I was fed again, allowed to do my business, and taken for a walk. Master didn't speak and neither did I. I trotted around his garden, did not pick or even smell any flowers, and then crawled back inside the house and to my new 'home'. Master set up a TV and VCR and put in a tape. He then left, locking the door. My training began in earnest.
In what looked like a classroom, a nude female in a studded collar was put through her paces. She was a natural redhead, her long hair done in pigtails, and seemed to know her stuff rather well. The unnamed dog went through all the basics, most of which I already knew, but I was not about to complain. As I was not chained to anything, just left mostly nude and collared, I made the best of my time by mimicking her, responding to the same commands she did and doing my best to perform as smoothly.
I watched exactly how she moved, then rewound certain parts to join her in service. I practiced until I could have done it all in my sleep: stay, sit, fetch, beg, roll over, sit up, play dead, shake, point, stretch. I also barked, woofed, yipped, whined, whimpered, doing whatever she did as best I could. I offered my 'paws', opened wide to show off my very white teeth, and learned to better display myself, offering up my ass and splaying my legs wide so that my pussy was ripe for inspection.
I watched the tape until I had it memorized, and could go through the commands by rote. Master came in periodically to feed and water me, take me out for walks, and to bring other tapes.
I settled back into my studies, rarely thinking of anything else, and so my days passed. I slept in my cage, I gave up trying to play with myself with that damnable contraption on, and learned my lessons. I was bathed as a dog in a big metal tub, scrubbed with a long handled brush, hosed off, then commanded to 'shake' before being fluffed with a towel. I was taken out in the garden to use the bathroom. I was not allowed to talk.
I learned so much about barking and doggy rules. Not to drink from toilets, not to chase cats, not to chew on shoes. At first that was all pretty funny, but Master had given me a very stern look when he had heard me laugh, and I was too afraid of the leash beating to not treat it seriously. I learned to bark for what I wanted, and did not laugh again.
The third tape was doggy exercises, better ways to crawl and scoot about and fetch. I stretched and crawled and practiced running on all fours. Lots and lots of stretching, as so much of a dog's life was spent in cramped positions. Staying in shape was very important for all slaves, but especially for a good dog.
I stopped thinking about human topics, my mind bent completely on all I was learning and how I could do even better than the redhead on the tapes. I nearly went into shock the first time I caught myself scratching my head with my foot. That seemed a little much, and I cried again after that. What was I becoming?
With the red haired girl, always in pigtails, I learned and memorized and changed. It occurred to me that Master must like pigtails, and I vowed that as soon as I was allowed the luxury of doing my hair again, I would have pigtails too. I was allowed to brush my hair after my baths, but not given anything to fix it with, no barrettes or hair spray, just my dog brush.
I didn't have a mirror, or access to any make-up or even nail clippers. I felt denied off all the things familiar to me, and guessed that it was done on purpose. If Master wasn't so very busy, or at least I assumed he was, then I probably wouldn't even get to keep the brush, as dogs can't comb themselves.
Master only paid me visits to check on my progress, feed or water me, take me out when I scratched on the door, occasionally praise me if I was good. He took me for walks, always holding that plastic rod, ready to punish me for any mistakes. I barked and played and crawled to order, doing all I could to prove how good I was and show him how much I had changed.
Sometimes it was a struggle to be a puppy-girl slave. I wanted so badly to play, to beg to be chained and spanked, but held myself to dog behavior, as I was not allowed to speak. I become the most submissive dog imaginable, licking Master's always clean boots whenever he pointed at them, whining and yipping when he appeared, rolling onto my back or thrusting out my ass to expose myself to him on command.
I tried very hard to be good, and kiss the paddle whenever he held it, always hoping for a reward, licking his hands to show how eager I was to please.
After a time I started to feel rather like a programmed robot. I instantly responded to my instructions, snapping into the doggy modes of behavior in all situations, absorbing it all like instinct. Sometimes I cried, and thought about my old life, which seemed so long ago and sort of unreal against the backdrop of my dungeon.
And then I thought about my Master, recalling the warmth in his voice when he called me a good dog, and felt such a rush that it drove any regrets away. No boyfriend or other Master had ever given me so much, taken so much time to really work with me, or teach me anything of value. I knew how to please him, as far as he allowed, and relished those moments. I made no decisions, just spent my days being a good pet and basking in his joy.
But how much longer could my training last?
When not working with the tapes, or being led about on my leash, all I did was think. I examined my life, old and new, and watched so much about myself alter as the days passed. My human behavior from before seemed to be nothing more than a lie. I had rushed from one bad situation to another, bowing and scraping without ever being rewarded for all my efforts. I learned I was a slave, and joined a new community, and found a freedom there, but still something had been missing. I played my scenes, barked and panted, and then went home to balance my checkbook and eat a microwave dinner.
My boyfriends had never understood, and used to make me feel dirty. My Masters had abused me before I learned about contracts and to carefully check into the potential Dom before agreeing to anything. I learned, and had so much fun, but still went home, dreaming about the next scene, the next escapist weekend spent on my knees.
It all seemed so silly now. I looked at it all from my cage and shook my head at myself. Why had it taken so long for me to find a real Master, and finally be put and kept in my place? I belonged on my knees, all the time. I was a dog, a puppy-girl, and it wasn't a game. Master had shown me that. This is what I was, and I felt so much better now that I knew.
There was no longer any struggle at all about accepting my submissiveness, in being as complete a dog as I could manage. What did I need a checkbook for? Or even nail clippers? I was a dog, a canine to the core of my being.
My Master clipped my nails the next time he took me out for a walk, and then let me lay on a rug in front of the fireplace while he read a book. I napped, content. I was a dog. Only a dog, and had never been happier in my life.
The next step in the process was so scary and exciting that I was amazed to have been so gifted. I had finally proved myself to the man I served, and he was pleased. Now I was getting my reward, and more than that, recognition for all I had done.
