Bill Brauer Harvest Moon

Bill Brauer Harvest MoonBill Brauer Gold DressUnknown Artist Audrey Hepburn pop artPiet Mondrian Tableau I
say I do. Can't say I do. Clothing has never been what you might call a thingy of dog wossname.' Gaspode scratched his ear. 'Two metasyntactic variables there. Sorry.'
'It's different with you. You know what I am. Anyway, dogs are naturally naked.'
'So're humans'You can open your eyes now.'
Gaspode blinked. Angua in both shapes was OK to look at, but the second or two in between, as the morphic signal hunted between stations, was not a sight you wished to see on a full stomach.
'I thought you rolled around on the floor grunting and growing hair and stretching,' he whimpered.
Angua peered at her hair in the mirror while her night vision lasted.
'Whatever for?'
'Does . . . all that stuff . . . hurt?'—'Angua changed.Gaspode's ear flattened against his head. Despite himself, he whimpered.Angua stretched.'You know the worst bit?' she said. 'It's my hair. You can hardly get the tangles out. And my feet are covered in mud.'She tugged a sheet off the bed and draped it around herself as a makeshift toga.'There,' she said, 'you see worse on the street every day. Gaspode?''What?'