Sirius closed his eyes and arched his back in bliss as the long, nimble fingers scratched and rubbed at his sensitive belly. The world of the dog was very simple, with belly rubs right up there with treats, fetch, and Moony as one of the best things ever. When Remus drew his hand away, Sirius whined, but his euphoria quickly returned when Remus picked up the ball. He rolled back onto his feet, ears perked up. As soon as the ball left Remus’ hand, he shot after it, tail wagging furiously.

When he was almost to the ball, he heard his name, and stopped so abruptly he almost tripped over his padded feet. He turned around to see Remus waving two sandwiches at him. He’d known that there had been sandwiches in the basket since he’d first changed—he could even pick up the individual smells of the breads and cheeses and meats and spreads. But now, the smell of turkey and cheese was wafting through the breeze, reminding him of how hungry he was. He felt a sudden wave of that emotion that was somewhat like love (devotion, perhaps, or exaltation) that he only felt when he was in this form, because Remus had remembered that he liked turkey and cheese sandwiches best.

He began to wag his tail again, and nearly ran back to Remus, but he remembered that he was supposed to be a very good dog, so he dutifully turned around, trotted over to where the ball was rolling slowly on the grass, picked it up, and carried it back to Remus. He licked Remus’ hands affectionately as the man took the ball from him, and then trotted a few feet away next to the picnic basket, where he sat and changed back into a man.

(He still felt a bit canine, though, because he let a big goofy grin spread across his face)