, looking in the direction indicated. “Oh, you’re right, Max. That man is actually filming us.”

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy, Max?” asked Dooley.

“You bet it is,” I said. “Hey, fella! You have to stop that!” I called out. But of course the man couldn’t understand a word I said, and just kept on filming. He was a bearded individual, with a round face, and looked to be in his early twenties. He was dressed in cargo pants and a Star Wars T-shirt.

“Maybe he’s a movie producer,” said Harriet hopefully. “Or a Hollywood scout?”

“Why would a Hollywood scout scout out a dog park?” I asked.

“Casting parts in a new movie or TV series?”

“Is that man bothering you, Max?” asked Rufus.

“Yes, he most certainly is,” I told my friend the sheepdog.