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.           



           


    

