I can clearly remember my first dog-training session. I was a pitiful dog, to be honest, without a tail, mask or anything. A crawling disaster, really. The Lady taught me to fetch, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I had to wait for Her commands, crawl with lightning speed, lay down exactly on the right spot beside Her feet and wait for the next throw. She also taught me how to bark, which was not easy either. Wagging my tail however turned out to be impossible, because I had none to wag with. I tried to use my dick instead, suggesting I was a Cock-er Spaniel, but Mistress wouldn’t hear of it and kicked me into submission. One’s bark is worse than one’s bite, as they saying goes, but in this case Her bite was far worse than Her bark. I loved it and I was ready to sign-up for a kennel. A few years later I changed my tune a bit when a Lady ordered me to eat dog food. Humps of meat covered in gravy. Unimaginable gross! It smelled like a cesspit and tasted like my grandfathers socks, covered in snot. I begged and barked for mercy, but She insisted. Like a pitbull, you know.