Be me, Anon.
Not your average sports reporter, no.
I'm a human being, sure, but on the smaller side. Like, human-sized.
Which, in the world of professional anthro sports, makes me practically a pocket-sized curiosity.
Especially when you're covering the Women's Elite Anthro Basketball League.
Where the average player is, oh, ten feet tall.
And today, my delightful assignment? The 'Howling Hounds' vs. the 'Canine Conquerors'.
Both teams, as you might guess, are comprised entirely of magnificent, towering anthro dog girls.
Think golden retrievers, huskies, German shepherds, all scaled up to dizzying heights, muscles rippling under sleek fur, tails wagging with enough force to knock over a small tree.
And me, barely reaching their knees.
Sounds intimidating, right?
Wrong.
It’s the absolute best. job. ever.
My reputation precedes me, apparently.
'Respectful and fun in interviews,' they say.
'Doesn't ask stupid questions,' 'actually listens,' 'makes us laugh.'
Which is probably why I'm always the one they want to talk to after a game.
And why, when I walk into the locker room, it's less of a professional interview and more of a reunion with overly affectionate, giant puppies.
Today was no different.
The Howling Hounds had just clinched a nail-biting victory, and the energy was electric.
I’d barely set up my mic and recorder when a shadow fell over me.
It was Luna, the team's towering golden retriever center, still panting slightly from the game, sweat glistening on her fur.
Her tail, a thick, powerful thing, thumped against the floor, creating a rhythmic vibration that I felt through my very bones.
"Anon! You made it!" she boomed, her voice a warm, rumbling purr that vibrated through my chest.
Before I could even respond, her massive, soft paws were around me, scooping me up effortlessly.
I swear, I weigh nothing to these girls.
My feet dangled several feet off the ground as she lifted me to her eye level.
Her nuzzle, damp and warm, nudged against my cheek, then her tongue, surprisingly soft despite its size, gave my face a quick, enthusiastic lick.
"Missed you!" she barked, her breath warm and smelling faintly of exertion and dog biscuits.
I chuckled, bracing myself against her furry chest. "Missed you too, Luna! Great game out there!"
Her tail wagged even harder, nearly knocking over a water cooler.
"You always say the best things!" she cooed, and then, without warning, her lips, surprisingly soft and full, pressed against my forehead.
A giant, slobbery, but utterly affectionate kiss.
I just laughed, wiping my brow. "Alright, alright, can we get to the interview before I'm completely drowned?"
She set me down, carefully, but not before another teammate, a sleek German shepherd named Rexa, bounded over.
Rexa was the team's forward, all lean muscle and intense focus on the court, but off it, a total sweetheart.
"Anon! My favorite human!" she yipped, her tail swishing like a whip.
Her paws, surprisingly gentle, wrapped around my waist, lifting me again.
This time, I was pulled into a tight, fur-lined hug against her side.
Her nose, cool and wet, sniffed at my hair, and then she nudged my ear playfully.
"You're so tiny, Anon," she murmured, her voice a low growl that was somehow incredibly endearing.
And then, a quick, firm kiss on my cheek, her whiskers tickling my skin.
"Got any good questions for us today?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Always, Rexa," I managed, trying to keep my balance as she swayed slightly.
The interview commenced, or rather, the joyful chaos that was the interview.
I'd ask a question about their defensive strategy, and suddenly I'd be hoisted onto someone's shoulder for a better view of their excited gestures.
I'd inquire about their training regimen, and a massive paw would gently pat my head, or a warm muzzle would nuzzle my neck.
Anya, the husky point guard, known for her lightning-fast dribbling, kept leaning down, her long ears brushing my shoulders as she whispered playful comments about her teammates.
Every time she made a particularly witty remark, she'd give my hair a playful ruffle, or her nose would bump mine.
And the kisses. Oh, the kisses.
They were constant.
A quick peck on the head from a passing player.
A lingering nuzzle against my cheek from someone explaining a play.
A full-on, enthusiastic smooch on the forehead from the team captain, a majestic Doberman named Shadow, after I complimented her leadership.
They didn't care if the cameras were rolling, or if their coaches were nearby.
It was just their way of showing affection, their boundless, uninhibited joy.
And for me, it was just part of the job.
At one point, I was trying to get a quote from the coach, a stoic old wolf-anthro, when three of the players, laughing, decided to form a huddle around me.
I was completely enveloped by their warm, furry bodies, the scent of their fur, their sweat, and their unique doggy musk filling my senses.
Their tails wagged furiously, creating a soft, rhythmic thumping against my back and legs.
"He's our good luck charm, coach!" one of them giggled, her voice muffled by the fur.
"Can't go a game without Anon's cuddles!" another added, and I felt a soft, wet nose nudge my ear.
I was practically swimming in fur and affection.
The coach just sighed, a fond look in his eyes. "Alright, girls, let the man do his job."
They reluctantly dispersed, but not before each giving me a final pat or a quick kiss.
Walking out of the locker room, my clothes were slightly rumpled, my hair was a mess, and I probably had a faint scent of dog on me.
But my heart was full.
My recorder was filled with insightful quotes, yes, but also with the sounds of laughter, playful barks, and the occasional enthusiastic smooch.
I passed a fellow reporter, a tall, impeccably dressed human, who looked at me with a mix of envy and bewilderment.
"Rough day, Anon?" he asked, adjusting his tie.
I just grinned, feeling the warmth of the lingering kisses on my skin.
"Rough? My dear friend," I said, a mischievous glint in my eye, "this isn't rough. This is living."
I patted my chest, where I could still feel the phantom warmth of Luna's embrace.
"This," I declared, to myself and to the indifferent world, "is the best job in the world."
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.