Dog Day After Day Ch 09

On the Tuesday, waking from my afternoon nap, I made my way out of the doghouse into the pen. To my surprise I found the gate open. Didn't expect that, but, knowing Mary, that gate was not accidently left open. She must have decided that her pet puppy could safely wander freely while she was working in her home office or otherwise out and about.

Since she had fenced and gated off the side entrances on either side of the house while I was on my two day stay in Karen's Kennels, nobody was going to wander around the back and have a heart attack at the sight of the large man/dog crawling around the yard, or worse, decide to shoot it. Equally, the fences prevented me from wandering out the front, down the driveway and onto the public road. Not that I was likely to try it.

After lapping up a good drink of water from the dog bowl inside the pen, I immediately headed out the pen gate and away from the house in the direction of the wilderness beyond the back boundary. I had a plan.

On the way, I tried out a different four legged gait. When we played 'fetch' the previous day, I found the galloping gait; two forepaws forward followed by the two hind legs, exhausting. Instead, I adopted the trotting pony movement. This required me to move my left foreleg and hind leg at the same time and then my right. It worked okay. I had to bounce myself from the left stride to the right, but it wasn't as exhausting as the gallop, and it was quick enough. I practiced it as I moved through the large loose shrubs that marked the formal boundary of our property. It was more like normal walking but bent over with my hands on the ground. The arm stilts made it work. I wondered why I hadn't tried it sooner.

Once I was out of sight of the house and out in bushy wilderness, I scouted around for a sharp piece of stone. Picking up the stone up with my teeth, I stood up straight on my two hind legs. This was me making a statement to myself. This is the man that I really am; the man I really want to be again, and as soon as possible. I stretched and twisted from side to side, loosening muscles in my back that had been tensed for days. I had been on all fours, or lying down, since Sunday morning, almost three days ago. It was a bit weird looking down at my dog suited self. My body encased in black fur, my penis and balls just sitting out there enmeshed in their black tight fitting net covers, my black covered legs and paw shaped feet. All in all a bit too animal like. I could see how Mary might forget that her husband was actually inside that suit and not some big pet dog.

Walking over to the nearest tree, and gripping the stone firmly between my teeth, I carefully scratched seven lines on the bark, one beneath the other, about an inch apart. That was the calendar of my dog life. It represented the seven days I had agreed with Mary for the duration of the puppy play experiment. I stood back and gazed at my effort. It looked good. Like what a cave man might do. A real man. A dog couldn't do that.

It also felt good to be standing up straight and looking directly at the tree trunk. I swung around and gazed off towards the skyline and said to myself. I am a man, I am not a dog. I felt like shouting it for the world to hear, but that would mean dropping the stone from between my teeth, and I hadn't finished using it.

I walked back to the tree, and carefully dragged the stone at an angle across the first line. That crossed off my first twenty four hours as a dog. Last Friday night to Saturday night. Then the same for the next three lines. The second day took me up to Sunday night, third day to Monday night. That was my stay in kennels. I couldn't resist also marking off today. Though today wasn't over quite, I just wanted to do it. It put me over the half way mark. Four days done, three to go.

And my plan? Well, after I had finished my seven days I had resolved to get out of my dog suit, no matter what Mary thought. How? I would bite through the PVC arms of my fore paws, down below the locking tab, near the wrist. Keep biting until I have torn the sleeve all the way round. Then it would be a simple matter of slipping my arm out of the forepaw mitt and its integrated stilt. Easier for the second hand, once I have bitten an opening, I'll tear it all around quickly with my free hand. With both hands free, I could reach around and unzip the back of the dog suit and wriggle out of that. I might or might not remove my leg paws. If I did I would be barefoot and that might not be an advantage. That was as far as my plan had got.

I had just a vague notion of standing naked in front of Mary and confronting her with the fact that I was no longer willing to act as her dog. Take it or leave it, I'd say. But I wasn't sure if the head harness was locked at the back and if I could manage to drag it off. If I couldn't, and she just left me stuck in the helmet it would be a stalemate, sort of. Could get violent, but I didn't want to go there yet.

Meanwhile, the chance to enjoy a standing up pee for the first time in four days was too good to pass up. The joy of it. Peeing up against a tree, feeling I was a human again, except that I couldn't put my hand on the little man down there, couldn't say hello ol' pal. But still, communing with nature in that most basic male way felt good. I was just finishing up, bouncing up and down to shake off the last drip, when I heard her calling from the patio.

'Here, Rover. Roooover,' she hallooed. I got back down on all fours and headed home.

'Rover! Where are you? Come here now.' Sounding a little techy. I decided I'd better make my presence known.

'Woof, woof, woof.' I shouted loudly while pushing my way quickly through the bushes on all fours. I was a dog again. A dog that was delighted to see its owner.

'There you are, Rover. Where have you been? I was getting worried.'

I wagged my tail over and back and rubbed my head against her legs.

'I was just exploring around a bit. Out where we were playing ball earlier.'

'Well, you gave me a fright. I came out to tell you about you evening feed and you were nowhere to be seen. In future just stay in the yard. I don't want to have to keep you on a lead tied to a tree all day.'

Heard that little threat and noted it. 'Sorry. I thought when you left the gate open you wouldn't mind if I explored a bit.'

'I'm happy enough to let you mooch around the backyard but don't go off the property. Okay?'

'Woof.'

'Good boy. Now, as I said, I want to tell you about your evening feed. Instead of me filling your bowl with kibble, I've put it in a bag and hidden it while you were having your nap. If you are going to eat tonight, you have to find it. Otherwise you go hungry. That's the challenge I'm setting you.'

Mary must have noticed the murderous look in my eyes as I stared up at her. Or maybe it just looked like a worried look to her. Basic fact of dog life: You don't mess with the dog's dinner. Tiger taught me that. Besides I had not been given my previous evening's feed either. All because of some lame excuse of Mary's about sticking to the feeding schedule. In addition, I had spent lunchtime - her lunch time that is. Dogs don't do lunch it would seem - rushing around playing fetch, which gave me an appetite on top of the appetite I already had. Reasonable to conclude that I didn't appreciate her deciding to make a 'hide-and-seek' game with my dinner. I couldn't resist giving her a growl. The girl needed to appreciate the situation.

'Grrrrrr. '

'Don't worry, Rover. As a dog, you need this. And it won't be too difficult,' Mary chirruped, like this was a bit of fun, a bit of added spice in my dull doggie life. She's just not getting the message. This is serious stuff. Time to up the protest.

'Grrrrrr. Grrrrrr.'

'Rover! Enough! Calm down now, or I put you straight into the pen for the night with no dinner.'

That was it then. I wanted my dinner. Badly. Never had a bowl of kibble seemed so inviting. Just the thought of crunching down on the dry mealy muck was enough to set my mouth was watering. And the only way I would get to eat was to play her little game. Either that or take a bite out of her leg, which wouldn't do anything positive for the owner dog relationship. Anyway, I decided, it's only until Saturday. I'll be spending Friday night chewing through my dog sleeves. I'll play nice -- this time.

'Woof.'

'Good dog. Remember when I read out from the book about how it is good for dogs to forage and explore? Well this exercise is to develop your foraging skills using your sense of smell. What you are going to do is follow a scent and find your feed at the end of the trail. It will be in a brown paper bag taped to a tree.'

'Woof.' That can't be too difficult, I thought. Might as well get this show on the road.

'Let's go, then. Heel, Rover. This way.'

I dutifully followed my owner as she led me back to the edge of the patio.

'Sit.'

I sat.

'Good dog. I'm using only two scents this evening, just to start you off; lemon and lavender. This tile here,' Mary indicated with her foot. 'It is sprayed with lavender. And this, the next one over, is lemon. Come over and smell each one.'

I crouched down on my fore paws and sniffed each tile in turn. Not a problem. Lemon is lemon and lavender is very different from lemon, more of a floral tang. I could do this. She must be using cans of bathroom freshener, I concluded.

'Now sit, and listen up.' I went into the sit position again, well trained doggie that I was after my two training days in Karen's kennels. At the thought, I felt a warning tingle in my penis mesh. All thoughts of training with Millie must be avoided. I focused on lavender and lemon, thought about the colour of the spray cans of air freshener sitting on the bathroom windowsill. There were three in all. What scent might the third one be? I wondered fiercely. Think spray cans. Think of nothing else, I told myself.

'Are you paying attention, Rover?'

'Woof. But my mind just drifted a bit there,' I admitted, because it totally had, and I'd probably missed some vital instructions.

'Since it's your first foraging, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and repeat what I just said.'

'Thanks. Appreciate it.'

'There are three sections to the trail. They are marked lemon, lavender, lemon in that order. The second trail starts adjacent to the first, somewhere along it. Likewise for the third. Each trail ends at a tree. Your feed is in the area around the end of the third trail. I hope you got all that, Rover, because I'm not repeating it again.'

'Woof,' I said, mentally repeating 'lemon, lavender, lemon.' That was the key.

'The trail starts at that tree near us. The one that I tied your long lead to the first day? Good hunting. Rover.'

'Woof,' I said confidently to Mary's disappearing back as the house door slammed shut behind her. She probably has a nice Mexican takeaway about to be delivered to the front door. Enjoy.

Me? I was on my own. Alone in a jungle of wild animals all competing viciously for the scarce resource that was my evening feed. I'd better get hunting.

After a quick confirming sniff of the two patio tiles, I headed for the small olive tree located a few feet out from the edge of the patio. Crouching down low, I immediately smelled lemon. The hunt was on. I moved my nose away from the foot of the tree a bit. No lemon smell. Moved up a bit and back to the tree; lemon smell. The spray can appeared to have been directed about six inches out from the base of tree trunk.

To pick up the scent, or, more importantly, the direction of the scent, required me to put my nose right down next to the ground. It was no good holding it a foot off the ground and getting a general lemon smell. You had to get right down among the tufts of grass, and dead leaves and twigs to tell where was lemon scent and where wasn't, to get an idea of the direction of travel of the trail. Then you moved on a foot and did that again, swinging your nose over and back, rubbing against the ground almost.

I slowly worked my way all around the base of the tree. Lemon smell all the way. Now what? Stop and think Rover. I can't keep going round and round the tree all night. Thoughts of a kid's story about Winnie-the-Pooh came to mind. I moved out about two foot from the tree and started sniffing slowly round the tree. About three quarters way round, I picked up the lemon scent again, heading north away from the tree. The hunt was on in earnest now.

I made slow but steady progress. Mary didn't make it easy. The trail meandered. While at first it headed north towards one neighbour's boundary fence, soon it veered off west towards the back boundary. I kept my nose really low. And became familiar with all sorts of other garden smells, some not so nice. I felt very dog-like, moving from side to side to get the sense of direction of the trail. I zig-zagged slowly towards my target, which turned out to be an old Pecan tree near the back boundary. Following the scent round the base of that tree, I was briefly puzzled, but then realised what Mary was doing. She was anchoring the trail at each end by spraying all around the tree that marked the beginning or end of the trail. Okay, that was clear. But where was the lavender trail that was supposed to intersect this one?

What was the word Mary used? Not intersect. Adjacent. That was it. Means near the trail, but not touching it, then, concluded Sherlock Homes, ace dog detective. I started back towards the starting point, the olive tree, sniffing carefully, keeping about two feet out from the lemon trail. At worst I'd have to do the same thing on the other side of the lemon trail. But I got lucky, sort of. Three quarters of the way back to the olive tree, I caught the lavender scent.

Off I went, still crawling slowly, still rubbing my nose in the grass, still zig-zagging, as I following the lavender trail. It quickly bent to run almost parallel to the lemon trail, about two yards to one side of it. Sneaky. Every so often I sniffed over another couple of yards or so just in case Mary had put the last trail parallel again, but leading back to the house. It was worth a shot, I felt. But no joy, and it slowed me down further.

The evening was getting gloomy now as the trail passed the pecan tree and headed on through the bushes at the boundary. I was still sniffing lavender, until it was replaced with the smell of my own piss, that is. Guess what? Mary had taken the lavender trail just past the tree that I had, by chance, pissed against only half an hour ago. I had pushed my nose right through the still piss wet grass at the foot of the tree before I realised what was happening. My nose and chin were now wet with my own piss, and smelled of it. I quickly picked up the lavender trail again. It ended soon after, at the base of a shrub not far from what I now call my calendar tree.

As it was now getting fully dark, my main concern was to get to the kibble before I ran into a skunk. That would put an end to my sniffing for scents big time. Guessing that Mary would have placed the bag of kibble somewhere near the boundary, I scouted in a large circle around the shrub. Sure enough I got a fresh lemon scent which led me a short distance to an apple tree that was just inside our back yard. I could make out the bag of kibble taped to the trunk about four foot up. Dinner time, at last!

Getting the bag off the tree took care. Half standing, I grabbed the bag high up with my teeth and tugged. The last thing I wanted to do now was tear the bag down the side and lose the kibble in the grass. I succeeded in pulling the bag from under the tape and proudly carried it in my mouth back to the dog pen. Once inside, I placed it on the ground and shuffled the bag open with my mouth, stuck my head in and munched down every bit of kibble. Victory! I had successfully foraged for my food and it really felt great. I had to celebrate. Let the world know, especially Mary.

'Woof, woof, woof, woooof.' I shouted at the top of my voice.

'Shut up, Rover,' was the immediate response from Mary, sticking her head out the kitchen window. A few moments later she appeared out of the back door and called me over. When ordered, I sat, and she clipped the short chain lead to my collar. Unusually, she was carrying a round plastic tray.

'Walkies, Rover. Heel.'

Trotting obediently behind my owner, we proceed mid-way towards the back garden boundary. Mary stopped and placed the tray on the ground.

'This is what you are going to shit on in future, Rover. Out in the middle of the garden where I can see it. I don't want to have to root under the bushes to clean up after you. Now display.'

Getting dutifully into the horribly humiliating 'display' position, I wondered why Mary couldn't see sense and realise that it would be far easier not to have to clean up after me at all, just by ending the play puppy charade.

'Let's see you take a dump, Rover,' she said, callously, manoeuvring the tray with her foot so it was beneath my ass.

I managed to do it despite giving a few large involuntary twitches as my cock swelled and suffered a series of stinging pre-shocks from a building humiliation hard-on. While Mary wiped my ass with a wet wipe I continued to harden and suffered a full on shock that sort of winded me and forced me to go down on my knees.

'Poor Rover,' sympathised Mary. 'Still suffering from the old humiliation hard-on, I see. I wonder if the aversion therapy will work for that too.'

'I doubt it,' I offered bravely, anxious to get her off this 'aversion therapy' kick. She moved me away from the tray and told me to get back in the display position.

'Let's have a look at that poor old cock of yours. See how it's holding up.' She said while slipping her hand into a plastic poo bag.

I thought she was going to do the picking up the poo thing then, but no. Instead I felt her reach under me and wrap her bag encased hand around my cock and give it a squeeze. Another couple of tingling, stinging pre-shocks hit me.

'Please. Don't,' I managed to get out as she gave me a few strokes, up and down through the mesh. The full on shock was immediate and seemed harder than the first, and I collapsed and curled in a ball. Trying to shield and protect that most tender area, while getting my breath back.

'Display, Rover. Come on. Back up into position. We're doing aversion therapy 101.'

'Please, Mary. It hurts.'

'And it will keep hurting until you stop having an erection. Now get up. Do I have to add a week to your miserable dog life?'

I struggled back up an all fours, straightened and spread my trembling hind legs. Two more strokes of her gloved hand and the tingling started again. Three more strokes and I felt my groin tightening, building towards a much needed release. I was just thinking that it could be worth it if I got to come when Wham! The full on shock hit me again. I folded onto the grass once more.

'I think that should do it, Rover. Get up again and we'll confirm it. Third and last go. I promise.'

Unsteadily, I tried to get into position again, managing to only half extend my trembling hind legs. Mary reached under me and again grabbed my now shrivelled cock. Thankfully, nothing happened. No tingling, no shocks. She attempted a few strokes, holding soft, shrivelled and sore little me between her thumb and forefinger. Nothing doing. I was still struggling for breath when I felt my stomach heave. In seconds, and in one violent heave, I puked up all the kibble meal I had just eaten. So much for my successful foraging earlier.

'Poor Rover,' said Mary, all sympathetic now. 'I think it best if we have you sleep indoors in the crate tonight.'

I managed a shaky 'woof' of agreement as a fit of violent shivering swept through me.

Once Mary had me tucked up in the crate, patting my behind maternally into position, the recovery position as it happened, she plugged in my dog suit charger and bolted the cage door behind me.