Chapter 1

I wasn't surprised to find that, as soon as I sent this story to an editor, the skepticism started.

If I was a real dog -- a 100% canine-type-dog, then how was I able to write out this manuscript? I couldn't talk, right? So I couldn't dictate the damned thing into a microphone, right?

And I couldn't type, either, now could I? Maybe a million monkeys could, given adequate time and infinite amounts of Microsoft Word software, eventually come up with the collected works of Shakespeare.

But monkeys got fingers, Jack. We dogs, we got fucking paws!

So the editor, he wanted to know how it was that I could produce a manuscript, and, Hell, I guess it was a fair question. The answer is, it was damned difficult! I developed the urge to tell my life story long, long before I ever figured out how to set it down in print.

You gotta remember that, dog or not, I'm a whole lot swifter than your average, everyday mutt. I watch television (and I can operate the remote, too, so I am not confined to American Idol, even if that's the channel the humans I lived with had left on last). I had noticed, on the Discovery Channel, that there were software programs that could help people with severe paralysis to print out messages -- or create voice messages -- on their computer. Some of the people using these machines had no use of their hands at all! Compared to them, my paws were pretty damned capable! Anyway, these people could print out messages by just looking at letters on the computer screen! Sure, it's a slow, tedious process, but, hey, when you really want to communicate, it's a lot better than nothing!

And it works fine for me, too. I had a devil of a time arranging to get the software purchased, delivered and installed in my own computer, but I got it done, all right. How? Well, it's a long story, and, I'm sorry, but like I said, writing stuff out by this method is a pretty tedious process. I got all this software installed so that I could tell my story, and that's what I want to write about -- not about the tribulations of getting some nerd to come in and install the software for me.

I got it done -- at long last -- and you're just gonna have to be satisfied with that.

Now, I may be a dog, and all, but I clearly used to be a human in another life, because I remember how humans live and behave, and I am still interested in humans -- especially human women. I guess I'm a True Dog, though, because along the way I've met a few female dogs that rang my chimes enough so that I hopped on and got me some doggy pussy (so to speak). It felt good -- damned good -- and I kind-of like the Dog Worldview: namely, that if you want to get laid, you just, y'know, go for it. Eliminates a lot of hassle, that.

Still, dog-on-dog sex is kind-of like rape (although I haven't had any complaints from the girl doggies, so far). You just climb aboard like that, and insert penis here. But even if it's perfectly natural, I'm afraid my Other Side -- the human being-side of me that doesn't show at all on the surface but which is still highly active in my brain -- is far more interested in scoring some homo sapiens pussy.

Needless to say, it's a whole lot easier, when you're a dog, to get laid by a fellow dog. Getting a human-type female interested is real hard going, all the way. It takes planning, patience, and a mature ability to postpone gratification for lengthy periods.

But, hey, nothing's impossible, if you work at it.

First of all, you've got to get Proximity. You've got to find a human female that is interested enough in you -- as a dog -- to invite you into her home. Now, I have lots of advantages in that area. First of all, I'm a damned good-looking dog, if I say so myself (and I do). I'm a mixed-breed, but it seems to be a German Shepherd/Labrador Retriever mix, so I'm big and muscular and good-lookin'.

More importantly, since I've got brains in my doggy skull that are 'way ahead of any ordinary dog you ever knew, I can use my wiles to make myself more attractive, and to get myself noticed, a whole lot easier than your average run-of-the-alley dog.

On the other hand, having all these human-like feelings disadvantages me a little, too. I mean, It would be a whole lot easier to find a human female interested in a little hanky-panky if I didn't have such high-grade tastes in women. I don't want some boozed-up trailer-park floozy who might be relatively easy for me to seduce. Uh-uhh!. I want a top-of-the-line babe -- the same kind of babe you want, Jack. The same kind of babe I probably wanted, back when I was a regular human-type guy.

Now, getting in the door isn't that hard. The first woman I saw who looked really good for it was unloading groceries from the trunk of her Honda Accord, which was parked outside her small-but-neat single-family detached. She had a whole slew of plastic bags there, and she took about five of them with her on her first trip from the driveway, through her open garage, into the interior of her split-level. Well, I just grabbed me a mouthful of grocery bags -- yes sir, yes sir, two bags full -- and fished them out of the trunk and followed her. She didn't notice me behind her until she had unlocked the door from the garage into her kitchen. Then, of course, she quickly figured out that I was holding hostage a portion of her grocery purchase.

What could she do?

She let me in. I cantered into her kitchen, gently put down the two plastic bags of groceries on the floor next to her refrigerator, and scurried past her, outside again, through the open door. She was a little uncertain, but she put down her own bags and followed me, and by the time she got to the car, I had the handles of two more plastic bags in my mouth. The trunk was now empty, and all she had to do was close it and follow me back into the house.

Well, I'd been a significant help to her in bringing in the goodies, and of course she was bemused by the whole idea of a grocery-toting doggie. So I just looked beautiful and ingratiating, there, on her kitchen floor, and I waited for whatever came next. Either she'd try to coax me out the door and send me on my way, or else she'd decide that maybe I ought to be permitted to stay awhile.