Date: Sat, 7 Feb 2004 14:09:01 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Dog Pack, part 1

THE DOG PACK

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories



To: The Editor, Journal Of Contemporary Studies In
Human Psychology

Sir:

The question of whether man is truly a pack animal, or
a group of individuals who on occasions co-operate to
their mutual benefit, is long one that has been of
interest to members of our profession.  I have
recently had firsthand experiences that will
contribute to this debate, and ask your indulgence in
communicating these findings to others who are
currently engaged on research in this area.

On a recent flight to Sydney form London I was
catching up on my reading and had your journal open at
last months' fascinating article "Control Practices In
The Marines - A Critical Appraisal Of Informal
Hierarchies."  After dinner had been served the man in
the next seat and I started talking.  He had seen my
reading material, and expressed an interest.  On
hearing that this article focussed on the question of
whether marines ordered their lives according to
seniority, or some "personality trait", he asked me to
explain further.  I gave him a brief review of
thinking in this area, noting that current theories
tend to suggest that men are indeed individuals who
co-operate when necessary.  He appeared to be quite
upset, and said that he had indisputable proof that
this was not so, and that they were in fact almost the
perfect example of a pack animal.

We had a most stimulating discussion, and when we
landed in Sydney he told me that, as a scientist, I
would be welcome to see a pack of men in action.  I
was invited to spend a few days at his station in the
Outback, and during my stay in Australia I took him up
on this offer.  When I was there I did in fact see the
perfect example of a human pack in action, and am keen
to report this to my colleagues who are conducting
research in this area.  As we know, such studies as
there are focus on groups such as soldiers, or sports
teams, but we recognise that the study methodologies
are potentially flawed:  in the armed forces, there is
a separation between "officers" and "men", muddying
the structures that might anyway evolve.  And sports
teams are short-lived, and do not occupy their members
full time - the presence of wives, children, and so on
again disturbs that which we are trying to study.

In Australia I saw a group of men where both of these
constraints were not present:  they were all "equal"
and there was not an officer class, and they were in
their pack full time, with no external influences.  In
advance of the publication of my next paper on this
subject, I would like to share the raw research
material with my colleagues, and  this is in the form
of a transcript of my conversation with a member of a
pack of men:  he had suffered a minor injury and was
unable to participate in the pack's activities that
day, and my host kindly agreed to let me spend time
with him and interview with him.  Naturally my
professional ethics prevent me from revealing the
proper names and addresses of the people concerned,
but I do not think that this invalidates the material
I have collected, in any way.

I plan to return to Australia in the next few weeks to
conduct further research, and in the meantime, I
remain,

Your obedient servant,

Pete Brown.

Attachment to P Brown's Letter To The Editor.

This is a true transcript of my conversation with the
man "Six", transcribed by me.  In what follows, my
questions are prefixed by "Q", and his replies by "6".

Q:  Hi, can you state your name, for the record,
please?

6:  Six, sir.

Q: No, your proper name.

6:  Six, sir.  I was known as Steve Masters before I
came here, but since then I've always been Six, and
that's how I think of myself.

Q:  And your age, please, Six?

6:  I'm just over thirty, sir.  It's difficult to say
precisely as there's no way of measuring the time
here.  But I had my half-yearly medical last week, and
the vet said I was in superb condition for a thirty
year old.

Q: And how long have you been here?

6: I came here when I was twenty three, sir.  So that
makes seven years.

Q: And why are you called six?  My host has told me
you're in his pack - does that denote the time you
have been in the pack, you were the sixth one to join?

6: No, sir.  Our owner had just retired the previous
six when he acquired me, and so I took the unused
number.  There are eight of us in the pack, and we all
have the numbers one to eight.  Our owner finds it
easier to keep track of us that way, without the need
to remember proper names.

Q: Does the number have any other meaning - does it
denote your status in the pack?

6: No, sir.  I'm the number two dog, and I'm Six.  The
top dog is Three - he deposed me about two months ago.
  And as I get older, I suppose I'll slip down in  the
pack ranking, as there's always younger blokes coming
up, eager to make top dog.  I'm a good, strong
fighter, but there's no way, in the end, that a bloke
in his thirties can beat one in his mid-twenties, is
there?

Q: You say you were brought here when you were
twenty-three.   What did you do before that?

6: Worked in construction.  I was a labourer.  Left
school at sixteen as I didn't like book work, and went
straight onto a site.  I was doing OK, I suppose - got
my girl friend in the club, and she was nagging me to
get a place for us, so I'd scraped together everything
I owned, and could borrow, and got a mortgage on a
small flat.

Q: What happened?

6: Well, about the only bit of fun I ever got in life
was to play rugby.  Training on a Wednesday and the
match on Saturday really took my mind off her constant
nagging,  and all that stuff that kept coming about
overdue bills.  I went away on a long weekend tour
with the club, to Amsterdam.  In one of those bars
this girl came onto me - snogged me, and started
groping my cock.  So I ditched my mates and went back
to her place when she asked me to.   Well, I mean, my
girl friend was well gone now, and wouldn't let me
into her in case I harmed the foetus, or some such
rubbish she'd heard from her girl friends.  I was
really ready for sex, so when this girl offered, I
wasn't going to refuse, was I?  I was well into
shagging her when I felt something prick my bum -
she'd jabbed a needle into me.  Then the next thing I
knew I was in one of the transport crates, head
splitting... And they finally delivered me here.

Q: Transport crates?

6: You know - cages just big enough for a bloke, so
you can hardly move.  I must have been in there at
least a whole day to get down here to Oz.  Just as
well I was naked, I suppose, as I could piss and crap
through the bars.  And they had one of those water
drip things on the side - I could push it with my
tongue and suck, and get something to drink.  They're
used all the time here for transporting dogs around.
Mind you, I could hardly stand up when they undid the
padlock and let me out, as I was so cramped.

Q: When you arrived, what happened?

6: Well, I started shouting and all that, demanding to
be let out, threatening to call the police, all that
sort of stuff.  They just laughed.  There I was,
bollock naked, in front of all these blokes who had
just let me out of a fucking cage.  Then the Trainer
told me to shut up or else he'd punish me, and, as I
didn't, I got my first taste of the stinger - that's
what we dogs call it, I don't know what its proper
name is, but if you ask my Owner or the Trainer I'm
sure they'll tell you - it's some sort of modified
cattle prod they use in the stockyards to herd
animals.  Fucking hurts when it touches your naked
skin - and I'd got acres of that, as I'm starkers.

6: I was unsteady on my pins anyway, and I fell over
when he just touched me and lay there twitching.  Then
he told me that that was the low dose, for training
purposes, and that if I didn't behave he'd do it
again, with the power turned up.  He told me that he
was an expert at training new dogs, and that I'd soon
learn.

Q: How did you feel about being called a dog?

6: I thought he was barmy. I mean, I didn't think you
could treat blokes like dogs, and train them like
dogs.  Those first few hours taught me different.  And
as the day went on, I could see why he called all the
blokes I saw dogs - they were all acting like them.  I
never thought it would happen to me, so it just shows
you how wrong you can be.

Q: On the first day... After you'd recovered from the
'stinger'?

6: The Trainer led me off to the kennels - well to the
room the kennel maids use.  There I was, starkers, and
there were these two Aussie girls in their green
uniforms.  I tried to cover my cock with my hands, as
you would, and got another dose of the stinger thing.
The Trainer told me that dogs are not modest about
their cocks, and I wasn't allowed to cover myself.
Fucking hell, I still remember the embarrassment - I
was blushing bright red.  I mean, you get naked in
front of a girl when you're going to shag her, don't
you?  Not stand there nude, with two of them, and the
Trainer looking at you.

6: It got worse when the kennel maids started to groom
me.  I'm used to it now, of course. But that first
time - well!  I suppose all the women I ever went with
were modest, or something, but they never wanted to
touch my body much, and never wanted to go into a
shower with me.  But these two kennel maids put on
their rubber aprons, and washed me all over as I stood
under the shower - and I do mean all over, of course:
pulled my foreskin back, and washed down my arse crack
and everything.  And laughing and talking to
themselves about what a dirty dog I was (well, as I've
said, I was in that crate a long time, and I had to
crap).  And when they rubbed the sponge over my raw
cock head - well, you can imagine what happened!

Q: No, what?

6: Fuck me, mate, are you a eunuch or something?  I
got the biggest hard on I'd ever had - wouldn't you,
with two girls in rubber aprons washing you down in
the shower?  Look, I don't know about you, but before
then the only time anyone had ever seen my cock hard
was when it was about to go up them.  You don't even
have a hard on at the club, when you're with other
blokes, do you?  I'd still got this massive erection
when the Trainer told me to lie on the grooming table,
and they got to work with the clippers.

6: I mean, I used to have quite long hair, and look at
it now! And I had a real furry chest and a lot on my
belly, too - see, it's still there, but all trimmed
down neatly.

(Note to the transcript:  Six had one of those
ultra-short haircuts so that it looked basically as if
the top of his head had a few days growth on it.  He
clearly had a hairy body, but the residues were so
short that they were plastered to his skin all over.
He was deeply tanned, and the effect of all this
trimmed hair was to make him look as if he had a short
coat of black hair all over).

6: I wondered why they left a bit of my pubic hair
when they shaved my balls.  And of course when the
Trainer made me turn over, get up on my knees, press
my head down onto the table then reach back and pull
my bum apart, I thought I was going to die of shame -
I could feel the clipper, then the razor, take out all
the hair in my crack and around my hole.  The kennel
maids are experts, of course, so it didn't hurt or
anything.  And I'm totally used to them doing this to
me now - my Owner has all us dogs trimmed once a week.
 But that first time - fuck me, It was awful:  a
couple of women pulling your cock around and shaving
your balls, then seeing your arse hole.  And all the
time the Trainer watching, and standing there with his
stinger in case I tried to get away.

Q: You said they left some of your pubic hair... Is
that the same amount as you have now?

6: Basically, yes.  I used to be a really hairy bugger
- big forest of it, stretching right across my body.
Lots of long hair on my balls.  Big thick growth
around the base of my cock, so it looked as if my cock
was growing up out of a bird's nest.  All of us dogs
are clipped smooth everywhere like me, but the Owner
lets us keep this little bit of pubic hair - although
it is trimmed to an inch, as you can see.  Just as
well, really, in the dark, it's useful.

Q: Please, six, did I take that down wrong?  You said
it was useful in the dark...

6: Yes, at night, out here, it's pitch black.  And in
the kennels we don't have any lights.  So if a bloke
claims his rights, how do you know it's him?  We're
all the same size and shape, as you've seen.  So you
need to sniff his scent.  There's more sweat and scent
glands around the tops of your thighs and your balls
than anywhere else, and that tiny patch helps to trap
the scent. So you put your nose down, take a good long
sniff, and you know if it's the bloke he says he is.

Q: Are you telling me you can tell the other men -
dogs - by their smell?  And what's this about rights?

6:  The smell - of course you can. Haven't you ever
stuck your nose right down into a bloke's crotch?
Providing he's been naked a bit, so there's no clothes
soaked in dried piss to confuse you, that special
scent all blokes have down there is just that bit
different for everyone.  Even when we all get fed the
same stuff.  I can tell all the other dogs in the pack
apart, just by smelling them - well, sometimes I need
to lick their cocks as well, just a bit, to get a
taste of their pre-cum.

Q: And you said "Rights"?

6: Well, I've told you how we're all ranked.  I'm the
number two dog at the moment, so only Three, the top
dog, can fuck me whenever he wants. And if I want to
fuck, as the number two I can just take any other dog
except Three, who's number one.  It saves a lot of
time and worry, I tell you - we all know our place,
and when you just want a fuck, it makes it all so
easy. Any dog has the right to fuck any dog lower than
him in the ranking, and that dog can't refuse.

Q: How is this ranking done?  Is it your Owner, or the
Trainer?

6: No, of course not!  That wouldn't work, would it?
We work it out ourselves in the good old fashioned way
- you challenge a bloke, you fight, and if you win,
you outrank him and you can fuck him.  In fact, that's
the point of the fight - you fight until you manage to
fuck him, so he knows he's well and truly beaten.  I
fought my way to the top, and was top dog for about
two years, but, as I said, there's always younger guys
coming along, and a couple of months ago Three
challenged me, we fought, and I ended up skewered on
his dick.  So now I'm only number two, and whenever
Three wants, he takes my arse - and any of the others,
of course.  As I said, it's inevitable I'm going to go
lower and lower in the ranking as I get older, as the
younger dogs always have the edge sooner or later over
the older ones.  In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if
Eight - who's currently third dog - didn't pick a
fight with me this week, especially as I'm injured.

Q: But your Owner, or the Trainer - all this
fighting...

6:  It's not continuous - if you're challenged, you
can't be challenged again for another week, regardless
of whether you win or lose.  Most of the pack
re-shuffling takes place on a Wednesday or Thursday -
the Owner tends to use us at the weekends and we want
to know our places before then.  And it gives time for
some of the bruises to get a bit less painful.  We're
not allowed to do permanent damage, of course - no
broken bones, no eye gouging, no tearing off of the
other dog's balls, nothing like that - the Trainer
would break up a fight that got too serious like that,
and I guess we'd both be severely punished.  It's more
like wrestling, with a few punches thrown in to try to
subdue the other dog, and the aim is to force yourself
into the other bloke.  But it can be quite vicious,
especially at the top ranks as it's really good to be
top dog and you don't want to lose it.  Still, it
comes to all of us...

Q: Tell me a bit about punishment...

6: The Trainer only really uses the stinger -
especially when it's set to "stun" - if there's a
really serious problem:  he wades in to us if a fight
gets too serious, or if a dog does something really
stupid like hit a kennel maid. - it did happen once,
when one of the girls accidentally nicked a dog's
balls when he was having his regular weekly trim.  I
don't think he meant to hurt her - it was more a
reflex action, really, but she screamed, and the
Trainer knocked him out cold with the stinger.  When
we're working, the Owner and Trainer both have light
whips - nothing heavy, just very thin fibre, and
they'll crack them a lot to make a lot of noise, and
occasionally let the tips caress across our bums or
our shoulders.  But ht's not punishment, really - more
to encourage us.  If you go too near to the fence,
your collar will of course start to hurt you, and I
suppose that's punishment.  Otherwise, well, it's the
kind of standard stuff you'd expect if a dog was
behaving badly - a few good hard spanks on your bum
from the Trainer, with his leather strap.  And they
might make you miss a meal - that's really tough, when
you work as hard as we do.

Q:  Yes, this collar... When did you get that?

6: Well, I was telling you about my first day here.
After I'd been clipped, the Trainer measured my neck
and brought out a collar the right size - he told me
that he'd allowed for growth, as with the work outs
and stuff, my neck would get even stronger.  When it
comes out of its box, all shiny, the ends are open so
it can be put around your neck.  Then there's a
special tool like a huge pair of pliers that fits
around the collar - the Trainer squeezed the handles
together ,and the ends of the collar close up.  They
put some sort of glue on it first, so that once it's
closed around your neck, it's there for good - I've
always worn it, ever since that first day.  It does
feel odd at first - even though it only weighs a pound
or so, there's this kind of 'presence' that you can't
help but notice.  You know you're wearing your
master's collar; but you soon get used to it. It
really lets you know that you're a dog, and no longer
a bloke - that and going around naked, of course.

6: It's not just nice to look at - it's full of
electronic stuff, too.  As I said, if you go too near
the perimeter fence around this place, it starts to
tingle.  And you just don't go closer than about ten
yards, as by then it's really painful.  And when we're
working, our owner can talk to us and give us
instructions: there's a separate earpiece you put in
and that talks to the collar, and the owner talks to
the collar, so you hear him.

6: Mind you, it has changed a bit - on that first day
they then clipped onto my collar my owner's name and
address disk in case I strayed and needed to be
returned.  We got rid of them a couple of years ago as
the metal could "clink" against the collar, and it
could spoil our work if we were in a delicate
situation... The Owner had us tattooed, instead.

(Six turned his shoulder towards me at this point, and
there, on his upper right arm, it said "Property of
XXXXX. Please call xx-xxxx-xxxx if found.  Reward
Offered."

6:  On that first day, too, they told me I was now
Six, and the final thing I had to suffer was having my
number tattooed on my belly, and on my back.  I hated
it at first, but it does really make a difference when
we're working, as you can tell from a long way away
who's who - we're all so alike otherwise, it's
impossible to tell us apart at a distance.   Have you
ever had a tattoo?  Especially big ones, like these?
I tell you, it really hurts at first, especially the
one on my chest and belly. The one all down my back
wasn't quite so bad.

6: Finally on that first day they took me to the
exercise yard, and introduced me to the rest of the
pack - I almost freaked out when I saw the seven other
nude guys, their collars shining in the sun, all with
their numbers tattooed on them, like me.  I felt like
some sort of freak - they were all so tanned, as I am
now, of course, and I was basically brown on top from
where I worked on the site without a shirt, then
deathly white from there on down.    The trainer
called the dog who was then top dog over - I always
remember him, Seven, he's gone now, but he was a
really nice bloke:  really tough and hard in a fight,
but basically nice.  The Trainer told him to introduce
me to the other dogs, and to "look after me" for the
first few days - I've done it myself since then:  you
need to make sure the new guy gets his share of the
food, show him where he can piss, all that sort of
thing.  And, of course, you keep the other dogs away
from him for a bit, until he's settled down - I mean,
he's going to be the eighth dog in the ranking, isn't
he, and you can't have seven other dogs all piling in
and using his arse on day one, can you? You need to
give a bloke time to get used to it.  After the first
night when I saw all the other dogs fucking, I knew it
was going to happen to me - but that's where Seven was
basically so nice - when he did assert his rights
after the first few days, he was really gentle the
first time, and only gradually build up to the sort of
good hard fucking a bloke really likes to do.  And
when he thought it was time I took my proper place in
the pack, he actually slapped a couple of the other
dogs around who tried to take me too violently the
first time.  Yes, he was a good pack leader - I did a
lot of the same sort of things when I was top dog.

Q: Perhaps we could talk more about these initial
experiences later - but I'm really interested in this
"work" you do, and in your daily routine...  Do you
mind talking about that?

6: No, of course not, sir.  And if you're staying as
the Owner's guest, I guess you can always come down to
the kennels and watch us - the Owner often brings his
guests along, and that's one of the advantages of
being top dog that I'll really miss.  And he will
perhaps invite you to see us work - you do ride, don't
you, sir?

Q:  Yes, I do ride.  What do guests do when they come
to the kennels that's so good for the top dog,
though...

6: Well, you know - treats.  If it's after lunch, they
often have a small piece of fruit, or, even better, a
chocolate, that they picked up as they left the dining
room.  And everyone likes to reward a dog through the
bars of the exercise yard if they've seen a good
display, don't they?  Well, which ever dog they give
it to, he has to turn it over to the top dog - he's
the only one who gets to eat chocolate!  They know
he'll really take it out on them later on if they
don't.

6: But look, sir, if you want to talk for a lot
longer, will you let me go for a piss, please sir?
I'm not used to being indoors for so long, and, well,
you know, we don't bother so much about bladder
control as we're always out of doors, usually working
so we can't stop, and naked - it's easier just to piss
as you're going along.  But sitting here, it would be
embarrassing and I'm sure I'd be punished if I left a
puddle on the carpet.

Q:  Of course!  Go and do your business...

(I watched as he got up of the floor in one lithe
movement - he'd been half crouching, half sitting
cross-legged, and he went from that to standing fully
upright in one motion, exhibiting superb control of
his body.  He really was magnificent - dark, muscled
body, six three, I'd say, probably two forty pounds.
And two forty pounds of pure muscle - I could see
there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, and yet at the
same time he was not grossly over muscled like a body
builder - his whole body shrieked of hard, regular
work, work that taxed and used every part of him.  He
had broad shoulders and the classic "V" shaped body
before his arse flared out to top his thick thighs -
the work "flanks" comes to mind to best describe him.
I saw the big black "6" that started at his neck line
and finished at his arse crack, and his steel collar
glinting above that.  I resolved to understand more
about why he was marked like this.  He went out of the
French windows, and then, to my amazement, just stood
facing the lawn and let fly with a huge stream of piss
- he made no attempt to conceal himself from me, and
did not seem to be ashamed of what he was doing in any
way. He shook his cock to cause the last drops to fly
off, then bounded back into the room, his cock
bouncing up and down in time to his steps.)

6: Thank, you sir.

Q: Would you like a drink, Six? I was just going to
order coffee...

6: Thank you, sir, yes, please.

(The servant came when I pressed the bell, and I
ordered coffee, then asked Six what he would like.  He
looked completely puzzled, and the servant whispered
to me "The dogs are only allowed water, sir.  The
Owner things that anything else is bad for their
health".)

Q: Sit down, then Six, as we're going to be talking a
long time.  I'm fascinated by that you've told me
already."

6: Thank you, sir.

(That same lithe movement, an he settled onto the
floor again.  I couldn't help noticing how his
low-hanging balls and long cock were displayed for me
to see so clearly, and how Six was not at all even
conscious of this.  The servant came into the room
again, and a beautiful Georgian silver coffee pot,
sugar basin and cream jug were put on a side table for
me to serve myself.  The servant placed a stainless
steel bowl of water on the floor next to Six.  I
poured myself a coffee into the delicate china cup,
and sipped appreciatively.  All the time, Six watched
me attentively.  I drained my cup, and looked at Six,
as if giving him permission to continue his
narrative.)

Q: Go on, Six.....

6: Sir...

Q: Yes, Six?

6: Sir, I'm really thirsty, sir.  All this talking -
I'm not used to it.

Q: Quite!  I thought the servant was going to bring
you a glass of water - I'll ring the bell.

6: Sir, it's here...  The bowl...

Q: Well, drink up then, as I'm eager to get started
again.

(To my astonishment Six uncurled his legs so that he
was kneeling, then bent down and half lapped, half
slurped the water up from the bowl.  His shoulders
bobbed up and down with the effort, and I could see
his whole body moving as he struggled to get he water
down.  I was rewarded with a view of his arse, too -
the dark pink of his pucker offering who knows what
delights - this man was, I knew, experienced at
fucking, and at being fucked.  Could I dare ask to
enjoy this hidden delight of his?  Or would I prefer
to take hold of his glorious balls and cock, and
caress and stroke them to climax - as he drank, they
swung freely between his exciting thighs, and I was
entranced).

Q: You could pick it up and drink, Six!

6:  Sir, us dogs are not allowed to, sir.  We're not
allowed to take food from the table, or to use our
hands when eating.  I'm used to drinking and eating
like this, sir...

Q: Yes, that raises an interesting point - tell me
about daily life, then.

6: Well, sir, it depends on whether it's just a
routine day, or whether our Owner is going hunting.

Q: Start with a normal day... I'd like to explore more
about this hunting later.

6: We all sleep together in the kennels, of course.
Its' heated in the winter, as it can get cold here at
nights then, but only just to keep the chill off.  And
in the summer it's very hot.  But we have straw to
sleep on, and that helps with keeping us out of the
piss and crap - we all try not to do it once we've
been locked up for the night but sometimes, you know,
accidents happen.  They deliberately made the sleeping
compartment very small so we're all pressed close
together, as that makes it nice for us:  it's really
good to have all  the other dogs around you, curled up
with you, and on you... It makes for a great
atmosphere.  It's pitch black in there, though, as
they want us to sleep, and that's why it's so
important to be able to tell another dog by his scent
- otherwise, a dog could try and fool you by insisting
on his rights and you might think he was higher in the
pack than you were and let him up your arse.  You
always take a good scent at a bloke before you let him
fuck you, as I mentioned earlier.

6: They unlock us at dawn, and we usually all run out
more or less in a pack - generally we're pretty
desperate to get to the sand pit in the yard, so we
can piss and crap.  It must look odd, sometimes -
eight of us, all naked, running out of the sleeping
compartment and then standing there all pissing away.
The Owner and the Trainer don't really mind where we
piss when we're out of the kennels, but in the kennels
they don't like piss stains and the smell everywhere,
so we're only allowed to piss in the sand pit.  And
that's the only place we can crap, too - you have to
cover it up with sand when you've done, and about once
a week the kennel maids sift through it with rakes and
take all the dried stuff away.

6: The Trainer is always there and watches us do our
business - it's all right for him, as he's got a
jacket and Jeans on, but we can be cold in the chill
of dawn and sometimes you can feel yourself breaking
out in goose flesh and starting to shiver.  He's
always mounted, so he must get up even earlier than us
to go to the stables and get his horse saddled.  When
we're done, he takes us for our morning run - it's
usually the same route around some of the station,
about seven miles.  That really gets us going for the
day, and when we get back, it's time for our morning
meal.  The kennel maids have been in whilst we were
out and have cleared up the sleeping compartment - as
I say, we try not to soil it as it makes it unpleasant
for them to have to move a lot of piss and crap soaked
straw.  They feed us - we kneel on both sides of the
feeding trough, and they pour the morning feed in and
we get our heads down and slurp it up.  It's funny
when you're first in the pack,  to have to eat without
using your hands or anything, but you soon get used to
the guys around you pushing and shoving to get at the
tastiest morsels - not hard, of course, it's kind of
like a bit of play.   But it is serious too, as
there's only just enough for all eight of us, and you
do need to make sure you get your share.

6: After that, the kennel maids groom us.  If it's a
normal day, it's just hosing down and a quick going
over with a wash cloth - it doesn't take them long, as
we know we've got to bend over and open our bum cracks
and so on, to make their job easier.  I tell you, you
don't want to upset the kennel maids, as they can get
their own back in all sorts of subtle ways!  Every
third or fourth day, though, it's shaving time:  they
use one of those electric clippers that leaves stubble
on our faces as our Owner likes that, and a finer
blade to go over our balls and so on as he likes us
totally smooth there.

(As he said this, Six kind of cupped his balls in one
hand and presented them for inspection - the tanned
skin was, as he said,  perfectly smooth and I could
see his pigeon-egg balls through the finely stretched
skin).

6: After that, it depends on how the Trainer feels.
If he's not in a very good mood because we didn't take
our exercise run fast enough, or didn't keep together,
or something, then it's working out - all the usual
stuff like push-ups, star jumps, squats, that kind of
stuff.  He's really keen on us doing it all right, and
exactly to his command, and he quite often
"encourages" any of us who are slacking with his
tawse.  If he's in a good mood, though, we'll play a
game - beach volley balls is a favourite, with four of
us on each team - it really teaches you co-ordination,
and all the jumping and diving is really good for your
body.  Sometimes we play silly games, like relay races
- we have to race up and down the course with a ball
in our mouth, pass it on to the next guy, and so on.
And we have one of those dog agility courses set up,
and at least twice a week we go on that  - it's quite
like an assault course, as we have to climb walls,
wriggle on our bellies through big pipes, swing on
ropes, and all that sort of stuff.

6:  It's usually getting to the hottest part of the
day by then, and we're allowed to rest - there are a
couple of trees in the kennels compound, and we all
just like to sprawl there in as much shade as we can -
well, you know how it is:  we're worn out from the
morning's exercises, and it's really good just to lie
there in the shade, with your mates all around you.
Some of us have sex during that time if we feel like
it, but most of us are usually too exhausted and just
want to lie there.  If there is sex, it isn't
particularly serious - just a bit of gentle sucking on
a nice cock, or caressing and stroking a bloke, and
there's almost never any serious fucking because of
the heat and tiredness.

6: In the afternoon it's more games: the Trainer never
makes us work out in the afternoon. And at least twice
a week he gets us to run down to the creek, and we
swim as he says that's excellent exercise for us.
After the afternoon games, we come back to our
compound and we get the evening feed - same as the
morning, really.  We only get fed twice a day of
course, as the Owner says that's the healthiest option
for dogs and if we ate in the middle of the day, then
we wouldn't work as hard in the afternoon.  After
we've been fed, we just sit around in the compound
until we're locked in the sleeping compartment at
eight.

Q: You said that it's different on days when your
owner wants to hunt...?

6: Yes, and there again, it depends on what type of
hunt it is.  If he's just going after game, wild
birds, jack rabbits, that kind of stuff, then after
we're let out in the morning and we've pissed and
crapped, we're fed straight away.  The kennel maids
groom us properly, then the Trainer runs us in the
pack across to the main house to wait for the Owner to
finish his breakfast and come out.  We hunt for him
all day then, and it can be a long day - sometimes
they bring a fresh horse out for him when he stops for
his lunch, and that's bad news for us as he only stops
for half an hour or so, then, on a fresh horse, he's
ready to go again but we're already really tired.
Mind you, these hunts are not really difficult - we've
got our ear pieces in, and we just have to run along,
flushing the birds into the sky, or driving the game
towards him, following his instructions.  That's why
our tattooed numbers are so big - he needs to be able
to see who is who, and give us orders to position us
properly to get the best drives.

6: If we're hunting prey, then it's a different
matter!  It's panic stations first thing in the
morning as he never hunts prey just by himself -
always asks a load of neighbours and friends over.
Well, you can understand that, can't you - it's so
expensive to bring the prey in here and prepare it,
then take it back afterwards, that he's only going to
do that when he can share the fun with others.  So the
kennel maids are all over us, making sure we're a real
credit to our Owner, really grooming us and making
sure we're squeaky clean.  They insist we have an
enema, too, as although the owner doesn't mind us
crapping when we're out hunting with him, he doesn't
like to see us dogs doing it in front of his friends -
there are often ladies there, after all. I used to
hate it at first, but the maids are gentle really and
the nozzle going up you doesn't really hurt.

6: The Trainer puts on his formal black hunting jacket
on these days, and drives us over to the main house,
where we all mill around outside as the guests
assemble- you've probably seen pictures of those big
fox hunts in England, where all the men and women
hunting  are in special red coats, the hunt servants,
like the Trainer, are in black, and us dogs run around
in and out of them all.  It's exciting, actually, and
a great atmosphere.  The Owner likes us to be excited,
as he thinks we run faster, and the guests, sitting
there on their horses, like to see us, too.  They're
eating little hot sausage rolls and sandwiches, and
there's mulled wine.  Some of them feed us little bits
of sandwich, leaning down from their horses so we can
take it from their fingers directly into our mouths,
and it's really good to have something different to
eat as a change from the regular stuff in the troughs.
 Mind you, if the Trainer sees us taking too much, or
appearing to beg from the guests, he'll give us a
little crack across our bum, or our shoulders, with
the whip.

6: It's always a big scene when the prey is brought
out - he's always in a travelling cage, on wheels, and
when it's pushed around the corner and the prey sees
all the huntsmen in red, the horses, and us, you can
guarantee that they're going to freeze, as if they
can't believe their eyes.
Then....

At that moment, there was a respectful knocking at the
door, and the servant informed me that it was lunch
time.  He told me that my host hoped that I wouldn't
mind just having a light lunch of sandwiches, salad,
and a glass of fine wine as he had many business calls
to make and we would be having dinner that night.  He
wheeled in one of those service carts, and I was
astounded at the sheer choice and opulence of the
things on offer - at least six different kinds of
sandwich, small pies, cold chicken.... All that sort
of stuff.

Six would have gone on talking but I wanted to make
sure I really listened to what he was saying, so I
turned off my tape recorder and started to eat.  Six
sat there in front of me on the floor still, but I saw
his eyes watching every mouthful as I moved it off my
plate.  I broke a tiny sandwich in half and went to
hand it to him, and was astonished when he knelt
forward and took it gently from my fingers directly
into his mouth, gently licking the tips of my fingers
with his tongue as if to make sure he got every
morsel.  I fed him several "titbits" as I continued to
eat, and the servant came into the room and refilled
his water bowl, but I remembered that my host did not
like his dogs eating other than their two set meals,
so even though he continued to look pleadingly, I did
not give him too much.

End Of Part 1.  To Be Continued.