Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an105831@anon.penet.fi (The Archivist)
Subject: TG ARCHIVES: The Island of Circe
Date: Thu, 20 Oct 1994 14:06:57 UTC

[Unfortunately, no one has been able to provide the ninth section of
this story. Neither `The Archivist' nor your editor had this one
complete. However, it still works in its incomplete form.]

			   Island of Circe
				  I

	I sat at my mistress' feet and watched the news segment with
growing fascination and arousal. Since I had been told to watch the
screen I didn't turn to look at her but I felt that her eyes were on
me, not on the segment which she must already have seen. I was sure
that she would be aware, at least, of my sexual arousal. Indeed given
that, as usual when we were private, I was naked apart from my collar,
she could hardly have missed it. Not that that embarrassed me any
more. I long ago gave up my right to hide anything from her. When it
was over I turned over onto my knees and waited.

	"I was thinking we might visit the place, you and I," she
said, "Would that please you?"

	I did not answer immediately. One of her rules is that I must
never speak without pausing for thought. And indeed thought was needed
to sort out my contradictory feelings.

	"It pleases me to obey," I began at last, "and what would
happen to me there might please me. It frightens me and excites me. I
find the things that are supposed to be done to slaves there erotic in
fantasy. How I would face the reality I can't say. I would try to be
obedient to your will. I always will whatever happens."

	Johans Island, the news segment had informed us, had been a
typical Pacific volcanic island. Until `98 it was believed to be a
French dependency but, in that year, an examination of historical
documents showed that the French claim of sovereignty was invalid.
Ordinarily this minor fact would have been glossed over but the Chief
Barmat, the hereditary leader of the remaining native population had
the benefit of a combined honours degree in law and business studies
from an English redbrick university and he knew an opportunity when he
saw one. He approached Biotechniques, already a world player in bio-
technology and soon did a deal that gave him the resources to fight a
case through the international courts. Soon Johans Island was an
independent monarchy with its own constitution and its own laws.
Laws, It hardly needs to be said, peculiarly liberal in the area of
biological research.

	When, in 2003 the Barmat research institute produced the first
effective anti-argathic the proportion of the resulting huge profits
that went into the island's coffers was a tribute to the king's
negotiating abilities.

	Barmat appears to be a complex and often devious man but
rather indifferent to the conventional trappings of wealth. With the
wealth now at his disposal he turned Johans Island into what is
probably the most technologically advanced community in the world
today. He showed a knack for attracting pilot projects. The island has
the world's first 10 megawatt ocean thermal power station, for
example, and the associated aquaculture makes the island a net
exporter of foodstuffs. And yet the internal combustion engine is
illegal and powered vehicles of any sort are available only for the
emergency services and industrial use.

	Now all this would bring the applause of the majority of
westerners, perhaps modified only by envy. Yet the history of the
Kingdom has been a continual struggle for survival. Why? Because
Barmat seems to have acquired, perhaps in his student days, some very
unconventional ideas about what should go into a constitution. Above
all because Johans Island is now the only country in the world where
chattel slavery is recognised as a legal institution.

	Now, in my own mind, I am my lady's property and she may do
with me what she will. I willingly gave her that right three years
before this time. Yet, of course, the laws of this country do not
recognise such a bond, and always, at the back of our minds, is the
knowledge that if I ever wished to take back that right then the law
would be behind that decision and only my honour would prevent it. On
Johans Island it would be very different. If we went their as mistress
and slave, the law of the island would recognise that relationship.
She could kill me there and there would be no repercussions either
there or when she returned. That was both the attraction and the
source of fear. The last element of unreality would go out of the
roles we play. This would happen too in a place where bio-technology
was on the leading edge and unrestrained by either law or, apparently,
much by ethics. A place where human beings, if rumour was correct,
were used as lab animals. Human beings, but not people. Human beings
like me.

	My lady did not mention the Island again to me until we were
on our way. Two months after our viewing the film, she suddenly
ordered me to hand in my notice at work. Four weeks later, I looked
into her bedroom and saw her packing her clothes. Disturbingly, the
cupboard where my modest store of clothing was kept was still locked.
I wondered if she were going to leave me here. It always alarms me
when she goes away and I have to fend for myself. It's something I'm
no longer used to.

	Half an hour later she had me carry the suitcases downstairs.
She followed me and, much to my relief, I saw she had some clothing
for me. A pair of jeans and a thick sweatshirt. No underwear. She then
produced the key to my collar and had me kneel while she removed it,
slipping it into a side pocket on one of the large suitcases. That
probably meant we were going to fly because the collar causes such an
embarrassing nuisance with airport metal-detectors. She had me dress,
although I hated wearing clothing around her. She never seems to look
at me when I am dressed. I wore clothing at work, of course, without a
qualm, but, in her world, it seems unclean, and the nakedness of my
neck compounded my discomfort.

	The way we act together in public often causes confusion and
embarrassment to third parties and I could see that the stewardess on
the first leg of the flight was taken aback at my refusal to eat until
my mistress had finished. On the second leg though, as we flew to the
Seychelles, when the same thing happened, I'm sure the stewardess,
after a double take, knew just what was going on, because she gave me
that "poor crazy" look that my collar often attracts in parts of the
world where such things are not so uncommon. My lady had not told me
our destination but even before I saw the destination of the second
flight I could think of only one place.

	We took a taxi from the airport, mostly for the benefit of the
three suitcases I think. After telling the driver to take us to "pier
four", she took out my collar and locked it onto my neck. I saw the
driver looking at this little ceremony in the rear-view mirror with a
knowing grin. As a result he had a near miss with a bicycle and cursed
in what sounded like Arabic.

	Waiting at pier four was one of the most beautiful ships I
have seen. A large hydrofoil of the very latest design. There were no
formalities. My lady just waved the smart card with our travel
documents over the sensor and we walked through an electric gate onto
the covered gangplank. At the other end we were confronted by a large
video screen which displayed a notice. In six languages it said:

	Important Notice

	It is important that you study the laws of Johans Island
before arrival. Laws on the island differ extensively from what you
may be used to. Failure to be aware of these laws may cause you
inconvenience or even danger. In particular note that it is illegal
for a slave of either gender to wear clothing that obscures either
genitals or anus. If you are importing a slave you are required to see
that this law is complied with before docking. You should also note
that it is a misdemeanour for a slave to speak without being directly
ordered to do so. Either of these misdemeanours may result in a spot
fine for the owner.

	Having read this rather startling pronouncement, we turned
left into a large cabin with seating. I noticed immediately that there
were many obvious slaves in here. Some naked. Some wearing various
bondage paraphernalia, many on leashes.

	"Take off your clothes," my lady ordered, "and put them in the
small case."

	Despite the numbers of my own kind present, it was
disconcerting to undress in so crowded and public a place, but of
course, I obeyed. She then found an empty seat and, sitting down, had
me curl up on the floor in front of her. Each chair had a small screen
and keyboard in one arm and she began to use it, paying me absolutely
no attention for the time being.

	I have always found it difficult being around other
submissives so I was rather glad of the no talking rule. As I lay
there trying to get comfortable, I looked around and, between the legs
of the seats, could see many slaves in the same general position as
myself. Most of them looked nervous or even frightened, and, I
suspect, would have wanted to converse with one another and me if it
were allowed. After a brief scrutiny I decided to ignore them. They
were none of my business.

	After about twenty minutes my mistress got up and told me to
heel. I obediently got up onto all fours and crawled after her on
hands and toes. We descended some stairs and went through a narrow
door being met suddenly by a pungent smell of excrement, evidently
confined to the corridor beyond by clever ventilation. The corridor
had cages on both sides and was dark until we entered at which point
some sensor switched on red lights. The cages were various shapes. The
first few were full height, those on the left being about six feet
deep, on the right perhaps only two feet. Further on there were two
rows, one above the other. I saw that there was a simple mechanism of
the doors with a key and a money slot. My lady opened one of the
bottom cages and told me to back in. Then she closed the gate and I
heard her work the mechanism. Great! I was left as luggage. I found
myself in a narrow box about three foot square by six deep. There was
sawdust on the floor, with a few dry turds in it. Projecting from the
right side near the door was a large rubber teat like a penis,
complete with a small hole.

	"I'm going to get myself something to eat," my mistress told
me. "I'll fetch you something later."

	She walked away without a backward glance, putting the key in
her bag, and, as the door closed behind her, total darkness descended.

				  II

	Once I got accustomed to the stench, (didn't they clean these
cages out between trips? I visualised skeletons of forgotten
passengers lying unnoticed in cages at the back) I was actually more
comfortable in the cage than I had been lying on the lounge carpet.
Here I felt free to fidget to my heart's content. I've always liked
being caged or chained up anyway. It takes away a whole galaxy of
temptations and responsibilities. I soon fell into the pleasant
thoughtless mental state I usually achieve under such circumstances. I
believe that I become mentally more like an animal than a human in
this state. I've always envied animals what I imagine is their
habitual inner silence. We pay I high price, I often think, for the
admittedly great benefits of a verbal mind.

	My lady returned some indeterminable time later. She fed me a
packet of some kind of sharp tasting snack, pushing the flakes between
the bars, where I would take them with my mouth. We made a game of it,
and she laughed, but she didn't stay long, put off, perhaps, by the
outhouse stench of the place. After she left, I sucked water from the
teat, and lay back down, fairly content. For a while my head was full
of worries about what lay ahead, but I finally managed to put them
aside. I think I slept then for some hours waking only briefly to piss
in the straw.

	I think it was the commotion of owners come to collect their
property that finally woke me properly. I heard a girl greet her
master and the sound of a blow as he reminded her that talking was
forbidden. I waited eagerly for my own mistress to come. She was last,
I think. That's her way in such things. Why hurry only to queue
further along the line? She opened the door and, as I stuck my head
out, grinning, she snapped a leash onto my collar.

	"Wouldn't want us to get separated in the crush," she said,
tugging me out.

	Initially I tried to heel properly at her side on all fours
but as we went up on deck it became impractical in the crowd and she
ordered me to stand upright. The people, the ones with clothes, tried
to avoid contact with my somewhat dirty self, as a result of which, I
was physically more comfortable than most of them were. As we emerged
into the open, the bright sun struck my naked body, and, I thought,
for the first time, about the problem of sunburn and perhaps
sunstroke. I had never been particularly well adapted to outdoor
nudity.

	We descended the gangplank among the last to do so with her
luggage on a trolley. Inside the terminal we headed immediately for a
channel marked "Slaves and Owners." We entered a side booth and an
officious looking woman told my lady to have me kneel and read some
words from a small notice aloud. I read:

	I acknowledge myself an animal with no human rights and the
proper property of [state your owner's full name here.

	To say these words aloud gave me great satisfaction, as well,
I may say, as a hard-on. When I had spoken, the woman produced a
plastic gun with an alarmingly thick needle projecting from it,
together with a small sterile package, and another device with a loop
sticking out of it. She walked behind me and I resolutely kept my eyes
on my mistress. There was a cold wet feel on my left buttock and I
braced myself. The needle hurt like blazes, but it was only there for
a moment, and I managed to keep silent. The official spoke to my lady
and gave her a form to sign.

	"All animals on the island over five kilograms in weight are
required to be tagged and registered with the international animals
registry. The transponder contains a permanent official identification
code. It is illegal to remove it while you are on the island. When you
sign this, you take responsibility for your animal. If you sell it,
the onus is on you to see to it that the new owner registers their
ownership officially, or you remain responsible. If it dies, that too
must be notified. We recommend you keep its entry up to date, even if
the change of status occurs outside our territory; that way, if your
animal is brought back here, everything will be up to date. Should
you leave and return, then the transponder will be detected in the
lobby, and you will be passed through without formalities. Once a
human has formally renounced his or her personhood, as your slave just
did, it can never again be considered a person under our laws. Enjoy
your stay."

	A moment later we were out in the late morning sunshine. I
felt curiously elated, despite the ache in my buttock. Here, at last,
we could walk in the open with the nature of our relationship plain
for all to see and there would be no confused or pitying looks. No
explanations. I laughed aloud with delight, hoping that this was not
illegal. Although she told me to hush, she too was smiling broadly. I
think we both felt as if we had come home.

				 III

	On the island, people walk, for the most part, but there are
always people with heavy luggage at the port and we were quickly
approached by a small cart pulled by a rather overweight donkey in a
straw hat. I put the suitcases in the back and walked alongside as the
driver nudged his beast into motion. My lady had taken the leash off
since it was too short to be conveniently used under these
circumstances. It was not far, nowhere on the island is very far
really, and the ground, mostly mud and grass, was forgiving to my bare
feet.

	The hotel was a little surprising. I'd been expecting the kind
of stateless concrete blocks that spring up at tourist centres like
pallid fungi in the night, but, except for the lack of cars, this was
more like a rustic American motel, with low wooden buildings and
individual cabins. In front of each cabin was a large wooden kennel of
the classic sort. As we entered, I saw two that were occupied by
slaves, and one by a large dog, in each case tethered by a chromed
chain. Obviously the hotels around here would all have the "Pets
Welcome" sign out. I wondered if the kennels would get too
uncomfortably hot in the sun.

	My lady checked in while I fraternised with the donkey whom I
found to be true to type, grudging of any display of positive emotion,
though he seemed very well cared for. I generally get on well with
animals, perhaps because I have little of the conviction of innate
superiority normal in humans. When she emerged with the key card we
soon found her cabin. When she entered I thought about it and decided
I shouldn't enter without orders because I was too dirty, so I sat on
the doorstep and whined to attract her attention. She noticed after a
moment and looked at me for a moment.

	"You are right. You are in no fit state for a civilised room.
Get into the kennel and we'll clean you up later."

	As I scrambled to comply she came back outside and examined
the tether. One end was welded to a ring set in the ground. On the
other was a small padlock which responded to the key card. There was
about eight feet of chain, but she chose to lock it to my collar about
half way along. It wasn't that she thought I would run away or
anything like that. She just knows what I like. She filled a water
bowl for me from a tap on the side of the building. For someone used
to lying on flat surfaces, the kennel, whose floor was covered in
clean sawdust, was quite comfortable, and it was good to get out of
the sun. Already I could feel the first skin tightness that heralded
sunburn. I hoped my lady would notice or think of it soon. Sometimes
she would order me to tell her of the things that were on my mind.
Perhaps she would do that in the evening.

				  IV

	Some time passed. I suppose she settled in, unpacked and
showered, because, when she emerged holding my leash, there was a
clean smell and a floral scent to her. But when I emerged from the
kennel at her call she was suddenly dismayed.

	"Oh, poor pet. You're quite pink. I'm sorry. I should have
thought of that. Stay out of the sunlight and I'll find something for
you."

	Leaving me tethered, she walked off rapidly towards the
entrance. I sighed with relief and crawled back into the welcome cool.
The way my skin was feeling, a long exploration of the town in the
afternoon sun would have been disastrous.

	I can't measure time under such circumstances but it seemed to
be quite a long wait. Part of the time I dozed, still jet lagged.
Occasionally there was interesting activity in the courtyard. At one
point there were the unmistakable sounds of one of my fellows being
beaten, making me wince in the sympathy of one who has earned a
beating or two himself. Eventually the light of my life returned with
a paper bag in one hand and a small box in the other which she was
reading from. When she reached me she put the box back in the bag,
and, unlocking my tether, put me on the leash. We went to the main
building, where there was an outside tap with a hose. She tied the
leash to a pipe and proceeded to give me a thorough wash: the cold was
instant balm to my hot skin. Although I soon started to shiver, I
wriggled in the stream, thoroughly enjoying my wash.

	Now, for the first time, she allowed me into her room, a nice
enough, if compact bedroom. She took a tightly folded sheet of some
mat plastic from the bag and spread it on the bed and patted it to
indicate I should lie there. Next she took a large red capsule from
the box and put it into my mouth, giving me a gulp of water to swallow
it with. The next things to emerge from the mysterious box were some
film gloves and a tube of cream. I expected this cream to soothe my
skin but when she started to apply it it stung like fire so that I
could barely choke back a cry. I fought an instinctive urge to get
away from the hellish stuff and accepted her ministrations. I didn't
know if she realised that the stuff hurt but it was not my place to
tell her. After a moment I was startled to see that it was leaving a
blue stain on my skin. I have faith. She often hurts me but she has
never truly harmed me.

	The initial burning sensation did not last long, thank God,
though, when she did my testicles, a whimper escaped me. She was
careful to cover almost my whole body excepting parts of my face and
the balls of my feet. The blue effect was extremely startling, rather
as I believe woad must have looked. Eventually she took off the
gloves, being very careful not to get the stuff on her own skin, and
flushed them down the toilet. She then stood back and watched as the
blue colour slowly faded, which took perhaps twenty minutes. Then she
reaching into the bag again and produced a second tube, this one of
ordinary sun lotion, which she applied almost as thoroughly, though
with less care. This operation was bliss and it took away the last of
the stinging.

	"There," she said, "the sunblock solves the problem in the
short term. The other should solve it in the long term. Now we can go
walkies."

	I went on all fours at first. In the past, most of my walking
on the leash has been done indoors, at home, and occasionally at
parties, and it has always seemed appropriate. Here, though, we were
going farther than I ever had on hands and toes, and, despite my
practice, it soon became painful, and then unsustainable. My lady saw
that I could not keep it up and told me to stand up, which I did, to
the protest of my leg muscles. It was a fairly short excursion. I
think that she too was more than a little jet-lagged. As we returned
to the hotel she said, "Isn't it great to be able to do that and not
even get funny looks, let alone arrested?"

	I agreed wholeheartedly. Despite the pain I had enjoyed our
walk.

	She put me back in my kennel and said she was going to stretch
out on the bed for a while. Some time later she went out past me
without speaking to me, presumably in search of dinner. When she came
back she gave me some scraps and then filled a bowl with some kind of
pelleted pet food which was bland but not too bad. She also gave me
another of those red capsules. Though she didn't stay to watch, I ate,
as usual, without using my hands. Afterwards I thought I should settle
down for the night but a while later she came out and fetched me into
the cabin. There she made love to me. You want details? Use your
imagination. I'm here to bare my murky soul to your gaze, not hers.
About an hour later, she put me back in the kennel before finally
turning in. She makes love to me fairly often but I never get to sleep
with her. She is right in that. It would be blasphemy for me to see
her vulnerable in sleep.

	I woke myself, scratching before the sun was up. I itched all
over so that I began to wonder if I had fleas (it wouldn't have been
the first time). My skin seemed strangely slick. Then I remembered
yesterday's sunburn and was less worried, though no less
uncomfortable. As dawn approached the itching mounted to an
intolerable crescendo, then gradually receded. In the first light of
dawn I examined my skin and did an authentic double take. Then I felt
the parts I cannot see without a mirror. Suddenly I burst out into
laughter, hastily stifled as I remembered my lady would still be
asleep. Here was the long term solution to my sensitive skin all
right. I was covered in soft tawny fur, still short but dense enough
to promise complete protection.

	When my lady appeared much later, I stroked my arm and tried
to put into my expression the thanks I was forbidden to put into
words. She unlocked the tether and gestured to the open door.

	"There's a big mirror in the bathroom," she mentioned. I was
in there like a shot.

	She came up behind me as I was admiring the effect. The fur
was not one colour, but shaded from a dark brown on my spine to a
lighter fawn on my chest. I felt it looked best when I was on all
fours. Unexpectedly, she stroked me, running her hand down the length
of my spine. It was an entirely new and delightful sensation and it
made me arch my back to get the best contact. Even my penis was
covered in short fur. I hoped that it would bring her extra pleasure
next time we made love.

	"I understand that in this climate it will grow to be about an
inch," she told me. "Its length will change gradually to suit the
temperature you are living in. The effect can be reversed, but I don't
think I'll ever want to do that. Do you like it?"

	"I love it. Thank you my lady. It's a wonderful surprise."

	"I'm very pleased with it too. I wasn't sure how it was going
to look, but I like the way it came out. It makes you even more
completely my pet. I wonder what else they can do here in that way.
Perhaps they can give you a tail. What do you think about that?"

	"I doubt if that's possible, mistress, I don't see how they
could get a nerve supply. Having been born without a tail, I won't
have the necessary circuits in my brain."

	I hesitated a moment over the other aspect of the question, if
it were possible, how would I feel about having one.

	"If it were possible, it seems to me that it would make me of
less practical use to you because it would be hard for me to get a job
like that. That would sadden me. I like you to have all the things you
want. But if it would please you to see me with a tail more than you
would miss those things, then it pleases me. Perhaps you could get the
money back somehow exhibiting me at a carnival or something. I think I
might like that. To have people pay to see me in a cage."

	"I don't think I'd like that. That would be like sharing you
with strangers. It doesn't matter. I make a good living myself and I
have lots of savings. You're my pet and I love you. I don't keep you
for practical purposes."

	What could I say to that? I turned and licked her hand and she
stroked me again. Things developed rapidly from there. My speculations
about the effects of furry penises were resolved favourably, although
there was as much giggling as gasping.

	After a time we got up and went into town, me back on the
leash but this time not attempting all-fours. The town was a curious
mixture of the very mundane and the extraordinary. There were
perfectly normal shops. Clothing. Groceries. Small cafes alongside
brothels. There was a drug shop advertising a special price on heroin
alongside the toothpastes. Looking at the ads, the books, and so on,
there was none of that specialness which, in our own society,
separates "sexual" from "normal" matters.

				  V

	We came to a small cafe in front of which a labrador was tied
up to a ring in the wall. My mistress tethered me to the same ring and
went inside for breakfast. I sat with my back to the wall trying not
to obstruct the pavement. The dog sniffed me but would have none of my
stroking. Obviously a class conscious beast who would accept affection
only from his betters.

	So I sat and watched the passers by, none of whom gave me a
second glance despite my hirsute state. I soon saw why, as several
creatures, wierder by far than me, went past, generally with their
owners. One arrived that shook me to the core. She had, I think, been
a beautiful woman. Now she was a truly beautiful animal. She walked as
a true quadruped and possessed a pronounced snout. I could see her
paws were rather like those of a lion. They were quite broad and
furry, although she had nails like a dog. They were definitely paws.
Hands, however hairy, could never have moved like that. Her chest,
too, was of the deep shape typical of quadrupeds rather than the broad
flat affair of humans. Despite the snout, her facial expressions were
remarkably human and readable, rather like those of a cartoon animal,
but far more refined. She was covered in black fur, except for a broad
white streak down the spine. She did not, I noticed with some trace of
muted of satisfaction, have a tail.

	Walking neatly to her master's heel, she looked about her with
lively curiousity, and the changeable expression on her face was
generally serene, and sometimes amused. He held her loosely on a
chromed chain attached to a broad jeweled collar that glittered
against her black fur. She walked with all the unconscious grace of a
cat, her head held high at what should have been an impossible angle
to her trunk. They passed quite close to where I sat, frozen in
shock, and she looked me full in the face and winked. Her unashamedly
mammalian scent reached my nostrils for a moment. I wanted to talk to
her. I wanted to run a mile. I wanted to stroke her. I wanted to look
away. I could do none of these things.

	The encounter left me stupefied by its implications. The
possibility of what had happened to her being done to me filled my
mind. It was at once terrifying and infinitely seductive. And my
mistress had not seen her! I was torn between a desperate hope that
she would never become aware of such possibilities and the desire to
rush into the cafe. To call her out to see. To beg her to find for me
the artist that had given that creature her second birth. I actually
felt myself start to move and perhaps only the swing of the leash
which tethered me woke me to my own brand of sanity. To do that would
be deliberate disobedience. To untie the tether she had tied was
unthinkable. I determined to put the internal debate aside. Such
decisions were not for me but for her, thank God. I would tell her
about the woman creature if she asked. I would become such a creature
myself if she wished it. I would neither plead nor resist. I try to
live in the present like an animal. I guess that is the main point of
the life I chose. I fought now to let the present take me back. But
its hold was weak because I was haunted two ways. From the past by the
sight and scent of the woman creature which seemed to have burned its
way indelibly into my mind and from the future by the possibility of
such transformation. I closed my eyes and sought to focus the whole of
my consciousness on the breath moving in and out of my nostrils.

	A few moments later a man emerged from the cafe and collected
the labrador. To my surprise as he stooped to untie the dog's leash he
stroked me once. I didn't know how to react to this but his attention
was only momentary. I had a flash of irritation, but, on reflection,
the man's action had been kindly meant, not consciously condescending.
He had stroked me in exactly the same spirit in which I had tried to
stroke the labrador; a momentary, meaningless exchange of sensual
pleasure. That kind of thing never really happened at home. Oh, when
we went to parties and events within the "scene" someone might pat me
or pull on my collar, but always as a self-conscious challenge;
generally with their eyes on my mistress to see how she would react.
In the future I would try to accept such actions in the spirit they
were offered. I have no right to react defensively to unsolicited
handling by strange people unless they go against my owner's
interests.

	The meditation and the minor surprise had centred me when my
mistress reappeared but, although she said nothing, she looked at me
sharply. She is always sensitive to my mood and I think she knew
something had disturbed me. She had brought me a little treat; a
section of a waffle with maple syrup on it and she dropped it in front
of me before bending to untie my leash. As I worked it into my mouth I
thought of the woman creature's snout. How much easier it would be to
eat from bowl or floor with such a snout.

	When people find out about the abnormal parts of my lifestyle,
they often ask if eating scraps of the ground or the floor like this
doesn't cause stomach problems. Actually I've had far less problems
with my stomach since becoming a pet than in my feral days. Modern
pets get a regular and balanced diet, far better than most people
would chose for themselves. As to germs, well, I get my shots and
regular exposure to low levels of bacteria keeps my immune system in
good shape. Too much hygiene can weaken your defences. As to why I
pounce so gleefully on such scraps, even though I'm not allowed to use
my hands for eating, the truth is I only get one real meal a day and
I'm almost always at least slightly hungry. Most western people
literally don't know what hunger is these days. That's why there are
so many cases of eating disorders. For me hunger is a familiar
companion which is as it should be. It helps ground me in the present.

	We spent almost an hour going around a shop with the most
complete collection of bondage and sado-masochist equipment I have
ever encountered. At home such stores are our delight but I was still
rather distracted and my lady too seemed to find it hard to get
interested, although a selection of shock collars with various kinds
of triggers had her attention for a while. We left rather suddenly,
and we went briefly back to the hotel to pick up a towel and her
swimming costume, and then down to the beach, where we spent most of
what remained of the morning larking about in the water. She invented
a game where she'd throw a stick into the breakers for me to fetch. Of
course, I was expected to take it with my mouth only, and got several
duckings. Eventually we were both fairly exhausted, and she decided on
more sedentary activity. She made me roll in a small freshwater stream
which ran down the beach to get the salt out of my fur before it dried
and she spread out a blanket for sunbathing. I found that sunbathing
is not really for the fur covered but I settled down at her feet and
drowsed. The warm sun was a powerful soporific.

				  VI

	It was probably a little after noon when I was roused by the
the sounds of galloping paws and rhythmic breathing. I looked up,
expecting some large dog, to see my four legged acquaintance of that
morning in full flight. She flew in front of me in an extended gallop
which she made look effortless though every muscle in her body must
have been involved. A little further along she spun to a stop and I
saw a small black object fall to meet her. She caught the ball on the
first bounce. Her athleticism was awesome. She made my own efforts at
four legged motion look like those of a beached walrus. A moment later
she was in flight again. This time heading straight for me. Before I
could get up off my side she had jumped cleanly over me and was
heading back to her master making two sides of a shallow triangle. I
heard my mistress make a startled protest.

	The girl creature reached her master and did a sit-up-and-beg
offering him the ball. But he was not pleased and flicked her across
the snout with the back of three fingers so the ball fell to the
ground.

	"Bad girl. You got sand on the lady's towel showing off like
that."

	She put on an immediate display of contrition. Picking up the
ball and walking round behind him to his left where she stood at heel
with her head lowered. Not though, it seemed to me, without a furtive
gleam remaining in her lowered eyes.

	For the first time I was able to take a good look at the owner
of this remarkable pet as he approached us. He was a small man,
basically Caucasian with a hint of the oriental. He had a bushy grey
beard and appeared to be in his late middle age. He had a friendly
smile for my mistress, no more than a glance for me.

	"Madame, I apologise for the exuberance of my pet. Her
contrition will be more genuine when she learns that she is going to
spend the rest of our walk at heel."

	My lady was sitting up now, one arm around her raised knees.
"No harm done. What a fine looking animal. May I handle her?"

	The man agreed casually and my lady snapped her fingers for
the creature to approach. Her handling was partly caressing, partly an
anatomical examination.

	"May I ask where this work was done? It's not just idle
curiosity."

	She gestured in my direction, producing an instant sinking
feeling.

	"The Selman Institute. A small company about half a mile out
along the greenway. You may have heard of Dr. Selman and his
reconstructive work. I don't know how he'd feel about doing this kind
of work for a visitor though. There might be legal complications.
Don't let him charge you too much though, I think he'd have done this
job for free, for the interest of it."

	"Thank you, I shall certainly give him a call. Who knows?"

	My lady now released the creature, which, with a backwards
glance at her master came over to me. I held still as she licked my
face. I wanted to stroke her, but using my hands didn't seem proper or
fair, somehow, and I didn't have permission to speak (I wondered if
she was capable of it). I nuzzled her cheek and she broke my rather
reverential mood by nipping my ear. Imagining what we must look like,
I got into the mood and attempted to sniff her rear. She swayed
sideways, nudging my side in a friendly way. And we circled like a
pair of dogs for a moment. I liked the way she smelt and buried my
nose for a moment in the fur of her flank.

	My lady laughed and after a moment the man chuckled too.

	"I think he's a prime candidate for conversion," he said. "It
should make him less clumsy, at least. I should think first, though,
about the legal problems you are likely to have at home. By the way my
name is Mark Thackery. You can tell Dr. Selman I recommended you. Come
on girl. Heel."

	They left, the animal walking demurely at heel and we watched
them go in silence for a while.

	"Was it something like that that shook you up this morning?"
she asked me at last.

	I nodded. "How do you feel about it?"

	I thought about an answer for a moment.

	"Glad that the decision is yours, mistress, if it were mine I
would not know how to choose."

	She looked at me carefully for a moment, perhaps weighing my
response.

	"Well, we can at least explore the possibilities."

	^^^ Dr. Selman agreed to see us at five o'clock. He let us in
to the building himself, and we went straight into a small lab, where
I was made to assume various positions inside a camera array, allowing
the computers to build up a three dimensional picture of my shape.

	The Dr. was a tall, gangling black with a thin face and a west
coast accent. As he worked the array, he said to my mistress, "I've
thought long and hard about this and how any publicity will affect me.
I've decided the net benefit will be for the good. I imagine, if the
world learns of my little hobby projects, it will think me a monster,
but, and this is the point, it will think me a highly competent
monster. So I've decided to offer to do this for you at cost. Let's go
into my office and discuss the possibilities and then you can decide."

	"I don't want him present while we have our talk. I try not to
burden him with the future."

	The Doctor nodded and led us from the lab into another room
which smelled of rodents. There were many cages of different sizes,
most of them containing laboratory mice, rats and rabbits, but some
larger, and a couple large enough for me.

	"He seems frightened," said the Doctor, "I could administer a
sedative. If you like he could sleep until it's all over one way or
the other."

	"No. I'm not one of those people who believes in better living
though chemistry. Of course he's afraid. We're all afraid of change,
but he's entitled to the full experience, including, if possible, the
actual operation. I think you might be surprised how tough he is
mentally."

	The Doctor shrugged and they shut me in one of the primate
cages, turned down the lights and left.

				 VII

	Left to my own devices, the first thing I did was to check
that the cage was secure. Don't misunderstand: If it hadn't been, I
would not have left it anyway, but I always settle more comfortably
once I have proved to myself that escape is not an option. I found I
was shivering slightly with shear physical fear, so I began to
meditate. It's a simple enough trick but it works for me. If you can
focus your awareness on the fear itself, instead of the thing you are
afraid of, the fear fades. Come on: Be an animal. The smells of straw
and rodents are real. The feel of the breath through your nostrils is
real. The throb of blood in your ears is real. The future is just
fantasy. It's a kind of mental judo. A force does harm only if
resisted. But if this was judo I was in the fight of my life. Again
and again the future would grab me by the neck and shake me, my heart
would race and I would find myself curling up into a defensive ball,
mentally and sometimes physically. Then I would fight my way back to
calmness. I realised that I was hoping that my lady would chose to do
this thing to me. Once done, I would not have to worry about it. If
she decided against it would always hang over me as a future
possibility.

	It seemed an eternity before they returned. The moment they
turned the lighting up I could see by my lady's face that the die was
cast. She was nervous and, I think, exhilarated. She studied me, I
think trying to fix my present appearance in her memory. All she said
was, "I'm going now. You are to do everything the Doctor or his people
tell you. I mean to visit you each day until you are ready to leave.
Be good."

	I put my fingertips through the mesh of the cage feeling the
need to hold onto something and thinking that I would not be able to
do this much longer and she briefly touched a finger with one of her
own. Then she left quickly and without turning back. Not much more
happened that evening except that the Doctor gave me an injection. I
hope my lady slept better than I did. Hunger was starting to take
precedence over fear.

	When the Doctor and two assistants came to fetch me in the
morning I found I was as strengthless as a dishrag so that they had to
drag me from my cage. I also saw that during the night all my hair had
fallen out. Not just my newly acquired fur coat but every hair on my
body. That really upset me and I felt suddenly and ridiculously
tearful. It was my lady's gift and it had brought us both pleasure.
The Doctor saw my look.

	"I'm sorry about your handsome fur coat," he said kindly. "But
it's only for a few days and we have to be able to get laser light
through your flesh."

	They loaded me onto a stretcher of some kind of very
transparent plastic which stretched to fit my form although, oddly
enough, it did not get hot and sticky.

	I remember the next few days almost as a dream. Although I was
perfectly conscious most of the time, complete helplessness gave the
experience an unreal quality. They washed me and the Doctor did a
tracheotomy and inserted a tube into my windpipe. He then gave me a
powerful muscle relaxant. From that time on I was able to move only my
eyes, a machine did my breathing for me. I remember spending a long
time in some kind of multi-mode body scanner. Then hours on a clear
plastic table about which lasers rotated on gimbals sending pulses of
light into my flesh to activate the drugs I was being given. I
remember the Doctor operating on my brain. First through the roof of
my mouth and later through the left side of my head. As he did this I
had a series of powerful sensations. An instant of pure joy. A moment
of horrible indescribable suffering. A tremendous burst of sexual
arousal, of hunger. At one point I could hear the Doctor talking to
his assistants and it didn't make sense to me at all, not like hearing
a foreign language but as alien as whalesong.

	Throughout, when they must move me, they handled me with
exaggerated care, as if I were as fragile as an eggshell. I think that
may have been the case. Perhaps my skeleton was largely decalcified.
During those three long days I really expected to die. The thought of
death was positively attractive. I clung to my memory of the girl-
creature. She had survived this, so could I.

	I must have slept part of the time, though there were no clear
divisions between sleep and waking. My mistress came and comforted me
several times, and, though I could show her nothing of my gratitude,
her visits were the one thing I looked forward when I could no longer
believe that this operation would ever be finished.

	The first sign that it was coming to an end was that they
became more casual about handling me. Then I thoughtlessly moved a leg
and it responded. Shortly after that I started fighting the ventilator
and they removed it, sewing up the hole in my throat. At last they
carried me out of the labs into the open air at the back, depositing
me unceremoniously onto straw bedding in a pen in one of the
outbuildings. There, blessedly, they left me in peace.

	I lay there exactly where I had been dumped for a considerable
period of time, rejoicing in the feeling of strength seeping back into
my body. Then I began to pay attention to the demands of my sadly
empty stomach which said firmly that while intravenous feeding might
be all very well for me, stomachs required less rarified sustenance.
So, with a certain amount of trial and error, I got my legs under me
and explored my little world, finding a bite drinker and some pellets
in a trough, which I assumed were food.

	I was careful about eating with my rearranged mouth, fearful
of biting my tongue. It was a strange sensation. I could feel my long
tongue emerge from the side of my mouth and touch the short fur on my
cheek. When I had got a few mouthfuls down, I decided to examine those
parts of my body I could see, which was not all that much of it. I had
the beginnings of a fur coat again, though it was no more than stubble
as yet. My legs were narrower than I had expected, much narrower than
when they had been arms. To my surprise, turning as far as I could, I
caught a glimpse of a tail, which seemed to be moving independently of
my will. I wondered how they had solved the nerve supply problem:
perhaps it really did have a will of its own. I began to walk around
the pen, gradually reaching an understanding with my new legs. As I
moved about, trying out various maneouvers I wondered about speech. I
was tempted to try in spite of being forbidden to speak without being
at least implicitly told to. But did it count if there wasn't anyone
to hear? This seemed too much like mere sophistry so I didn't try. I
wasn't sure if I wanted to know anyway.

				 VIII

	When my lady and the Doctor arrived, I had just reached the
point where I was wishing the pen was larger so that I could try
running. She jumped over the railing and knelt, taking my head in her
hand and scratching my ears.

	"Oh, It so good to see you on your feet. You'll look terrific
when your fur grows out again."

	To my own surprise, I found I was purring. It was quite
involuntary and, in fact, my intention to stop had no effect on it.
Behind her the Doctor said, "There's no reason why you can't take him
away with you if you like. Here."

	He held out a small black box to her, like an old fashioned
T.V. remote control. She took it and examined it closely. Then she
made an adjustment and turning back to me asked me how I felt.

	"I feel... " I stopped in confusion. My voice sounded odd, the
way it does in a recording. Then I realised it was coming from the
box, not from my mouth.

	"I still feel a little weak but relieved that it's all over.
Or I think it's over."

	To add to my confusion, when I had thought I had finished
speaking my voice continued to come from the box. It started to repeat
"I'm relieved that it's all... " Then I realised what was happening
"My God, it's my head-voice, my stream of consciousness," I thought
and, scarily the box spoke the thought aloud. It rambled on like an
echo of my internal thoughts, incoherent, repetitive. It made me aware
just how nonsensical most of what goes on in our heads at the sub-
vocal level is.

	She laughed and switched it off.

	"Well, nobody can talk coherently with a snout like yours. So
this box takes signals from Brocca's area of your brain and simulates
your old vocal apparatus... when it's switched on of course. It seems
to work not just on what you want to say, but on anything that reaches
the sub-vocal level, so, from now on, you'll have to learn to keep
your thoughts pure. Since it's got a range of several hundred yards,
you won't always know when I'm listening. The box has other functions
too... the radio link is two way... but you'll find out what these
little buttons do as the occasion arises. Suffice it to say that this
little box plus the collar you are wearing and a little device in your
head give me more control over you than I've ever had."

	And I'd thought I'd had my quota of shocks for the week.
Actually I quite liked the idea of the voice synthesiser in the box,
though the idea that she could listen in on my thoughts was very
frightening. But what were these "other functions?" More surprises to
come.

	My lady put the box in her purse and took out my leash.

	"Come on then pet, let's go back to the hotel."

	As she led me out of the pen she suddenly kissed the Doctor on
the cheek.

	"Thank you, Doc, you're a true artist."

	I was, to be honest, nervous about appearing in public, but of
course my reluctance had no effect on events. At first, I had no
attention to spare for onlookers anyway, getting the pace of walking
to heel and learning to manage steps and other obstacles. Once my ill
placed forepaws slipped off the edge of a step, and as I stumbled, the
leash jerked tight. An instant of that indescribable suffering I had
experienced under the knife occurred and a yelp escaped me. Even
immediately afterwards I could remember nothing of the sensation, only
the horror of it, only the knowledge that I'd do almost anything
rather than experience it again. I was more careful of the leash from
then on. I finally worked out that the collar must have punished me
for pulling too hard. If so, that probably meant that one of the
buttons on that innocent looking box could produce the same effect.

	After a few moments, I had recovered my equanimity and was
sufficiently confident to look around a little. People were indeed
looking at us. Their expressions suggested a range from horrified
fascination to aesthetic pleasure or even amusement. I thought of what
effect such stares might have on my lady. I have no social status so
it doesn't matter for myself, but for my lady it is quite another
matter. I tried to walk with more pride, keeping my eyes forward and
with more of a spring in my step.

	When we reached the hotel, the first thing my lady did was to
give me my first real look at myself in the mirror. My first
impression was not too good. The girl-creature had given an overall
feline impression but my pink skin, showing through the stubble of my
fur, gave, at best, a porcine look. Those hairless cats that some
people dote on have always made me shudder. I told myself firmly that
that condition would soon pass and tried to look at my shape rather
than colouring.

	I was confused at first by the apparent smallness of my head.
Then I realised the artistry with which the shape of my torso and the
subtle stripe pattern emerging in my fur had been designed to fool the
eye in this regard The result was that my human cranium, which would
have appeared grotesque on a normal animal's body, appeared only a
little too large. My snout was longer than that of the girl, perhaps
five inches in all, with nostril slits about two thirds of the way to
the tip. My canines were only slightly pronounced and the sides of my
mouth extended only perhaps an inch and a half backward. I had short
pointed ears. It was more the face of a goat than that of any sort of
carnivore and, in fact, where the girl had given the overall
impression of potential fierceness, my own body seemed that of an
inoffensive grazing animal. On such a body, hooves would have seemed
more natural than the small paws I actually possessed.

	My tail was quite short and heavy, only just reaching the
ground. What was fascinating and disturbing is that I had no direct
control over its movements. It hardly seemed a part of me at all and
yet its movements fitted in with those of the rest of my body. As I
had, walked I had felt it moving to help my balance. When I sat down
it moved out of the way. It seemed, literally, to have a mind of its
own. A mind that was aware of the movements of the rest of my body.

	My coat, such as it was, was mostly tawny but with white
markings: broad strokes for the most part but narrowed stripes near
the neck and on the haunches. There was a black diamond shape just
above my eyes and over the crown of my head. Around my neck was a
leather collar with a simple buckle, an ordinary dog collar except for
a shallow plastic box attached under the chin. The identity disc from
my old collar had been attached to the D ring. While human, it had
been proper for me to wear a metal collar with a good quality lock in
deference to my dexterity. Now an ordinary buckle was more than
adequate. Trying to be objective, I felt that, once my fur had reached
a respectable length, I would look quite a handsome beast, unfamiliar
perhaps but not unnatural.

				  X

	Having given me sufficient time to take this all in, my lady
stroked my head and said, "Well, pet, our relationship has certainly
entered another new level of intensity. At home there was some
unreality about your dependence on me. Coming here reduced that
unreality, but on what we both knew was a temporary basis, since we
are only here for a couple of weeks, and I have my job to go back to.
Now, though, your dependence is completely real and permanent. You
really are an animal now. You will never be a person again. It feels
right. I know we were both ready."

	I nodded enthusiastically. I had been apprehensive but, now
the change was done, it did indeed feel right. My humanity was like a
burden that I had finally found a way to put down. Over the last few
years the "pet" role, starting as a game, had become who I really was.
The "person" role I had played at work had become a hollow pretense. I
hoped and believed that I would never have to play that role again. At
the same time, I had seen her make the transition from the
"girlfriend" role to the "owner" role, gradually accepting the
responsibilities and decisions that society said should be mine. The
change in me had been, perhaps, more profound because I was now and
wanted to be nothing more than her, pet whereas she was, and always
would be, much more than my owner. She had a career; friends. She
might eventually marry. Yet I did not doubt, even in my darkest
moments, that my owner would always be a part of what she was.

	She put me out in the kennel for a while, giving me a chance
to discover that this was a far more comfortable body to lie about in
than it had been. No awkward feet; my legs tucked neatly away under me
and my chin lay along the ground without strain. It didn't seem too
long before she emerged.

	"Well that's sorted. Now let's go walkies. I feel like a
little shopping and then the beach."

	For the first time I felt a cringing inside as she fastened my
leash, thinking about that awful punishment the collar had given me
before. Usually I find the snap of the S-hook a comforting sound and I
resented the way this little pleasure seemed to have been spoiled for
me.

	We went down to the main shopping street, she browsing the
window, me carefully watching to comply with sudden stops and starts.
She spent several moments outside what I realised was a pet shop and
we went in. She went over to a display of muzzles and tried several of
them on me until she found one that was a snug and secure fit. She
bought it and also a rubber "bone" (though only a human would have the
imagination to find a resemblance. She seemed, for a moment, of two
minds as to whether I was to wear the muzzle, or carry the toy, but,
to my pleasure, stuck the muzzle in her bag and gave me the toy. As we
left the shop, she said, "The good Doctor said that you should
practice with your mouth so I want you to carry that about and chew on
it for the next few days."

	The next shop she entered was a dress shop and this time I had
to be tied up outside. Actually, when it comes to dress shops, I find
this preferable, and it gave me some time to practice chewing. I was
careful and bit my tongue only once, and lightly. I thought my new
mouth was going to be the hardest part of my altered anatomy to learn
how to deal with. She emerged with a large bundle and we went back to
the hotel to stash the plunder and then down to the beach where, for
the first time, I was allowed to run free.

	Well I ran. I was clumsy and had several falls but I was
encouraged by slow but progressive improvement. We played "fetch" with
the bone, and, when I brought it back, she'd roll me over and tickle
me. A simple but enjoyable way to pass the time which became a pattern
for much of the remainder of our stay on the island.

	That evening, rather carefully, we made love. When we'd had
our first orgasm, and I tried to withdraw, we discovered that the
Doctor had left us a little surprise. Trying to withdraw hurt. I
couldn't do it. We were "tied" like a pair of dogs until my erection
subsided, which it seemed in no hurry to do. Instead I felt the build
up to another orgasm start almost at once. I had three before my
testicles finally admitted to exhaustion and we could separate. We
were both gasping like stranded fish.

	"That man has quite a sense of humour," she said at last. "I
wonder what other little surprises we have in store. He did say that
he'd taken steps to make you the world's best sex-toy, for the use of
woman or man but he wouldn't go into details. I think that's plenty
for tonight. I need a shower. Out you go."

				  XI

	The rest of that holiday was, for me at least, almost idyllic.
Like most pets, the one thing I can never get enough of is my owner's
attention, and in those weeks I had most of it. Although I didn't
notice anything strange at first, my pleasure every time I pleased her
in some small way, when she petted me or paid me some small
compliment, was greater than ever before, as was the anguish at
letting her down in any way or the mildest rebuke. My pleasure at the
snap of the leash returned even though I continued to treat it with
great respect. It was nearly a week before I noticed that her left
hand was always in a pocket during these incidents. She was using the
control box to induce pleasure or suffering directly into my brain! I
felt briefly outraged, violated, but it didn't last long. She was
entitled to train me in any way she saw fit. If I had somehow got
power myself over that box it would doubtless have destroyed me very
quickly, but used as she was using it, it made our wills more
perfectly one.

	She seldom switched on the speech function of the box, at
least where I could hear. Whenever she was out of sight, I would
wonder if she was listening to my thoughts. I kept wondering what she
would think of what I was thinking. It encouraged me to meditate. To
keep, as she had said, my mind pure. All too soon, though, it was time
to leave. My mistress had responsibilities to attend to, a living to
make. As we boarded the hydrofoil, my mind turned from regret for the
end of the holiday to worry. There was no problem on the hydrofoil, of
course, but how would we manage on the planes? I could no longer
pretend to be a person, as I had on the outbound journey.

	On the boat, my lady gave me about twice my usual ration of
food pellets and, even though it was much earlier than my usual
mealtime, made me eat most of it, so that I felt unpleasantly bloated.
She also had me drink my fill, warning me that I wasn't going to get
stewardess service on the plane. As the boat pulled into its moorings
she muzzled me.

	There was no real fuss, for a wonder, at Seychelles customs,
perhaps because they knew we were just in transit. On the other side,
among the people waiting, was a man holding up a card with my
mistress' name. He led us to a van emblazoned with "Hamilton's Pet
Supplies" and, though I wasn't too pleased to see what was in the
back, I can't claim to be surprised. It was a "sky kennel", a
lightweight but solid plastic crate, with a mesh door at one end, mesh
covered ventilation slots, and fittings for handling by fork lifts. I
suppose it was the largest size the airline allowed, but it looked
awfully small to me. And a moment later, so it proved. It was neither
quite long enough for me to lie straight, tall enough for me to stand
fully upright or wide enough for me to curl up, as I'd recently
discovered I could do. I was forced to lie with my backside pressing
against the back of the box and my muzzled nose jammed against the
mesh. This wasn't going to be a very pleasant flight.

	The man from Hamilton's drove us to the airport and, with the
help of a ramp and a porter, unloaded my crate onto the pavement in
front of the terminal. My lady paid him and went inside, leaving me
feeling very lonely and vulnerable. A number of people stooped and
looked at me through the grill in a puzzled way, and someone kicked
the crate. Finally, two men with an electric cart came and collected
me. They, in turn, left me at one side of a large, rather dirty room
full of unidentified boxes. I could see only a limited part of the
room but a dog was barking incessantly somewhere to my left. I hoped
he wasn't going to be on my flight because it didn't sound like he was
going to stop barking until rescued from his imprisonment.

	But this wasn't ever going to be my day. After my crate had
finally been loaded into the small pressurised section of the plane's
cargo space, the very next thing to come aboard was another crate from
which now frantic barking sounded. Considerately, the baggage handlers
chose to put the damn mutt right next to me. Just to make the day
complete I was beginning to feel the effects of my extra-large meal.
Already I was desperate to shit. Soon the point was going to be
reached where lying in it for the rest of the trip was going to seem
like a small price to pay for the relief.

	So I lay there as the loading was completed and the hold
sealed and tried to find a little charity somewhere in my heart for my
fellow traveler, while heartily wishing that he had been the one
wearing the muzzle. I don't suppose it would have stopped the barking,
but it would have reduced the volume. Praise heaven, when the doors
were shut and darkness descended on us, he gave one last frantic peal
and finally shut up. Perhaps it had finally got through to him that
nobody who might possibly let him out was in earshot.

	I suppose that if I were to rank the miserable times in my
life for shear hellishness, that flight, and the second leg that
followed, would not be at the top, but it had its moments. Every time
I shifted in a futile search for a comfortable position, that damn dog
would start barking again. I'm afraid that, well before the first leg
of the flight was well begun, I was forced to capitulate to both
bowels and bladder, contributing a new unpleasantness to the
atmosphere of the cramped crate. When we finally landed, and my crate
was transferred to another plane, I prayed that my canine companion
would be going somewhere else, but the Gods were in a malicious mood
that day and not only was my previous companion loaded neatly next to
me again, just as before, but a small, yappy dog was added on the
other side and the two of them set out to keep one another amused for
the whole flight. Oh lady, how I longed for the sight of your hand on
the door catch!

	When we were unloaded the second time, my heart was glad
indeed, but the way things were going it was too much to hope for us
to breeze through the airport. Customs is still keen, to a degree I
find ludicrous, since, in these days of easy synthesis, we have become
a net exporter of illegal drugs. The baggage handlers showed no
interest but my first warning of the trouble to come was the
appearance of the sniffer dog in my very limited field of view.
Although he ignored his fellow canines with impressive professionalism
when he got a look at me he did an almost laughable double-take and
started barking.

	Almost immediately his place at the door of my crate was taken
by the face of one of his human colleagues. Seeing the look on his
face, it is probably as well that I no longer have the capacity to
laugh out loud.

	"What the hell are you?" he said at last.

	My lady having the speech box, I was perforce uninformative. I
think the question was rhetorical anyway.

	The next hour or two I had a very narrow view of a bureaucracy
trying to react to a situation that wasn't in the books. A whole
series of faces, with or without a variety of uniforms, peered in at
me. At last they pulled me out of the crate. It was both painful and
ridiculous. They used one of those noose on a pole things that
dogcatchers use. Despite the fact that I was muzzled, they treated me
as if I were strongly suspected of being rabid. Someone they called
"Doctor" examined me. I think he was a veterinarian. He poked and
prodded and took a blood sample. He examine my face minutely. He read
my name tag aloud. At last he said to me, "You are human, aren't you?"
I shook my head vigorously, no.

	He stood up and addressed himself to the assorted customs
officers and police in the room, wrapping the mantle of his expertise
about him.

	"This is," he began with full pomposity, "the most extreme and
perverted case of bio-sculpting I have ever seen. He undoubtedly
understands everything we say and what is going on here but he can't
or won't talk. Probably can't."

	"But what are we going to do with him?" an official asked in a
dazed tone.

	"Well, a good start would be to remove the catchpole, give him
a drink of water and clean him up a bit. He doesn't look like he's had
a pleasant flight. He's not about to bite anybody, though I suppose
it's possible he might try to get away."

	Bless the man. But although this all seemed like something out
of Gilbert and Sullivan, I knew we were in trouble here, and I should
try to take it more seriously.

	They followed the vet's suggestions anyway. Perhaps because it
was something to do while they thought about it. He, himself, cleaned
up the fur where I had soiled myself, with the air of someone used to
such distasteful activity, and he removed my muzzle, though they all
looked as if they expected me to explode into an orgy of violence or
something. Instead I licked his face. I'm not sure if he was pleased
or disgusted.

	When I had drunk my fill, he put on some rubber gloves and
began to clean my fur with some antiseptic and a rag, where excrement
had stuck to it. As he did so he attempted to question me.

	"You do understand English don't you?"

	I was tempted to lie about it but it would probably just
complicate things so I nodded reluctantly. I really didn't want to
play these games. Why couldn't they ask my mistress these questions?

	"You deny being human but you don't deny that were human. I'm
sorry, a yes or no answer to that would be ambiguous. I mean were you
human?"

	It was pointless to deny it. He already knew and it was easily
proved. My DNA was still human.

	He found my name tag and read it out.

	"Did you allow this to be done with you of your own free
will?"

	Again I nodded, although I'm not sure if I'd claim to have my
own free will these days. Who needs it?

	One of the customs officials finally decided that he was being
excluded. He harrumped. I saw, with a slight sinking feeling, that he
had the passport of my erstwhile self.

	"Do you claim to be... " and he read out what used to be my
name, a lifetime ago.

	I replied in the negative.

	"Oh. I suppose that was the wrong question I should have asked
`Were you once... '"

	This time I nodded.

	"Oh, this is ridiculous. None of this is of any importance.
You may be a looney and think you are a dog, or something, but that
doesn't matter to the law. You have attempted to enter the country
illegally as a stow-away. That's the long and short of it and we must
establish your citizenship and immigration rights and determine what
laws have been broken. The only real problem is that this obscene
piece of medical malpractise makes it difficult to confirm your
identity."

	That was the attitude I'd feared and it was a hard one to
crack. To one who viewed it from that angle my mistress' actions would
probably be criminal, although I don't know exactly what law would be
invoked. I don't believe that the law could officially charge her for
my transformation, which took place beyond its jurisdiction, but there
were plenty of cases where a person was essentially tried for one
crime and sentenced for another (remember Al Capone?) I was very much
afraid that they would dredge up some charge, bend it to fit this
unprecedented situation, and come up with the severest sentence they
could muster. What I dreaded most for myself is that they would try to
"cure" me both physically and psychologically. I don't believe the
psychologists ever changed anyone's basic nature, but they can do a
lot of damage trying. A wave of depression came over me. I hate the
future and my face was, once again, being forcibly rubbed in it.

	There were eight men in that crowded interview room. I took a
quick survey of their expressions. Of all of them, the veterinarian
was the only one who was looking straight at me. I think in that
moment he was the only one there who was aware of me as a living
thing, rather than as a technical problem. I'm sure he was the only
one aware of my sudden defeated look. He made an effort then to cut
through that mood.

	"I don't think this is any business of customs and
immigration. Either he's the man you've got a passport for or he is
what he wants to be regarded as, just an animal that his owner is
importing. Either way I can't see why his entry is illegal. It might
be in breach of airline regulations or something if he's to be
regarded as a human, but not of the law."

	That produced a momentary silence. Then there was a general
shaking of heads and muttered conversation. One of the customs people
finally took charge.

	"We're going to hold you on suspicion of entering the country
illegally. You'll appear before a judge as soon as possible, probably
in a matter of hours. We'll let a court sort it out. Simkins, take him
to detention."

	I started, reluctantly, to follow the man but my veterinarian
friend was not through yet.

	"Just a moment. I don't know what the detention cells here are
like, but you do realise that he's unlikely to be able to use any of
the facilities: Sink, toilet, call bell and so on."

	Obviously they hadn't. Further debate ensued. Someone
suggested the quarantine kennels, half jokingly but was shouted down.
Finally they put me in an ordinary cell with a bowl of water. Some
time later someone brought a cat-litter tray for me. I wonder where
they got that. Mostly, though, I lay there wishing they would let me
be with my lady. I've never felt so miserable. Compared to this my
recent journey had been a barrel of laughs. I could find escape from
the future only in the past, which is infinitely inferior to the
present as a place to be. I've always accepted that "normal" people
will never understand me; not with their heads full of the ideals of
liberty and the work ethic, and here we were firmly in the hands of
the straights. I suppose it's necessary from society's point of view
that these dogma remain mostly unexamined. Maybe I'm not so harmless
after all.

				 XII

	Perhaps a couple of hours later, a small, bespectacled figure
was ushered into my cell. He had my control box in his hand. Like some
of the customs men, his initial reaction to the sight of me was a
shrinking away, a controlled fear. This reaction was ceasing to be
amusing. Here I was less capable of violence that the average sheep
and practically everyone reacted as if I were a lion or something
similar. The thought emerged from the box as words, further startling
him, but he got himself under control quite quickly. In my few
"conversations" with my mistress using the box I had found only one
way to deal with it and that was to ignore the words coming from the
box and just try to think as if my thoughts were as private as ever. I
just had to accept that with the box turned on the human knew my
thoughts. Why not? I have accepted that I have no rights. Why should I
reserve even this privacy? But this situation was different because I
was not talking to my lady and she had a right to privacy. On the
other hand she had, presumably, given the man the control box and,
with it, total power over me, therefore, if he learned anything about
her that she didn't want him to know, could that be my fault?

	"I... " The poor man was floundering. His problem was that
when the box is on, my thoughts rabbit on all the time, not letting a
polite person get an word in edgewise. It is rather like loghorea. It
was an aspect of the general problem we were facing. He was being
polite, treating me like a person, an equal. He needed either to
ignore me or, more simply, turn the voice box off while he thought and
spoke.

	He heard the thought and, after a moment's fumbling, turned
the speaker off while he spoke.

	"My name is Latimer and I'm a lawyer retained by your
mistress. This whole affair is unique in my experience and the airport
authorities seem to be floundering around trying to decide what to
charge who with. I think that's a disgraceful state of affairs. It's
pure outrage translated into legal action. Everything would be simpler
if we could solidly establish your identity. Can you think of a way to
do that?"

	He turned the speaker back on.

	I had already asked myself that question and I couldn't think
of anything at all solid. Presumably my retina and DNA were unchanged
but neither was on record. My photograph, of course, bore no
resemblance. I could not produce a signature. Even the notion of
finding someone who could verify my identity with personal questions
was effectively out since my mistress had been my only confidant for
years.

	But, in any case, I was convinced that verifying my identity
would just exchange one set of problems for another. I was not that,
or any other person, and every attempt to treat me, physically,
psychologically, or legally as a person would just lead us deeper into
the mire. The me he wanted to establish as my identity no longer
existed.

	"So what you are saying is that you want your previous life
declared ended. Do you realise what you are asking? You would have no
rights except those established by cruelty to animals laws. You could
be bought and sold. Killed on a whim."

	That was, of course, precisely what I wanted. I tried to make
it clear to him. People are domestic animals and, like all domestic
animals, society gives and society demands. People are special because
their principal function in society is to make decisions. To function
in this way they must be not only free to make decisions but be
required to do so. Society gives people more freedom than other
domestic animals in exchange for commensurately more responsibilities.
The deal simply didn't suit my personality. I didn't want the
responsibility so I couldn't, in fairness, accept the freedom.

	I had been incredibly lucky. I had found a lady who had use
for me without my decision making function. Who was prepared to take
responsibility for me in exchange for power over me. And, even more
rarely, she had found a way to change me physically so I could truly
lay down the human burden.

	On Johans Island, this had been fully recognised and accepted.
I had been happy there. If only there were some way he could help us
have the realities of our relationship recognised here, I would be
eternally grateful.

	If they tried to force me into the mold of their stereotype of
humanity, to force freedom down my throat, I would have a thoroughly
miserable life.

	The lawyer turned off the box and put it in his pocket.

	"I believe I understand now and I'll do what I can."

	He understood well enough anyway to stroke my head
reassuringly.

	"When we appear in front of the judge, we won't use or mention
this box. If you're asked questions, you must answer with gestures as
best you can. We'll try and keep it pragmatic and impersonal. We want
logic to win over emotion. I'll go now and prepare as best I can; not
that there is much preparation I can do, there being essentially no
precedent. You shouldn't have to wait here much longer."

				 XIII

	I had plenty of experience at handling waiting, but this wait
seemed an extraordinarily long one. Eventually a group of two
policemen and a customs officer came to take me to court. Although
there seemed some disagreement of the right way to escort me, common
sense finally prevailed and they put me on a leash.

	In the van, on the way to the court, I saw my lady for the
first time since boarding the flight, although they put us at opposite
ends and wouldn't allow us to touch. She gave me a smile, although I
could see she was worried and determined.

	There was another wait before we entered the court. When we
were finally let, in they seemed to be at a complete loss as to where
to put me. My lady called out helpfully to the two policemen who were
my escort.

	"I don't normally allow him to climb on the furniture but if
the court is going to see him hadn't you better put him up on a
bench?"

	It cheered me to see the typical manly confusion of men who
get a self-evidently sensible suggestion from a woman with which they
can find no fault save its source. After a moment they did as bid and
I lay on one of the appellants' benches, getting a good view of the
court. I was delighted to see that the presiding judge was a woman.
Score one for pragmatism. I caught her eyes briefly, then lowered mine
in deference. The public gallery was surprisingly full. Had the press
got onto this already?

	When everyone was reasonably settled the judge made her
opening remarks.

	"Anyone can see that this case has an unusual element which
will require certain procedure of the court to be modified. However I
will not permit this to degenerate into farce."

	The facts of our arrival were quickly established since they
were not in dispute. Then Latimer asked my lady if I was, in fact, the
man whose passport she held.

	"In certain respects. In a metaphysical sense yes. In a legal
sense? I think that's to be established."

	"Do you consider him to be a person now?"

	"Person is one of those cluster concepts. A person is
something with a series of properties like two arms and two legs, the
ability to fulfill a certain role in society, certain mental abilities
and so on. Some of these properties are evidently more important that
others. For example, a human being without the mental abilities of a
normal human is still a person, whereas an ape which is taught sign
language is still an ape. On this basis, since mental abilities are
the only obvious thing he has in common with humans, and mental
abilities do not seem to be very important in deciding whether
something is a person or not, I have to say that the answer is no. He
doesn't have enough of the important defining qualities to be a
person. He's just an unusually smart animal. The person in the
passport no longer exists. You can say that I destroyed him in a way
permitted by the laws of the country where the act was committed,
though according to those laws he entered the country as an animal
since he formally renounced his personhood on arrival."

	"Why did you arrange for him to be flown as freight rather
than as a passenger."

	"For the same reason that the court officials led him in here
on a leash, rather than treating him as a conventional suspect.
Common sense. I don't believe that the airline would have carried him
any other way, and they would be quite right. You can't have large
animals in an aircraft cabin. He'd've upset the other passengers. He
couldn't have been properly restrained. He can't use a toilet intended
for people."

	"So you are asking the court to treat him not as a possible
illegal immigrant, not as a returning citizen, but simply as an animal
belonging to you, which you chose to import."

	"Exactly."

	"As such he would have no civil rights, no entitlement to
state benefits. What about criminal responsibility?"

	"I believe there are adequate laws to protect people from
antisocial behaviour of domestic animals. I accept my responsibilities
as owner."

	They questioned me next although they did not put me in the
witness box, where I would have been invisible. They read the civil
oath and I nodded my acceptance.

	The prosecutor had no questions for me. Latimer asked me to
confirm who I had been born as. Then he asked, "Did you accept this
surgical modification of your own free will? Do you understand what
has been said here?"

	Then he asked the two critical questions: "Do you consider
yourself a person?" and "Is it your wish to be legally regarded as an
animal rather than a person from now on?" to which I emphatically
shook and nodded my head.

	Latimer then made a simple closing statement.

	"Whatever we may think of the morality of these two and their
relationship is irrelevant. There is no evidence for a breach of
immigration law except for technical anomalies which were bound to
happen under the circumstances. Either this is a returning citizen or
an animal. In neither case is his entry illegal. The position that he
should be treated, under law, as an animal, seems common sense, since
he clearly cannot function as a human being within our society."

	The judge retired briefly. On her return she said, "On the
matter of entry I find for the defendants. On the matter of whether
this creature is a person or not I am not competent to make a
decision. That matter I will refer to higher courts. I'm releasing
you two weirdos on the understanding that further action will almost
certainly follow and that you, young lady, had better not assume
rights over your `pet' that haven't been established."

	I jumped off the bench and ran over to my lady, nuzzling her
gleefully, until she called me to order. For the time being, at least,
we had won.

				 XIV

	Fortunately, my lady has an estate car with enough room in the
back for the sky kennel. She put the crate in the back and made me
climb into it, my enthusiasm for getting home slightly tempered by the
fact that this meant I had to enter head first with the door closed
against my backside. This added to the former discomforts of the crate
in that I could not see out and that my head was now only inches away
from the leavings of my last stint in here. There was, alas, no room
to turn around. Still I settled as best I could, and these physical
discomforts could not really dent my optimistic mood, though the
journey seemed longer that it had in the other direction.

	Eventually I heard the sound of garage doors closing and the
engine stopped. The entry tone on the alarm told me she was opening up
the house. Then I heard the suitcases being taken from alongside the
crate. I smiled, used to being fairly low on the list of priorities in
these matters. At long last she let me back clumsily out of the crate
and down from the tailgate but, instead of leading me into the house,
she called me to heel and walked through the small door into the small
but secluded backyard, sadly overgrown at the moment. As I had
feared, she led me straight to the wooden kennel which stood against
the back fence and clipped the chain which was attached to it to my
collar. She patted me, then went and fetched the large waterbowl which
she put, brimming, next to the entrance hole. She patted the bleached
wood of the kennel.

	"Now you have a proper fur coat, you don't need much
protection except from really extreme weather. So this kennel can be
your home from now on. Here is where you will eat, sleep and shit.
I'll probably often invite you into my home, the house, but I want you
to understand that you will be there on sufferance and only when I'm
there to keep an eye on you. It's a privilege to be earned. Now I'm
going to shower and unpack and you are going to stay here and wonder
if you'll be invited into the house today."

	We've often played with the kennel and I've stayed the
occasional night there, though it is generally too cold to sleep naked
out of doors. As a man it was too short for me to lie full length in,
but now I found it was a fair fit. As our lifestyle had developed, I
had a corner of the basement assigned to me with sawdust bedding and a
chain tether. This had actually been my own idea. I had found those
times when my lady was out or asleep to be full of temptations. It was
the boredom that had been the hardest thing to learn how to handle. I
dare say boredom is an occupational hazard of all pets but I think I
felt it more than most of them. An hour after being left alone in the
house the thoughts would come... she'd never know if I watched the
T.V. for a bit or made myself a snack. I'd succumb to these thoughts
occasionally and then feel miserable and guilty until, often days
later, I'd confess and ask for punishment.

	In the end I had begged her to save me from these temptations
by tethering me whenever I was in the house alone. What surprised me
was that being out of the reach of temptation actually seemed to
assuage the boredom to a considerable extent as if much of the feeling
was caused by my tempter trying to drive me to insubordination and,
since he was no longer able to do so, he no longer made my life so
miserable.

	Accordingly, what she had said about the kennel being my new
home did not really upset me. My real home had been, for some time,
not the house, but a corner of the basement. Of course I no longer had
a job to go to, but that didn't seem any great loss anyway. It had
come to seem unnatural and onerous, playing the role of a person for
my colleagues. Though alone, I did not feel abandoned here. The longer
she stayed away from me, the greater my joy when she came at last.

	The sun had set when she came out of the back door with my
leash and muzzle. I stood up immediately, walking carefully to the end
of my tether, the consequences of pulling too hard on it clearly in
mind. She patted me on the head and I licked her hand. Then she fitted
the muzzle and leash and walked me out of the side gate. It felt
strange going out through that gate like this. We've never gone
"walkies" in public before other than on the island and I was a little
nervous.

	As we emerged from the gateway I froze for a moment in shock
until she spoke sharply to me, mercifully not jerking the leash. The
road in front of the house was packed with reporters. A fusillade of
electronic flash units went off a second later and all the reporters
started talking at once. I realised I wasn't understanding a word.
Their yelled questions were just a noise to me. My lady had
considerately turned off my ability to understand speech. I think
without that, the verbal barrage, which of course I could make no
response to, would have been very unpleasant. It is almost painful to
be bombarded with more speech than the brain can handle. As it was, it
was simply a loud noise.

	My lady spoke a few short, calm answers but did not stop
walking. Soon we were walking down the street with the pack in
pursuit. Basically we ignored them. We went to the local park and we
went for a jog, which had the newsmen puffing. She did not let me off
the leash and I wouldn't willingly have left her side anyway with all
those people about. As we returned home, I saw that this was the
strategy most likely to get rid of the newshound pack in the shortest
time. Had we remained in hiding it would have just provoked their
nosiness. This way most of them would lose interest fairly quickly.

	And so it proved. Over the following days the number of press
people declined markedly. Meanwhile, I began to accustom myself to my
new lifestyle, and in particular to the long hours when my lady was
away at work. Those hours wore on me and yet they served to throw the
time I spent with my lady into high relief. Sometimes, during the
quiet hours, I would think back to my job, and to my previous life,
but not with any real nostalgia. It was as if that life belonged to a
different me, and I suppose in many ways that was exactly the case. I
had changed more than physically, and I was still changing.

	As the press interest declined, our walks became freer, and I
was able to run freely in the park. Of course, we attracted a great
many odd looks, and, at first, the ordinary park users pointedly
avoided us. Their dogs were, of course, another matter. When we met
them off the lead, most of them were naturally curious about me and
would sniff around me and occasionally try a little horseplay to which
I responded as well as I was able. This kind of thing very much
embarrassed their owners who needed to retrieve their pets but wanted
no contact with either my lady or myself. They would try calling their
dogs from a distance but the animals did not always respond and they
would have to approach far closer than they wanted to. Increasingly
they started to put their dogs on the lead as soon as we appeared. I
was about used by now to being treated as if I had a new kind of
infectious disease that might be contracted through an incautious
look. Still, I felt it would be nice, just once, for someone to look
straight at me other than through a viewfinder.

	Once the last of the press people had given up, we took to
going further afield. She would put me in the back of the car and
drive me to the coast or into the national park. It was on one of
these trips that someone finally did look straight at me and we met
Edward. Edward didn't just look straight at me. After asking
permission he stroked and, at the same time examined me. He and my
lady started talking, initially about me, and we sat down together.
The novel thing was that, whereas he was openly curious about the
technicalities and the legalities of my conversion, he never once
enquired about its motives. Nor did he question the way I was treated.

	Since then, we've seen more and more of Edward. I am ashamed
to say that I still suffer bouts of jealousy. Of course, what I feel
and think has no practical relevance. And yet, though his visits mean
my lady has a little less time to spend with me, I now have a master
as well as a mistress and I am starting to value his attention too.

	It was Edward that came up with the idea. Sooner or later my
legal status will have to be resolved and, to win, we will need money.
So why not, he pointed out, sell my story to a newspaper. There were
technical difficulties, of course, but they proved easy enough to
overcome. It was easy enough to tap into the voice synthesiser with a
computer. The main problem has been to edit the repetitions and
irrelevancies out of this account.

	Well, there it is, perhaps the end of the story. We seem to be
destined to settle down to a fairly conventional form of domesticity.
Assuming, of course, the law doesn't radically interfere. Well, we
shall see.

				 FIN