Chain the Guard Dog
"I still feel the cold of long past days. I knew my worth, put in my place. It's no surprise, i realized, some time before." --Static-X
"Wake up. It's time to get ready."
Well, that's settled then. If you say we're getting ready, then we are.
I wouldn't second guess you, even if I could rub the crud from my eyes and look at you properly.
I would never dream of challenging my Master.
I brush a thick blanket off of me. It wasn't there when I fell asleep in the living room, and I wasn't in this bed. That's typical Master, always making me feel so comfortable--
Whack.
Well, usually.
A swat on the ass, nothing vicious. I barely feel it, and if anything, it makes me hungrier for your touch.
In fact, that sounds nice right about now. Just you and me, Master. Bend me at any angle you please and use your wonderful hands on me. Pet me, tickle me, wrestle me to the ground, anything you can think of. All of your actions make me feel so loved, even the slightly painful ones. I want whatever you think I deserve. Master knows best...
"Are you deaf, Chain?"
...Oh, shit, that's right, you're waiting on me. Heh, sometimes I get a little carried away. Sorry, Master.
"Get your leash, now. I want you ready for work in twenty."
I scramble off my little bed, scooping up my leash. I pull my pant legs up, one, then the other, as I hop into the kitchen. I juggle the clasp of the thick leather strap, a bowl of cereal, and a jug of milk. It wouldn't take me twenty minutes to get ready if I could calm down and do one thing at a time, but once I get excited, there's almost no stopping me.
Alright. Leash on, cereal done. Time for the next round. Orange juice in a glass, bread in the toaster, dog dish filled but untouched.
The sounds of water slapping endlessly against tile comes from upstairs, and I know I have to hurry. Oh Master, you're so sharp, so focused. It takes you ten minutes to shower, tops, and every part of you is clean enough to eat off of... but no, there won't be any "repeat incidents" of that.
Ding!
I jump a little as the toaster dings. Honestly, I will never get used to that. As the water shuts off, I fumble through the dishwasher to find a spoon. Placing it dutifully at your preferred place at the table, I turn to fetch your glass. Just as Master likes, a bowl of his favorite cereal, a glassful of bread and some toasted orange juice...
...Oh, fuck.
I can hear clothes rustling, I rush to get the untoasted bread flattened out on your plate, and to drain the ruined toaster of sticky, orange evidence. The familiar smell of Master enters the room before the Master does, and only a split second later have I poured him a new glass. I take up my place on my knees, beside your chair, eyes forward. The dish of my own food teases me from right under my nose, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Master feeds me because I am loyal and obedient to him. Food is a reward for being a good boy.
You enter in full soldier's uniform. That can't be a good sign, we must be late for patrol. My theory is confirmed by your lack of inspection--not that I mind, today. It's not every day I get mixed up like that, I just get excited. A wave of approval (Although today, it's more likely just dismissal) from your hand, and we both eat.
"Didn't remember to toast the bread this morning, Chain?" You ask casually.
"The toaster wouldn't work when I tried. I think it's broken. I'm sorry, Master."
I hide the burning shame on my face from you. It feels so awful to lie to you, Master. I don't mind punishment anymore, but I want to make you proud, I don't want you to be disappointed in me.
"I see. We'll fix it by tomorrow, then."
I make a mental note to fix it myself before you have to get your hands dirty on my mistake. I know enough about appliances from watching you take them apart in your spare time, and the nearby junkyard is a gold mine of working parts.
I finish breakfast before you, like I always do. That's one thing being excitable will do for me. As you finish drinking the last of your juice, you slip a large jacket over me and zip it up. You're so thoughtful, Master. You know I always have trouble with the zipper. I stand up and flex a little, making sure the thick padding is firmly held on my large, stocky frame. The words "Guard Dog" stretch and dance on the back of the jacket, but everything holds tight.
"I'm ready when you are, Master."
I am rewarded for my timeliness by a pat on the head, a quick scritch behind one ear.
"Good boy, Chain. Let's get to it."
Those words and your hands are all I need to be happy. Let's get to it.
Inner-city patrol is never what you'd call interesting, but it beats being shot at on the outskirts of town. It's also the closest thing I get to walkies.
You hold my leash in one hand and a rifle in the other. The weapon is older than I am, but I don't mind sharing my Master with it. I want you to use everything you can to protect yourself... including me. I live to keep you safe... and to make you proud.
Author's notes:
Khhhhffffhhhhhhh I'm such a hypocrite. I told myself I'd never really get into anything on Yiffstar or Sofurry that didn't have SOME fucking in it, and then I go and bloody write something without any. I wouldn't say this concept is over after this story for certain, but knowing my track record, it's pretty much done. Oh well.