Title: The True Life Story of a Dog in an Experimental Lab for Genetics

Note: WI Round 1, a day in the life of a dog, a day in the life of a dog at a lab

Journal LXXIV
Day two thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven of required journals

I got up. Breakfast today was Kibbles and Bits. Lunch will most likely be the same. We practiced agility this morning. I ran a lot. It was hot today.

Reading that, any of the Aliens would have continued to believe that this experiment had gone wrong and instead of creating a super genius creature with a mixture of cat and dog chromosomes, Test Subject 4ac was a simpleton who’s only rousing genetic success was that it could write. There was no real purpose for the creature as far as they knew, as he wasn’t even decent looking. The thing was downright homely.

The dog who wrote the journal was not, in fact, a simpleton. In actuality, he was far smarter than many of the Aliens. When he wrote “I got up”, it actually, “this place is terrible”. Any of the other test subjects, or, at the very least, those capable of speech, would gladly have informed you that breakfast had actually been a new brand of dry food, and that lunch would be cereals and Mighty Dog, with a bit of peanut butter if you were lucky. The fish in the third cell block would have disagreed about the lucky part, as she hated peanut butter, but most of the others were of the opinion that peanut butter was love. Those same other test subjects would also be happy to point out that they had not done agility that morning, but had played fetch.

However, eating Kibbles and Bits meant that the Alien that wore the purple smock and yellow braids had been watching him. Lunch being the same meant that she would be coming back for him. Agility actually was code for being “tested” by the Aliens, and running a lot was how he described the mazes they made him run through, like a mouse to cheese. Finally, “it was hot today” was his way of letting the world know that today’s method of punishment had been fire as opposed to electrical shock. The Aliens liked to mix things up.

What was clearly written on the journal was not nearly as important as what had been hidden with invisible ink by the poor creature. The journal would, with any luck, be delivered to the king of the wild within the week, along with several others.

Journal LXXIV
Day two thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven of my captivity



The Aliens, having performed experiments on me yesterday of an embarrassingly sexual nature, have not yet made an appearance today. I shall now recap on the highlights of my previous journals, or at least a shortened version of them, as there are too many now to do otherwise.

The Aliens first combined Cat DNA with Dog DNA, mixing the Cat’s brain chromosomes and most of the rest from the Dog. I am thereby special. End of short.

Time oh-one-hundred. I am allowed to roam the red room. Today we travel to Area4571. I’d make my escape there, but the fence is too high and curved inward three feet below the top, where it curves outward. Which is to say, no one gets into Area4571, and nobody ever comes out. They may plan to leave me there. I do not know.

Someone is coming. Agent Two-Oh-Four-Nine-Nine-Seven-Three-Six-Eight-One-Oh signing out. For now.



Journal LXXV

The morning experiments pitted me against the fish in cell 3xf in a race for the finish. Going the wrong way resulted in being burned. That was before Journal LXXIV.

After that was more of what was done yesterday. We will not go into detail on that.

The thing with wheels that rolls on smooth dirt is entering the gates of Area4571. The electrical fence closes behind as I peer out of the square glass.

Alien Tomato Sauce, the one with red on his head who always wears the black and white outfit with the red collar, is taking a hamster out of the cell three boxes down. From the way it squeals, I believe it knows as well as I that it will not be coming back.

There is only one rule in the cell block, and that is survival. Which means that while living here sucks, being “taken out” is far worse. That is what happened to Agent Two-Oh-Four-Nine-Nine-Oh-Oh-Six-Two. She was “taken out” and never returned. For her own sake, I hope she did not survive it long. They torture those they “take out”. Once in awhile, you hear them scream.

They are coming for me now. And since I am at Area4571, I’m not sure if I will ever be returning.

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