From: weasel@wolf.u-net.com (The Weasel)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bestiality
Subject: Starting Over (man/bitch - no sex)
Date: Sun, 22 Dec 1996 18:31:16 GMT

			    Starting Over

	Why am I doing this?

	I have a home here. A good job, friends, comfort, security...

	I must be mad!

	Or just madly in love.

	At last, I can admit it to myself. I don't care if she *is* a
dog. What we have goes way beyond species. There's no other way to
express it. I love her.

	I suppose I always have. Ever since the first day we met...

	She was nothing more than an adolescent back then. All
eagerness and enthusiasm, lacking her current grace and natural flow
of movement. Her paws were way too big for the rest of her body, and
she virtually tripped over them every time she broke into a full
sprint. But there was a promise of things to come. I think I saw it,
even then.

	Back then, she didn't know what hurt really was. That changed
soon enough.

	January eighth, nearly two years ago. Bob Harrison, my next-
door neighbour and former best friend, brought her back to live with
him. It's funny, now that I think about it. In all this time, he's
never once mentioned why he got Amber in the first place.

	Maybe he needed a guard dog, or protector. Or he simply had
too much money, and a great urge to spend it. Perhaps he couldn't
resist a bargain. On the other hand, did someone pressure him into
bringing her home? I simply don't know.

	One thing that I'm sure *never* crossed his mind was that she
might become a friend. A companion.

	She asked him only for very simple things. Food, a place to
stay, a little warmth. Maybe some affection from time to time.

	At first, he was merely dismissive of her. I noticed that
right from the beginning. When I visited his house, Amber would spend
the night consistently making attempts to get him to see her. Just as
consistently, he would refuse to acknowledge her presence. Finally,
she would settle down alongside me, allowing me to fill in the love
that she so badly needed.

	I would stroke her, and caress her beautiful sandy fur. And
all the time, I would wonder how Bob could be so blind to her. How he
could fail to see that he was hurting and confusing her almost
constantly.

	Still, we'd been friends for a long time, and Amber was *his*
dog. I had no right to tell him how to treat her. So, I let the
situation ride.

	With hindsight, I wish I'd done or said something back then.
Although I don't know that, in the end, it would have made much
difference. I think it would have come to this eventually anyway.

	It was three months after her arrival when he first beat the
shit out of her. It was a further four months before I managed to work
out what was going on.

	Like I said, he was my best friend. I'd visit him pretty
regularly. Sometimes I'd be surprised that Amber was nowhere to be
seen, but Bob shrugged it off. She was out in the yard, and he'd let
her in before bedtime, or she was upstairs, sleeping in the bedroom.

	Other times, she'd be around, but she'd spend her time
skulking in the corner of the room, and wouldn't come out to say
hello.

	A few times, she was even injured. Lies and excuses covered up
the facts quite adequately enough for me, though.

	They say that ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is *never* bliss.
It just means that someone else is suffering instead of you.

	I was bound to find out the truth sooner or later though.

	It happened one evening, when I was out back in the garden. At
this point, I don't remember what I'd been doing there. I don't
suppose it really matters any more.

	Anyway, I heard Bob's voice from the other side of the high
fence that separated our two houses. He was calling out Amber's name.
I listened in with half an ear, debating whether to say hi to him. I
decided not to in the end. He sounded busy with his dog.

	After about half a minute of increasingly frequent calls, the
tone and content of the voice both changed. Apparently, Amber had
returned from wherever she had been. I paused in mid-action, confused
at the tone of Bob's voice. I had never heard such focused anger
spilling from him before.

	Then came the phrase that will probably haunt me for the rest
of my life.

	"Next time I tell you to come back to me, you damned mutt,
you'll come right back! Straight away! Do - you - understand?"

	Each of the last three words were punctuated by a frantic yelp
from Amber. And then there was the whimpering. It continued on and on,
even after I had heard Bob's back door slam shut. Not just a sound of
fear, but one of pain and distress.

	He had *beaten* her? I don't know how long I just stood there,
in bewildered shock. The sound of her hurt went on and on, and my soul
screamed in sympathy with hers.

	For the first time I began to realise what Amber meant to me.
Before tonight she had always just been a dog. A special dog perhaps.
One that I was fond of. *Very* fond of, even. But, hearing her cries
of pain now, I felt an almost irresistible urge to confront Bob and
punch him. Repeatedly. Until my arm muscles locked with fatigue. Until
I fell over with exhaustion.

	I wanted to cause him as much pain as he had caused to Amber.
More than that. I wanted to kill him.

	Blindly, I stumbled back into the house. I shut the door and
tried to cut off the noise of the wounded dog. It was no use. Those
cries echoed inside my skull with frightening clarity.

	I don't know how long I stood there, trembling with reaction.
I wanted to *do* something. I couldn't decide what to do for the best.

	I could go over and take out my frustrations on Bob, but
realistically I knew that would solve nothing. We would both end up
hurt, he would still have Amber, and I would probably have assault
charges laid against me.

	I could go climb the fence and find out how Amber was. She
might need treatment. My heart lurched as I thought about the
possibility of her dying, and I mentally withdrew from the enormity of
the emotions within me.

	No. I'd get help. Do it by the book, and turn it over to the
law. They could handle the situation, and I could rest easy again.

	Police? Or the local animal shelters? I decided to ring the
animal rescue people. They were perfectly capable of getting the
police involved if necessary, and the authorities would probably take
more notice of their say-so than of mine.

	At this point, my memory cuts off and returns me to the
present. It's too painful to remember the stark truth of the matter. I
had done everything I could. Seen or spoken to *everyone* with the
faintest power to help Amber.

	Each time, the results had been exactly the same. The animal
rescue people had said that it was a police matter. The police had
decided that it was a case for the animal rescue people. When I
persisted, inspectors were sent out to evaluate the situation with Bob
and Amber.

	The inspectors would enter, and then they would leave shortly
afterwards. Presumably, reports were written out, and then the matter
was carefully buried until the next complaint.

	In desperation, I even confronted Bob about it. I told him to
stop hurting Amber. He told me it was none of my business. We both got
angry. He pushed me, I pushed him back, and inevitably, we ended up
fighting with each other. In the end, he finally managed to throw me
out of his house. After that, he seemed to take a malicious delight in
punishing Amber where I could see or hear it happening.

	For twelve months, this went on. I grew more furious and
frustrated as nothing got done. Living next door to that monster was
pure hell for me. Of course, our friendship was over now. Still, I
couldn't avoid seeing Amber at times.

	Sometimes, I even went out of my way to see her. The thought
of her suffering such a miserable existence haunted me constantly. I
was obsessed although I wouldn't admit, even to myself, that I loved
her.

	Often, in the dead of night, I would get dressed and climb
over the fence into Bob's yard. Amber was chained up in an outdoor
kennel there, and I would spend the night huddled up with her.

	I think it was the only thing that kept both of us going
sometimes. The warmth of each other's bodies, and the caressing
closeness that we shared was invaluable to us. Sometimes she was
unmarked and other times she was bleeding or bruised, but she was
always happy to see me.

	I began to think of Amber as being my dog. *My* beautiful
retriever. It was a lie, but the lie somehow made things seem more
bearable.

	Even that small comfort was eventually denied to me. Six
months ago, Bob decided to keep Amber indoors at night.

	I don't know why he changed his mind like that. I don't think
he *can* have found out about my nightly trespasses onto his property.
More likely that someone complained about her being kept out in the
middle of winter.

	In a way, it was a good thing. The bitterness and frustration
finally became too much for me. I knew I had to do something or go
crazy.

	So, I started to make my plans. Quietly, secretively, telling
and trusting no-one, I resolved to change my life. Mine *and* Amber's.

	I began to apply for jobs. Far away from here. Anything and
everything that I was capable of doing. It was a compulsion with me. I
suppose I must have filled in hundreds of application forms, but I
wasn't really counting.

	All I could think about was leaving this place and taking
Amber with me.

	It took five months, but I got there in the end. New job, new
state, starting over.

	I haven't dared to tell anyone about this. Amber's only going
to get this one chance, and I can't afford to mess it up.

	All I have to do now is go get her. It'll make me into a
criminal. I know that.

	I no longer care. The law has failed me, and I have no choice
but to seek my own justice.

	The time goes by *so* slowly! I stand near the window and
watch anxiously for any signs of Bob leaving his house. He *always*
goes out on a Thursday.

	The clock ticks on, and I start to feel nagging doubts. My
heart is hammering painfully within my chest, and my stomach is
wringing itself into knots.

	What if he *doesn't* go out tonight? This is the last chance
I'll get. What if I have to leave here without her?

	Just one chance! If there's anything out there watching over
me - fate, god, lady luck herself, *anyone* - please, just give me
this one thing...

	He should be gone by now. Damn! He's not going to leave the
house...

	Or... yes, that's him! He's going out!

	I watch, almost with disbelief as he walks down the driveway
and gets into his car. A moment later the engine starts. Bob backs out
and pulls away from his house.

	He's gone! I've got to get Amber. I'm risking *so* much. If it
works though...

	If it works, I'll have gained the world.

	My breathing is shallow, and nervous sweat trickles down my
back as I go to fetch the key. It fits the lock to my neighbor's back
door, a hangover from a time when I house-sat for him during his
holidays. Bob probably doesn't even remember that I've got it, and he
certainly wouldn't expect me to use it. I'm far too honest for *that*.

	I smile, a little maliciously. Yes, I'm usually painfully
honest in my dealings. The difference this time is that I have to
break the law to do the right thing. And I won't hesitate to do it.

	Blessing the early December darkness, I go out into the back
yard and clamber over the fence into next-door's property. I land with
a muffled thud on the other side and waste no time in approaching the
back of the house.

	Excitement and dread are both fighting for control over me.
Trying to slow my heartbeat, I reach out to the solid back door and
insert the key into the lock. One sharp turn and there is a satisfying
click.

	I turn the handle and push. Nothing happens!

	I push harder. The door still stands fast, although I notice
that it gives more at the bottom than the top.

	Damn! He must have fitted a bolt.

	Well, there's nothing for it but to go ahead with the plan.
Where subtlety fails, a sledgehammer will have to suffice.

	I kick the door. Hard. And again. It gives a little this time,
and on the third blow, the door caves inward.

	I can hear Amber upstairs. Ironically, she's making my rescue
attempt more difficult. Her frantic barking is sure to attract
attention before long.

	No time for that now. He's got a burglar alarm. I'm going to
have to key the code in before it goes off.

	Did I remember the code right? Has he changed it in the past
few years? I tense with unbearable anticipation as I hit the enter
button.

	A pause. Only an instant, but it seems like eternity.

	The light pattern changes color. The numbers have been
accepted. I let out a shaky breath.

	Now to find Amber. She's making enough noise to raise the
dead, and every instinct is telling me to get away from here. I'll go,
but not until I can take Amber with me.

	As I race up the stairs, my nerves are screeching like a
mistuned violin. All I ask is another few minutes. Then Amber and I
will be on our way, and we can take our chances on a new life together.

	Anxiously, I try to locate the sounds of her barking. As I get
closer to her, I hear her scratching on the walls and the woodwork.
She's probably making a hell of a mess, trying to get out to me. It
gives me a sense of grim satisfaction to think of her final crime. The
one that Bob *won't* be able to punish her for.

	Finally, I find her. She's been shut into a tiny, dark room.
Thankfully, the door isn't locked.

	I open it and she bounds out, nearly knocking me over in her
ecstasy at seeing me again.

	My Amber. My beautiful, brown-eyed Amber. I could stay here
forever, drowning myself in her love, and it is with tearing regret
that I force practicalities to come first.

	"Come on, my love," I say gently to her. With a last caress, I
turn and head hastily towards the door. Amber seems to know what I
want, and she follows me without protest.

	Before I go, I find time to take Amber's leash from the hook
in the hallway. Sure, I could use the shop-bought one to lead her out
of the house. I could - but this is my one small gesture of defiance
to Bob. I'm not only taking his dog. I'm taking his *control* of the
dog.

	I'd like to do a lot more. Destroy his house, beat him to a
bloody pulp, throw him into the river with weights attached to his
limbs. All of that and more. But practicality wins out. I'll be
content to treat him better than he's treated Amber. I'll just take
her, and we'll leave. She belongs to me now, and I belong to her.

	We depart from the house together, in the dark. I can hardly
believe that things have gone so smoothly. There is no-one in sight as
I help Amber into my car. Nobody will know that I'm gone until it's
way too late.

	I have my essential belongings. Enough for me and Amber.

	I've had to give up a lot. *So* much. What the hell does
*that* matter?

	I look into the warm depth of Amber's loving gaze. We have
each other. It's enough. It will always be enough.

The Weasel