Doggy Days

Chapter 2

Canada had slept in that day, which was something he rarely did. And waking up on the floor was something he rarely did as well.

The young man who was the representative of Canada groaned and rolled over, trying to get the thin linen off of him; all he did was tangle his legs up in the sheets more and, annoyed by this, he sat up and fiercely kicked the blanket off of him. That was when he noticed the short, orange, and very furry legs in front of him. Purple eyes widened at the sight, and Matthew held his breath and let his eyes slowly took a look at the rest of his body. 'Those are not mine. Those are not mine. Those are not mine. Those aren't – oh mon Dieu!' The man's gaze finally landed on his liver-colored nose; he nearly freaked out, but he only released the breath he was holding in for a few seconds and looked over to his bed. The thing was...taller than he last remembered. "No. Don't panic; don't jump to conclusions just yet," he said to himself after taking a few shaky breaths to calm himself down. "This is probably just some really bad dream…or a trick America's playing on me. Yes, that's it. But to make sure, I'll go and check..." Canada shakily pushed himself onto all four paws and made his way across his bedroom floor as he tried to keep himself from wobbling on the new appendages; he slowly nudged the door to his bedroom open using his so-not-real dog nose. The Canadian stepped out into the hallway of his house. As he padded down the sun-light corridor, he noticed that everything around him was at least four feet higher than it usually was –again, he told himself to not jump to conclusions- the pictures hanging on the wall of him and his brother were so high up that he wasn't able to properly make out the frames' contents due to him seeing a reflective glow cast in by the sun's rays on them. He even had trouble seeing the low-hanging picture of his pet polar bear, Kuma...'What was his name again?' Matthew shrugged it off. Now the blond was starting to second guess his previous statement when he walked into the bathroom; the door was already ajar, so all he had to do was nudge that open with his nose, too.

The young man took another deep breath and hoisted his upper body onto the counter that held his sink and gazed into a wall-mounted mirror. As soon as his feet touched the cool surface of the counter, the Canadian's mouth gaped open. There, staring back at him from the mirror was an orange colored, long haired dog with its mouth hanging open. The canine had the same hairstyle as Canada did and its fur had some blond strands in it. Canada immediately threw himself off the counter and let out a yelp as the back of his head connected with the hard tile floor. He leaped to his feet, swaying a little as he stood; he slowly rose on his hind legs to peek at the mirror again. He gasped again when he saw the dog's reflection slowly peak over the horizon of the white counter top, synchronizing itself with Canada's movements. Matthew then hopped up and down and the reflection did the same. 'Merde.' The once-human Canadian hoisted himself onto the counter and stood with all four paws together to fit into the small space with a sigh. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head to the side, watching his copy do the same, and something in the thick fur around his neck caught the artificial light illuminating the bathroom and he turned his attention to it. The dog leaned in to get a better look at the shiny tag around his neck; it had an image that was orange-red, the same color as the maple leaf on his country's flag, and the tag itself was white and rectangular in shape, an exact copy of the Canadian flag. A whimper escaped the animal's throat and he parted his lips slightly, forming a worried expression. This collar...did that mean he was owned by someone? If so, who, and would they come looking for him?

The dog whimpered again at the thought of someone barging into his home unexpectedly and dragging him out the door by his collar. As his mind whirled about these things, Canada absentmindedly tried to sit down on the counter, but he had forgotten that his feet had taken up all the counter space. He suddenly remembered that but in that split second, the dog's back end had already slipped off the edge. Matthew found himself on his back again, staring up at the white ceiling of his bathroom. His head throbbed again and this got him up on his feet again. "Now what?" he sighed and walked back out the door. "Maybe this is just some sort of bad dream," he thought out loud, "And if I go back to bed, then I might be able to wake up from this nightmare." Canada nodded in self approval and upped his pace to a quick trot as he made a beeline for his bedroom. The door was open, just like he had left it, but something small and white obscured his vision of his bed. The figure was standing on top of the pile of sheets Canada had escaped from; it tilted its head slightly as beady black eyes locked onto the orange dog. It blinked.

"Who are you?" it asked in a cute, yet curious, voice.

Canada recognized that voice. It was his pet polar bear.

"Kumi...uh," he trailed off, forgetting his pet's name for a second. "Uh, it's me. Canada." The bear only blinked again.

"Who are you?" he repeated and his owner mentally face-palmed. "Canada," the dog droned out. "Your owner? Uh, never mind." He quickly trotted over in front of the white bear and jumped over him and landed on top of his bed.

"But my owner is a human," Kumajirou said, looking up at the orange dog who was currently scrunching up one of his goose feather-stuffed pillows. "Aha, you got me. You're right. Your owner is a human," Canada said and went back to folding and biting his pillow to get it as comfy as possible. After he was content with the cushion's state, the dog plopped his upper body down on it and looked below, but his bear had curled up on the linen and fell asleep. Canada cocked his head to the side. "I guess we all need a little bit of sleep." He put his furry head down on the pillow and closed his eyes.

A sudden rattling noise followed by a very loud crash shook the Canadian from his slumber. He yelped loudly and jumped to his feet, ready to flee at the first sight of an attacker. He may have been a dog, but that didn't mean he was prepared to fight. Wide purple eyes searched every corner of the small bedroom and he was again startled by glass crashing onto the floor in the hallway.

"Martin!" an obnoxious, powerful voice yelled from the hall. "Hey! Where the heck are ya, bro?"

"Quiet, America! He's probably asleep," a voice laced with a British accent scolded the noisy person, who only scoffed. "Who stays asleep past three in the morning?" he asked, sounding as if waking up at seven-thirty a.m. was blasphemy.

Back in the bedroom, Canada let out a groan. 'It's only America and England,' he thought. The dog could feel his muscles relax out of the tense state they'd been in and he hopped off the bed to walk over and meet his brother and adoptive father. Since both of them were human, maybe they could help him return to his human form.

"Hey, Michael," greeted a tall, slightly shaggy dog with golden fur. It's pink tongue lolled out the side of its open mouth, which was pulled up in a smile at the corners.

"A-Amer..." Canada could only stare up at the other dog with wide eyes. He swallowed before saying, "America?"

The orange dog looked over at the blond border collie to the left of America-dog. "England?" Another dog bounded up behind the others, towering over them both. It was almost rust colored with slightly darker markings on its face and toes. "Hiya, Canada," it greeted and wagged its tail. The voice sounded familiar, but Canada just couldn't put his finger on who it belonged to.

"Um, yes," the collie answered, giving a sideways look at the brown dog. "I'm afraid it is us."

England-dog was violently pushed further to the right all of a sudden by the brown dog standing behind him. "Hej," he protested, sounding slightly offended and hurt. "Don't forget about me." The dog faced Canada and whimpered.

"Denmark, you git!" England growled as he pulled himself from the floor and into a sitting position. "If you wanted to get past me, all you had to do was say 'please'!"

The orange dog lowered his eyes and shuffled his forepaws. "Oh...hi, Denmark." He looked up at the trio and sighed. "So I guess I wasn't the only one who was turned into a dog, eh?" His purple eyes shifted over to his brother. "Please tell my you had nothing to do with this, America..."

"He did!" both England and Denmark woofed simultaneously, earning them a gasp and a glare from the dog wearing the United States tags on his collar. "Well you did," the border collie snorted.

Canada sighed again and mumbled "I kind of figured that," ignoring the hurt look America-dog shot him, having hear the Canadian's statement. The orange dog waved his feathery tail in the air behind him. "What are you guys doing at my place anyway?" he questioned.

Just as England was about to open up his mouth to say something, he was once again shoved away, this time by America who eagerly started explaining things.

"We wanted to know if you were affected by the spell," he barked. "So far, we've only seen you, ourselves and England's brothers as dogs. I'm not sure if any of the other nations are puppies yet or what."

"You actually remember where I lived?" That was weird. America never knew where Canada lived unless the quiet country reminded him on several occasions. The golden dog threw his head back and unleashed his mighty "hero laugh" before looking down and patting his brother on the shoulder. Very hard.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I know where my own brother lived, Mickey?"

"It's Matthew," he grunted and pushed away the heavy-handed dog's paw. He didn't mind America using his human name, it didn't offended him as it did to the other nations, but he absolutely hated it when America got it wrong. Which was the majority of the time.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Marcus. Hey, what kinda dog are you anyway?"

'Marcus? Really? Oh mon Dieu, America. That one's not even close to my name.' he Canadian then took the time to give himself another quick look over. "I think I'm a Toller. I mean, I look like one."

"A what?" Alfred laughed and stretched his neck out to sniff at Canada's collar, but other nation backed away. "A-anyway, what breed are you, America?"

Denmark opened up his mouth, "A mutt-"

"A Hero Dog!" the super nation yelled proudly with his chest puffed out.

Canada eyed him. "Right..."

An annoyed groan caught the attention of the orange dog, and he craned his neck to see England struggling to try and flip himself upright. '...He'll be alright,' Canada thought, believing that his father would be able to stand up on his own. He would make some progress; he looked like he'd be on his feet any second now. He turned his attention back America and Denmark.

"Ja, the "hero" here," Denmark pointed a paw at America, "He did something stupid with England's potions and made something magical that turned us all into dogs." As he was saying this, America's ears folded back and he lowered his head, mumbling out, "You helped, too," through clenched teeth. Denmark continued, "From what I heard, he and England were supposed to be going to McDonald's, but England told him no. Being the big baby he is, America couldn't take no for an answer-"

"And the you showed up and we both back into his house after he went upstairs-"

"America had this sudden urge to go explore the rest of the house-"

"Then we found this room full of bottles and well..." America trailed off.

"You two fooled around with England's potions,"

"You guys went and fooled around with the potions, right?" Canada asked in a matter-of-factly tone, watching both dogs nod. He shook his head. "Why are you two always so destructive?" Both of them gave sheepish smiles and shrugged, having no real answer to the northern nation's question."

"And you two destroyed my house!"

"Ja, what he said."

Behind Canada, all four of England's legs stretched out in the air as he struggled to pull himself back to his feet. He was finally able to do so after Canada slid past his brother's frame in the doorway and helped roll the older dog over. Once he was back on his feet, England cautiously backed away from the ones who had pushed him over in the first place, and Canada followed him a few paces down the hallway.

England inhaled deeply to steady himself and force the plans of taking revenge on both America and Denmark to the back of his mind. He thought about making the two of them rebuild his place without pay, but that wasn't the problem right now; he'd have to worry about sweet, sweet vengeance later.

The blond collie heaved an exasperate sigh and turned to face Canada. "Alright," he started, "I'm going to try and make an elixir to reverse the transformations, but first, we need to find out if anyone else has been turned into a dog so I can make the right amount to cure everyone who was affected."

Canada nodded. "Maybe calling the other nations would help-"

England stopped him by shaking his head. "We already tried that, but I'm afraid that the toes on our paws are far too big to press a single digit on a phone."

"So walking it is. Okay, I'll go get the other two." Canada turned and padded back to his bedroom's doorway, but what he saw caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

A look of sheer horror formed on his face at the event unfolding in front of him. Denmark and America were currently in the middle of a game of tug-o-war.

With Matthew's bed sheets. "What are you...doing?" he half asked, half yelled and the other nations' ears perked up. They quickly paused their game to turn and look at who had decided to interrupt. They saw the youngest of the countries standing in the doorway, mouth half open. Denmark immediately dropped his half of the blanket, but America stayed latch on to his. "Nothing. W-we're not doing anything," Denmark stuttered, but his face dropped and a peeved frown stretch across his face as America said, "Hey, Mattie, you wanna play?" America's voice was in a cheery tone as he remained completely oblivious to his brother's dismay.

Canada slowly shook his head. "No...never mind. Just come on, the both of you. England's ready to go and check on the others."

Denmark hopped over half of the sheet that lay by his feet and walked out the doorway. He was quickly followed by Canada and America, who groaned, "Aw! Already? We were in the middle of a game." He continued to pout and Canada rolled his eyes. They met up with England in the hallway; England told them where they were headed to -the park, "with no more distractions"- the older nation took caution of America and Denmark, remembering how they trampled over him back at his house, after the announcement. He trailed behind the other three counties as they all cautiously stepped over the mess of broken glass and splintered wood left in the hallway (courtesy of Alfred) and headed out the front now-broken door of Canada's house. Looking at the derbies that surrounded them, the small retriever let out a quiet gasp at the chaos. Canada could only think, 'I'll just have to clean this place up when I'm human again. Maybe I'll stop telling America where I live, too.'

Everyone else had already made it past the door and he was about to step over, too, but something off to his left caught his eye. It was Kuma...it was his pet bear again. The little mammal was standing near the door, again his head was cocked to the side. "Before you ask who I am," Canada started, "I'm,-"

"I wasn't going to ask that," the polar bear said in a quiet, saddened voice, eyes looking downward to the floor. It heaved a sigh and looked back up. "You are going to find Canada, right?"

On the outside, the retriever gave a smile and said, "Yes. We'll find him," but he was jumping and crying tears of joy. 'He finally remembered my name!' he inwardly cheered.

"Then...can I come with you?" Kumajirou asked, giving the nation-turned-dog a pleading look, and Canada could only answer with, "O-of course you can, Kumakichi!"

With that, Canada bowed down on his forelegs to allow the bear to climb onto his back. Just as Kuma...after his pet bear got into a comfortable position and Canada stood up straight, he heard America call out, "Hey, Melvin! What's the holdup man? Let's go already!"

"It's Matthew," the younger nation muttered to himself and hurried out of the door.

America was waiting right outside the door and Canada's bumped into his chest; the Troller quickly stepped back and shook his head. "S-sorry America-" He was interrupted by his brother's thunder ing, heroic laugh.

"Hahaha! It's alright, bro!" He reached out to pat Canada's shoulder again, but the younger nation's purple eyes widened and he ducked under America's arm. "So, uh, are we going or what?" the Canadian gave a nervous chuckle that was fueled by relief that he had narrowly escaped having a broken shoulder.

Across from him, Denmark nodded and wagged his tail furiously. "Ja! Hey, Amerika, I'll race-"

"No!" England was quick to put a paw to the mastiff-like dog's muzzle, silencing him. Denmark looked down at the shorter nation with an unamused expression before England said through clenched teeth, "Don't let America hear you!" He looked over to where the super nation dog was standing, but a golden blur rushed past him; it knocked England over in the process and yelled, "You're on, Denmark!" he barked and the two of them bounded off. The last Canada heard from them was Denmark announcing that whoever was last to the fountain in the middle of the park was a rotten egg, America's obnoxious laughter followed.

The orange dog turned to England and asked, "Do you want some help?"

Below him, England stopped struggling to flip back over and, defeated, nodded. "That would be nice. Yes."

Canada gave a half smile and bent down and nudged the border collie with his nose until he was able to roll him over. England stood up and gave his thanks, then the both of them quickly followed after America and Denmark.

"WEST! YOUR FREAKIN' DOG'S SNIFFING MY ASS!"

A black and tan German shepherd stopped trying to turn the handle on his basement's window to look behind him; he put his front paws back onto the wooden table he was standing on and turned around just in time to see his older brother come rushing down the basement stairs, followed by a small Dachshund running full-speed after him.

If he wasn't currently in such a bad mood, Germany would have found the sight unfolding in front of him very amusing; seeing his brother -the awesome Prussia- running from a dog that wasn't even half of his size.

But Germany was in such a bad mood right now. He had been mysteriously turned into a dog after all.

And Prussia was not making the situation any better.

The eldest of the dogs ran right at Germany, but instead of jumping onto him, Prussia barely missed his brother's form by jumping up to the pointed-eared dog's right. However, that space was preoccupied; there were thousands of boxes littering that side of the table and Prussia flew right into them. He managed to balance himself on the very edge of the table, but it eventually teetered toward the right then suddenly jerked backwards just as Germany yelled, "Prussia! No!" He was cut off by his body slipping backwards, but, thinking quickly, the shepherd jumped off to the left just as his Dachshund did the same. After landing, Germany turned at the sound of multiple loud crashes and he saw smashed objects and boxes scattered across the basement floor. Germany gritted his teeth at the sight and sent a dangerous glare his brother's way when he saw the long-haired dog pull himself out from under the debris.

"You really need to learn how to organize your stuff, bruder," the albino dog informed his younger sibling and shook any remaining dust or broken glass from his long coat.

For his own sake, Germany decided that he need not respond to that; instead, the black and tan dog started trying to clear a path to the basement window. Prussia pitched in to help -and cut his front paw on some glass shards while carelessly pushing derbies out of his way- and after five minutes of making a walkway, the German siblings made their way to a smaller, but less crowded, table. The saw no need in trying to lift the toppled table back up and Germany hopped onto the other tabletop and stood there for a few seconds to make sure he was balanced. Again, Germany clamped his teeth around the window latch again and tried to twist it to left so that he'd be able to open the window. Achieving access to the outdoors would have been easier if the eldest of them hadn't freaked out when he woke up this morning and found himself as a long-haired shepherd. Prussia tried to open the front and back doors of the house using his teeth; he only ended up breaking the door knobs that were on the inside of the doors. This left the brothers with no way out unless they used the cellar window, and that's why they were down here now.

He had managed to get the window slightly open, but turning the latch any more proved to be pointless. His new dog mouth wasn't allowing Germany the ability to turn his head around with the direction of the latch without hurting his neck. The nation-turned dog grumbled something about wishing he still had his hands and the muscled dog then hoisted himself up on his hind legs so he could see if it was possible to forcefully push the window open using his back. After a few tries, he didn't succeed and he let out a groan as he lowered himself back on all fours.

"Let me help, West!" Out of the corner of his eye, Germany saw his brother launch himself onto the table and eagerly began prodding the window open with his pointed nose. Prussia wanted to get out of here just as bad.

Nodding in agreement, Germany got back onto his hind legs and began copying the elder's movements. After a while, he went back to pushing against the window with his back; eventually, the window opened and the two dogs scrambled over each other as they rushed out of the opening.

As soon as their paws hit the grassy yard, the albino dog let out a whoop of joy and jumped around. Germany, on the other hand, rolled his shoulders and stretched out his legs. As much as they loved the house their shared, they both shared the odd want to get out of the basement and possible never return...? Germany found that pretty weird. 'It must be because we've been turned into dogs,' he thought, remembering how Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster loved to run around the yard or go on walks; rarely did his dogs want to return back indoors, even when they were all tuckered out from stretching their muscles all day long. 'Ja, that's it.'

Germany took a look around at their surroundings and saw that almost everything had at least two or three feet added onto it, making objects taller than what they normally were. The black and tan dog concluded that the extra height of things was because he and Prussia were much lower to the ground than their human bodies were. Germany was bought back from his musings when he felt something poking his ribs; he looked over to see his brother's red-violet eyes glancing up at him, the albino dog's nose still glued to his side. Backing off after Germany raised a questioning eyebrow, Prussia asked, "Was machen wir jetzt?" Germany already had an answer in mind.

"We go and find England. He can probably tell us what is going on." There was a poisonous edge to the German's voice as he said "England", and Prussia could only guess that his younger brother had already blamed the island nation for their transformation.

He couldn't blame him though; Prussia knew what England was capable of: magic and food poisoning. The former was what caused them to become dogs and the latter was what had Prussia hospitalized for more than a few weeks while everyone else thought he was dead. So he saw why Germany was so quick to judge the other nation.

"Come on, Prussia," Germany called over his shoulder, having walked a few paces down the sidewalk. "We're going to miss him if you don't hurry up."

The albino dog looked up and quickly padded up to his brother and they both began to walk down the sidewalk toward England's house.

Translations:

Mon Dieu - My God (French)

Merde - Shit (French)

Was machen wir jetzt - What will we do now? (German)

Canada is a Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever

Germany is a German shepherd

Prussia is an albino Altdeutscher Schäferhund

A/N: Yeeeeah...I know I promised you guys an update yesterday, but I spent so much time rewriting and rewriting, and rewriting this chapter that I went all the way to eleven-something late at night. And I found realized that it was too late for me to submit it. Yeah. Sorry.

Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter (even if it is just a fancier version of the old Doggy Days chapter 2).