This Blog Will Probably Mean My Death

But the truth compels me to do it. And, I need to be able to keep all my weredog friends up to date on my life, and a blog seems the best way. For now. I and all, well, most, of my memories are in agreement that if any people read this, then it is time for humans to know. We have waited centuries. It is likely we will wait more centuries, as many weredogs claim that people are quickly forgetting how to read.

Some clarity: My name is Chester. I am a weredog. Actually, that is a label designed for human benefit. The name we call ourselves, our kind, is something so alien to your vocal chords that you cannot hear or pronounce it. Believe me. I have tried it on a few of my humans. 

I live, for now, with a family in a suburb that is part of the greater metropolitan area of Kansas City. I have two boys (score), a woman, a man, two other dogs, and a cat. Yes. A cat. More on that later.

By day I am a yellow dog, a German Shepherd mix. By night, most nights, I change. Nights I take the form of a man. That is when I take care of my accounts, banks and investments, check on things, pay bills. Sometimes I take one of the cars out. I eat, but never from the fridge, or anything in the house. Why? Stayed tuned. 

Most nights I watch TV. I like all the CSI shows. Occasionally, my pack meets. I am part of a pack of weredogs. That's right. I am not the only one. And ours is not the only pack in the Kansas City. There are others. I don't even know how many there are. I am not sure anyone does. 

That's it for tonight. Things to do. If I am still alive tomorrow or the next day, maybe I will publish another blog post. There is a hell of a lot to tell, a couple hundred years worth, or a couple thousand, depending on your point of view.