Chapter 1

Ever since I was a baby, we have always had dogs. It wasn't a question of if we had a dog, it was a question of how many did we have. I was the middle child, the second daughter, I was nothing special to my family. While my sister and younger brother claimed most of the attention I was quite pleased with playing with the dogs in the house. We always had more than three dogs in the house at a time. We had three of our own, Montana, Scarlette, and Max, but upon that we also boarded other people dogs. I would spend hours out in the backyard playing with the multitude of dogs, I would crawl on my hands and knees whenever I could, and I even started to pick up on and imitate the sounds the other dogs made.

There weren't any windows allowing view into the backyard so I was free to pretend and act like one of the pack. Such a big part of me wished that I was actually a dog, but I was content enough with just being able to act like one and be accepted into the ever changing pack in our house. And I really was part of it. Growing up with my own dogs, I would see how they always dominated the dogs that came for boarding, and I started doing it myself.

At first the boarders would be surprised at a human growling on her hands and knees, but I would always be treated like another dog in the end. I would fight the other dogs in the backyard and run around with them, play fighting in the dirt. Even though I obviously lacked the sharp teeth and claws of the dogs, I had the advantage of strength and manoeuvrability to make the fight fair. The one thing that wasn't in my favour was my smooth bare skin, which often left me with bruises, scratches, and sometimes even scars – which were never pleasant to explain to my teachers. Whenever someone would ask why I keep playing with the dogs so roughly when I obviously get hurt, I could never explain it because I knew they would never understand. My own mother – who was as big a dog person as someone could get – would try to keep me from playing with the dogs whenever she could because she didn't like how we played.

I never did stop playing with them, they felt more like family than anyone else did. I never minded how they sometimes hurt me, the way I saw it was that they thought of me enough like pack and kike another canine that they had no issue play fighting with me like they would another dog. The few times that one of the males would mount me was when I would feel like I had truly been accepted as pack, and as a female dog, instead of as one of the humans watching over them. I had established a place in the pack, under Montana, Scarlette, and Max, but above everyone else if I chose it. There would only be a rare occasion when I wouldn't dominate a dog, and it was often times a male I fancied.

The one that I remember most was Harley; a very large, strongly but leanly built Golden Retriever. His coat was thick and full and an amazing shade of pale golden. Harley didn't have his manly parts but it was obvious his owners had waited till he grew into his full male coat before neutering him. He had an attractive head and a very proportionate body. He was smart and had a very calm attitude, though he could hold his own in a fight. All together he was a very well put together golden and he caught my eye immediately.

Like most of the dogs who came for boarding, he was wary of me and treated me like what I was, a human, but after a couple days he began to treat me and see me like a bitch. This would be the point where I would usually assert myself as dominant, but I let Harley presume the role a role of dominance. In just a week, Harley granted me the greatest acceptance as a real bitch that any dog could give when he mounted me.

It was an unusually cool summer day and all the pack was taking advantage of the breeze; running and jumping and playing, it was a very happy day for everyone. I had been play-fighting with Shanook, a female husky, when Harley came over and shoed her away. He sat down beside me, his shoulder at my head and I started to groom him, eventually he lay down and I made quick work of his face with my tongue. When he seemed to be asleep, I got up, intending to join in the tussling taking place across the yard, and the only warning I got was a rub against my ass before I felt Harleys full weight on my back. My elbows almost buckled under the weight but I held my own. He was heavy and I almost fell forward a couple times as he humped me, but I barely noticed; I was too pleased at what was taking place.

When he seemed to have had enough he backed off a couple feet and laid down, panting. I lay down with him and pressed against this back. I wasn't the least bit ashamed or embarrassed. Harley clearly saw me as enough of a real bitch to treat me as one and I was ecstatic. He did it multiple more times over the course of two weeks and many of the male dogs that we boarded started to recognise me as Harleys bitch and would avoid me when he was around. I didn't think of it much at the time as I was young and didn't truly know what a mate was, but Harley was treating me as his mate. In a way, I'm glad I didn't understand the concept of the word mate, because when he left, it hurt enough just thinking of him as a preferred male.

When Harley left, it hurt. He had been with us for little over a month and I let myself grow far too attached. He had stayed far longer than any other male who I had let dominate me, and he was the only one I had chosen to actually mount me. From that day forth, I dominated any male who came for boarding. My life as part of the pack went on as normal, only changing when Harley would come for boarding again and I would act as his mate. Harley had been 10 the first time I met him, so it came as no surprise when he died two years later, but it hurt none the less. I chose to never get as close to another dog as I did Harley, and I was happy.