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.

My pack life was the best it could be, but my human life left much to be desired. During the winter months and when it was raining, when the dogs were inside most of the time, I would crawl around with them and my family members would laugh at me and call me weird. I didn't care really but when my mom demanded I "get off the fucking floor" and "act like a girl", I hated her. My school teacher would call home and complain about my barking in class, and growling at other students. It was fine when I was in grade one and two, because come on, what kid doesn't act like a dog every once in a while? It was when I was in grades three and four that my teachers would really complain. The day I realised that I needed to keep my canine half hidden from people was recess one summer in grade four.

A couple friends and I were playing house, and I obviously acted as the family pet. I wouldn't let anyone else take the role, their inaccuracy as a canine infuriated me. I was playing the excited puppy and running around with a friend acting as a daughter to the makeshift family. It was fine, all fun and games, till I pulled her to the ground, jumped on her, and started licking her face. She was in a fit of laughter, giggling and wiggling, and honestly having a good time. Her sister though wasn't in good spirits. She pushed me off my friend and gave me a disgusted look, and yelled "I can't believe you just licked my sister..." in my face, all the while I sat on my ass in the grass. She didn't have to finish the sentence, I knew what she was going to call me. Freak.

I stopped playing the dog after that. I didn't bark another word, and I only played my canine role when the others were to. My mom was happy, she didn't get any more concerned calls from teachers, but I felt like I had just had a right of mine taken away. My families tolerance for my canine behaviour was slowing losing diminishing too, to the point where I needed to cut off the behaviour to when I was outside, and when I wasn't in the sight of anyone. Years went by and my pack related interaction with the dogs became less and less as that level of interaction became less and less tolerable and acceptable. I was becoming a human again in the eyes of the dogs, and I hated it completely.

When my mom stopped boarding completely to take up breeding golden-doodles, my heart nearly broke. The promise of puppies though was one that made me smile. I was old enough to be left home alone to watch the puppies and whenever I was, I took the opportunity to act canine. The puppies grew up with the impression that I was slightly less human than the others and it was enough to tide me over; though I always did feel like something was missing. I wanted a pack again, and most importantly I wanted to be able to act like pack again. I was jealous of the relationship Scarlette and Montana had with Max and I felt like was torn away from my real family. So many times I would cry myself to sleep and wish that I could be dog. My family had ignored me so much in the younger stages that I had grown learning from the dogs. I was an abomination. I had to study the behaviour of the people around me intently to imitate it, and it took me twice as long as it should have to make fiends. I didnt care who was funny or pretty or this or that, loyalty and if they were dependable mattered, and that wasn't the way people worked apparently.

So many of the human traits I learned later in life shocked me. People chose partners for their beauty or strength, group leaders were chosen by who had most popularity. I was an outcast at school because I was used to the ways of dogs, not of my own species. The hardest part was the noises I made. Whenever I wanted to growl or whine, I had to remind myself that hey, I'm human, and humans don't make those noises. At the age of thirteen though, I had finally gotten acting like a girl down pat. I made 'friends' and mingled at school easily, and I could talk for hours with friends about things that didn't interest me at all simply because that was what was normal. Only when I was alone was I safe to be my canine self and act as true pack to my dogs. I wasn't necessarily happy with the ways things were, but I was stable and I couldn't complain. Max had died and now it was just us three bitches running the house, occasionally controlling a litter of pups.

It wasn't until Crammer, one of Montana's first puppies, came for boarding, that I realised there was still a hole in my heart left behind by Harley. Crammer took no time at all in filling the hole. He only ever came for boarding for days at a time, but still, I considered Crammer my mate, as I understood what the word meant. I knew dogs didn't really have mates, wolves did, but I chose Crammer as my mate, and in some ways, I tried to convince myself that he chose me as his, even though I knew he didn't, couldn't. He definitely liked me above every one else, even Montana and Scarlette, but I was able to admit to myself that Crammer wouldn't never truly be my 'mate'. I kept our relationship hidden and when we were alone I acted as his soul bitch. Not once did he mount me though, and although it was displeasing, I accepted it. I had done the smart thing by not setting myself up for heartbreak again because we moved to Shwasten, an hour away, not three months later. I never saw Crammer again.

My luck was about to turn though, because my mom got an opportunity to make $3000 a month boarding a field golden retriever names Samba. His owner had a wife in another country that was about to have their baby, and didn't want to bring Samba. We were only supposed to take care of him for three months, but three turned into five and I grew attached not only with a canine personality, but as a human as well. When the man came back and took Samba away, I was only happy because he told us that in two months he would be needing us to board Samba again. When the owner came back the second time, we told him if he ever needed a home for Samba, we would take him. The man made me year when he said he would be happy to give us Samba, and he signed Samba over exclusively in my name. Three years later and Samba and I have a relationship stronger than that of Harley and I.

Sambas thick golden orange coat was soft in-between my fingers. I stroked my hand up and down the side of his body; all the way from his rump to the top of his head, and back down again. The same routine every night.

Samba would sit on the floor patiently, wagging his tail, and waiting for me to crawl into bed first. Once I was laying on my side, facing him, he would jump up without being invited and lay down beside me; his back flush against my front so that I was the big spoon and he the little. It isn't a matter of speaking either, Samba really is little. Being an American field golden he's supposed to be on the smaller side, but he's unnaturally small for a male, especially since he has his balls still.

He didn't make a sound as I stroked my hand through his fur. Every now and then his back leg muscles would stiffen when I brushed my hand over his hip. He was in a fight with our female Labrador Brandy and she had hit him quite hard in that area. He walked funny for a little while after that, and even though he's completely recovered, that area I think will always be sensitive.

I know what you're probably thinking; why did my female dog pick a fight with my non-neutered male dog? Well, like I said, Sambas small, and Brandy just doesn't like him, at all. She's spayed so she doesn't feel properly for him like a female should. I resent her greatly for it.

Without thinking about what I was doing, my hand slid farther down Sambas stomach till I was stroking the fur from his chest to the base of his shaft. I frowned when he didn't even respond to the touch.

So many stories I had read on bestiality and people coupling with their pets gave off the impression that all I had to do was touch Samba in an intimate manner and he would be jumping up and down, barking with anticipation of mating with me. No such damn luck. I knew most – if not all – the stories were fiction, but still, that didn't stop the hope from springing up inside me.

Don't get me wrong, I had tried many different things to attempt to get him excited; rubbing his shaft up and down, poking my finger into the opening of his shaft, one time I even pulled back the shaft enough to see the tip of his penis and licked it. Nothing ever came of it except Samba giving me one of those "what the fuck are you doing? People are fucking weird" expressions.

It would aggravate me to no end whenever our other female dog Stella came into heat. Samba would give her every ounce of his attention. Always around her and mounting her. His penis seemed to always be around if she was anywhere within smelling distance. I knew that there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, Stella was in heat and Sambas was fully male; it was purely instinct that drove him. No matter how much I knew that though, I would always feel this surge of anger whenever Stella went near him like the wanton bitch in heat she was. I resented her to no end. The only thing that gave me relief was that Stella was too tall for Samba and he could never get his penis in her. In the back of my mind I knew that if she became pregnant, I would despise the litter.

Ever since I first grew attached to Samba, those three years ago, I had always felt my bond with him as much more than just owner and pet. In secret I acted as pack and claimed him as my mate as much I could. Every oter day of the year, Samba was mine; he followed me around the house, would sit outside the bathroom door, whine if I shut my bedroom door on him, and wait at the window to watch for me walking home from school. If we were sitting on the couch he would snap at Brandy and Stella if they came to close, and although he isn't dominant over them, they would stay clear and back off. Even with that knowledge in mind, for the small period of time that Stella dragged his attention away and was able to arouse him I was furious. I was jealous. The canine part of me wished that Samba would be aroused by my own advances, but he never was. Relief from my agitation with Stella came to an end when my mom finally got her spayed.

My hand was resting on his rib cage and the slow fall and rise of his breathing let me know that he was sleeping. I buried my nose in the thickness of his neck and tangled my fingers his under-fur. I knew that I couldn't call Samba my mate, not matter how much he already acted like it, no matter how much I wanted it, until we truly mated. My success in the matter was looking bleaker and bleaker the more time went on, and the sexual frustration rising in me was becoming annoying. Just laying beside him like this while he slept made my lower region tighten. I pressed my groin against his rump. I whined, the sound turning into a growl as the hope for mating with Samba turned into frustration.

The next morning I woke up with Samba lying on my feet. My alarm didn't wake him, as it never did, and he didn't budge when I reached down to stroke his head. His tail started t beat the bed through when I slid my hand under his chin and stroked my fingers across the other side of his muzzle. His eyes opened when I got out of bed and the whole time I changed he watched me with curious canine eyes. I had seen his lust filled eyes, but never when he watched me change. Never when he watched me period.

I left the room and Samba followed me all around the house until I completed my morning routine and headed to school.

I was an okay student. Unlike more than half the kids at my school I came to school sober, unaffected by weed, and I actually paid attention in class. I had no clique, no group of friends. The people I spoke to, I only spoke to in class and I ignored with graceful precision in the halls; they weren't the kind of company I wanted.

I wasn't much for participating in class discussions, but my science teacher had begun a topic of animal sciences that sparked my interest in more than one way; hormones.

"You see, animals emit scents that mean different things to others of their species. Animals emit these scents for things like anger, or love. It's not hormones initially that lead to mating between animals, it is initially the scent a female gives off that ignites the males hormones"