The changes to his legs are a little bit a sore point, one he couldn't avoid thinking about once the question of how he looked came up... but the paws themselves aren't the worst thing, and he latches onto talking about them to avoid other thoughts for the moment.

"A little while?" Papyrus echoes, uncertain himself. "It happened while I was sick..." And the days blurred together, without work schedules or weekly events giving the passage of time any structure.

He continues studying his legs, thinking back, and concludes, "a few weeks ago. I guess that's the one, and only, upside to sleepy illness! I didn't have to walk around while they changed."

That would have been a particularly, literally sore point. This isn't so bad. It feels different from bone, different enough that he shifts his weight to distract himself from the strangeness of it, but they're developed enough not to hurt from standing. He doesn't mind the canine thing the way some humans might - dogs are people just the same as skeletons, where he's from. It's annoying that these paws don't fit in any of his shoes, meaning he has to retire yet another piece of his 'battle body' for good.