A strong-willed dog needs a Master with a firm hand.
Dog Days - Chapter 1: Beating a Stubborn Dog
by Amalaric
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Unlike cats, dogs are known for being trainable, for doing what they’re told to do. An obedient dog is a master’s delight, steadied by a firm hand, good for years of pleasure. Every now and then one runs into a different kind of animal; surly or stubborn or both, maybe prone to snarl, perhaps used to being the alpha male in charge of the pack or, conversely, a loner accustomed to getting along just fine by himself, doing things his way. Then again, he may have been picked up at the pound and learned some bad habits behind bars. The hard scrabble life on the other side of mesh wire at pound or puppy mill may have locked some bad attitude behind those smoldering brown eyes and, though he would have been yapping with the rest of the pack, begging for release, the dog never had any real intention of showing gratitude for the master’s choice when, out of all the inmates, he was selected, taken from the howling crowd and casually checked for suitability. In a way, it’s hard to blame him for being secretly (so far) pissed off. For his part, the master may also have had an inkling that this particular dog would come with some special baggage; running a rough hand over back and chest, scratching behind ears, rubbing the taut belly and scratching casually in the curly hair at the dog’s groin, he had a right to expect some gratitude or, at least, a look of eager pleasure. He is greeted instead with stiff-limbed endurance and briefly wonders if the animal is worth the effort. Shaking his head, the master cracks a slow smile- he loves a challenge.
All dogs require training and most enjoy it. This stubborn canine, however, has other ideas and, over the first few weeks under the master’s tutelage, has made it clear that life in the new kennel isn’t to his liking. He longs to run free, dimly remembers a time when he commanded the pack and sullenly resists the escalating blandishments to change his ways. Nothing seems to work. The master has been patient, but patience knows some limits. Stern words of command turn to rebuke, eventually giving way to the occasional smack- all to no avail. ‘Fetch!’ The simple imperative is sullenly ignored, though the master knows full well that his dog understands- not stupid, just damn obstinate. Exasperated, he goads the animal into an unused barn and strips the shirt from the dog’s broad back. Damn, this one might have a bad case of attitude…but what a build! Like a thoroughbred, all rippling muscle and smooth perfection. The animal stands impassively, shaking with rage and indignation as the bull whip is unfurled. The first bite lays a bright red welt across his naked back and he clenches his jaw, stubbornly refusing to cry out. The master narrows his eyes, looking for subtle signs of submission and is disappointed- only the jumping muscles of the dog’s clenched jaw betray any indication of distress. He nods toward the pile of lumber stacked in the corner; ‘Fetch!’ And the bull whip cracks again, searing a parallel welt next to the first. The dog bows his head and begins to sweat but doesn’t move an inch, paws planted firmly in the dirty straw scattered on the floor. The master sighs and cocks his arm, ‘We got all day if you like, boy.’ He smiles and as the long whip splits the humid air and another stripe crosses the dog’s heaving back, he laughs. ‘Yep, I reckon there’s no better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than beating some sense into a stubborn dog.’
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