[Stray's note:  I found this story / record in my collection, and it was also sent to me by a visitor.  It was obviously once part of a magazine, and so I'm a little wary of putting it up since I don't want to violate anyone's copyright.  If anyone knows which magazine this comes from and an email address at which I can reach them, I'd appreciate it.  Certainly if you, the current reader, hold the copyright on this, let me know and I'll take it down.  I don't want to be sued. : )

That said, I should note for those curious that the author, Kai, is definitely still around on the internet-- I can't remember where, but I've seen postings from him in the last few months, either on the Yahoo clubs, the Dog House mail list, or the Petserver mail list.  (That's another email address I'd like to find..) ]

MY FIVE YEARS
AS A DOG
BY KAI

Sir:
 I am finding this a difficult task, trying to relate the sum of five years, experience devoted to pleasing my former owner. Those years were spent in an all-consuming effort on a journey that was to lead me to become his dog.
 I did spend, Sir, the majority of those years on all fours, having been dehumanized into my life as my Master's dog. It was a transformation of attitude, behavior, character, and development of a personality originally human towards being as completely canine as possible. I had given up all my belongings, clothes, money, books-things I had accumulated over 26 years. Dogs have no need of such things. I became a creature who owned nothing, yet never wanted anything, but never went without basic essentials. I had found a man who became my Master, my owner, who led me to see the pleasure of living as that special dog of his. I was happy to have given up my human liberty to find a better freedom to be and exist under his control.
 There is a special relationship between a man and his dog that when found is quite rare. The scratch between the ears, petting the head, that stroking of the rump led me to a special level of understanding that I was wanted, cared about and, yes, even loved. I was led to the level of understanding a dog comes to know that told me: "I belonged to him."
 I belonged to a man who had remarkably muscular body and carried himself every inch a man. He stood 6'2" tall and proud. He had an air about him that would tell anyone instantly that he controlled his own destiny. He knew what he wanted and had a way of getting it. There was no room in anyone's mind to question his motives or actions. He was one when respect was earned, was real. There wasn't anything phony about him.
 When I met him , I found him looking seriously for a pet- a very special kind of pet-he could mold, drive, restructure into the kind of animal he wanted. A human pet he could degrade, dehumanize and keep as a dog, to live as a dog on all fours, to eat what dogs eat, to live as dogs live, to work as dogs work(sometimes), to pleasure him and become a special source of pride for him. He wanted in his pet the best of two creatures: a bit of smarts, coupled with the loyalty and obedience of a well trained dog. His whole demeanor suggested that nothing else would be able to fulfill a very special part of his life. He wanted a man as a dog and him to be kept in that state. It later became obvious that he found a real pleasure in debasing and degrading and dehumanizing. And I was to learn a pleasure, free of my former human state, more fulfilling than anything I had ever experienced in my obscure past. I was to find that the focus of all my attention was to be directed around his pleasure, that when he was pleased, I was ecstatic.
 I was to begin my new life fresh. All my natural needs were to be taken care of to the point that I could devote all my time and energy to the activities at hand, rather than have to worry about where my next meal was coming from. I thrived on the attention received from him every step of the way from my 'puppy' days on. I grew in a way that only inflamed my growing desire to please. I was to become happy only when he was satisfied.
 Yes, I crave once again to be chosen by a man who would be interested in developing me further as the dog I have become to be. I do hope that I may see one day the completion of the process started by my former owner finally and totally to actualize my life as a dog.
 Sir, I am not a slave  per se, though there were many components of a slave's duties during part of my life as a dog. Obviously, I had sexual duties to perform. But those were within a larger construct of my everyday life.
 My owner was a respected S in Philadelphia. I was to find myself introduced to and eventually an active participant in those kinds of activities. I was to find my own pleasure under his control. I even eventually saw a sparkle in his eyes that suggested I was becoming for him the animal he wanted, whom he was beginning to take pride in. With me, he realized what he had set out to do and for some times shared that special chemistry with him that brought what was once a fantasy into livable reality.
 To many my chosen life to live as a dog is probably thought to be strange, Unorthodox as it may be, my life found contentment and fulfillment never before achieved as a human. For too long I had lived with needs unfilled, desires often crushed, relationships too often one-sided and often times cruel. It is not my intentions to dwell too long on such thoughts or to try to analyze my life in psychological terms. I can only repeat that for the first time in my life I felt content.
 Sir, I experienced my basic needs for food, warmth and shelter from the outset of my being with my owner. Any preconceptions I originally had were quickly put to rest. I hadn't a thing to worry about. I was in good hands. I found other, deeper needs in me being met as well. I was seeing satisfaction in my own security, confinement, control, discipline, attention and even a little affection thrown in. I found myself eventually where I was no longer considered human. I lost everything from my freedom to my previous identity. I learned new skills. I was taught to bark, to listen, to behave more and more on an instinctive level. I found an excitement in worshipping at my owner's feet.
  My owner was good to me. He tolerated no disobedience, but he took good care of me. he devoted an awful lot of time, patience, and energy into training me. He brought me from my puppy state to where I was to become a functioning, responsive male dog. I learned to trust for the first time in my life. I learned to have confidence in the authority and the will of another who was my owner. I grew to respect him in a way I was never able to give anyone ever before.
 My life would be living in his household sharing his space, his time and his attention. I was to share space with his biological dog named Duke. I shared Duke's kennel, the same food he was fed, the same cages, the same leashes, and, yes, even the same fleas.
 I met my owner in a Philadelphia bar. I never was one to frequent the bars. there was nothing in the bars that really held any attraction for me. But one day after a hard day at work. I chose to go out and try to unwind. I felt like a drink. I went out and was glad I did.
 The bar wasn't crowded when I got there. There were a number of good-looking guys; some dressed in various degrees of leather, some in Western dress. Most were hot-looking. I wouldn't have kicked any of them out of bed, believe me.
 I was there about a hour or so, enjoying the music, chatting with one or another. I was feeling rather good with myself after awhile. I even did a little cruising on my own, Why not? I spotted a tall, dark, muscular dude decked out in leather, with chains hanging from the left and a drink in his hand. I wouldn't have thought anything of the situation if it hadn't been the fact that he was staring at me. I've never even given thought to anyone in leather outside my own fantasy world. But here was this dude staring in my direction. I felt his eyes piercing right through me. he made me a little nervous. There was a look on his face that invited, that prodded, that inquired. Obviously, he wanted to talk. I grabbed my glass and went over to him.
 I wasn't expecting much of a dialog, but was pleasantly surprised to find him to be an intelligent man who had the ability and capacity for gentleness. He also projected an air of authority that one didn't think about challenging. We exchanged a few pleasantries, those superficial introductory remarks everyone uses to break then ice. After a short time he took charge of the situation and directed a few questions, made a few comments and left me eventually with the  understanding that here was someone who was far more interested in me than a mere bar acquaintance.
 I learned his name was Phil. He was highly educated, owned his own business, owned his own home. That night I was to learn a hell of a lot more about this big man than I ever dreamed think of. He suggested we go someplace a little quieter, where we could talk. Since I didn't feel threatened being with him after we had already talked, I threw a little caution to the wind and agreed to go with him. he had something specific he wanted to talk to me about and the place he took me to offered the space and atmosphere where he could lay me what he had in mind. Here for the first time was someone who appeared genuinely real. I was quite willing to listen to him.
 I felt a mix of a little fear, a lot of interest, and a whole lot of curiosity.
 We arrived at our destination, a small little place that from the outside looked like a proverbial dive. Actually, it wasn't much better on the inside. There were a lot of guys here dressed as Phil was. It was obviously a place where he was known and felt comfortable being in.
 We entered, ordered a couple drinks and walked towards a corner that looked private enough, where we could continue out talk. he made a move towards why he was interested in me at the bar I was in earlier. There seem to be some invisible signal I was giving out that shouted of needs and frustrations, most of which he picked up on. He questioned me on many things: what did I do for a living, what I had hoped for in the future. He touched on things only I thought were too personal too share with anyone. he took hold of a number of fantasies he sensed were in me and drew them out.
 Then he hit me squarely with what he was looking for. It turned out that I was going to be part of his own quest. he was seeing me not as I was, but what he could possibly transform me into. But the way he wanted me sent my mind racing. He wanted to own me. He wanted me to give up my freedom and place my whole being in his hands. He wanted to bend me, drive me, mold me, transform me into a dog. I thought truly I was in Bozo heaven when he told me. I thought me crazy just sitting here listening to all this. he wanted to take full responsibility for the life and well-being of me as his human dog. He was offering me a position at his feet at the end of his leash, and eventually a place in his heart.
 I sat there dumbfounded as he spoke of some very real needs, many of which I was feeling. He touched on a lot of things that went deep inside me. Yes, I had my fantasies. Yes, I envisioned myself at the end of someone's leash. But right here, right now, was someone offering the whole of that to me on a silver platter. I continued then to listen rather than dismissing the whole idea and leave.
 But the question that ran through my mind! Me? A dog? A 26-year-old who was struggling to be somebody in the world? Me? I thought, "Is he nuts? am I hallucinating?"
 He firmly but gently said,  "I offer those things to you and more to one as yourself who would be willing to live the way you want really to live and the way I would like you to live. I am capable of guiding and training you to realize in you that creature within you craving to be allowed to come out and live... you as my dog. Think about it."
 Well...!!  He gave me his phone number and extended the courtesy of as much time as I wanted to think about everything we had just talked about.
 Several weeks went by. You know I really love dogs. When I was growing up, I felt that attraction to the family dog every young boy comes to have. I'd play on the floor with them. I'd go out chasing with them in the yard. I felt a special affection for them that was different from that I held for my own family. Yeah, they were special to me. But I never dreamed of realizing that I would possibly live as one of them.
 I called Phil several weeks later. I asked to come by and talk with him. I had a lot of churning feelings and a whole lot of questions that were itching to be scratched with some answers.
 He agreed to meet me at his home up North and gave me directions on how to get there. I had to take a train from downtown center city to where he lived. I arrived at his home promptly at 8:00 p.m., just as he suggested. It was a large colonial structure situated on what I thought to be about 30 acres of wooded land. He led me through a long hallway to a den that held his large collection of books, his awards, his writing desk. The whole room said a man lived here by the way everything was arranged in patterns of leather, wood, and metal. I was fumbling in my mind with all the questions that I had along with a whole lot of preconceived ideas. I had to force my thoughts into some semblance of organization, because I desperately wanted to know just how he would be able to help me realize those things we spoke of earlier of being his dog.
 He motioned to me to sit on the floor in front of a large chair. He offered me a drink.  I needed something to calm a few nerves, He then proceeded with a slow and carefully thorough explanation of his plans to take me from being what I was to where he wanted me. I was to give up everything and belong to him. He would take me way beyond learning what it was to be a slave. I would learn the pleasure of contentment, lying at his feet, enjoying the control he was soon to enjoy over me. All I had to do was submit my all to him.
 I had to sift  through a lot in my mind; to abandon some excess baggage of those preconceptions I seem to cling to. It was all new to me. It took a lot before I would go after what I was drawn to.
 He eventually did take charge of me one spring day in 1975. He began that training he spoke of to me of. Whatever fears I had eventually gave way to trust which paved the way to the building of confidence that led me to respect that man. The man who was now holding on to my leash. That respect and that spark I had within me had developed and were flamed into an all-consuming passion to want to please him.
 I found my attitude changing through his techniques of behavior modification and hypnosis. I was more and more willing to do what I was told as his reprogramming worked its desired effect on me. I eventually began to see myself as a four-footed creature, romping about playing and living with a freshness I never even knew was in me. I was at peace with everyone and everything, including myself, for the first time in my life. I began to worship the ground my Master walked on. I grew to know him that fed me, who discipline me, and in whom I was totally dependent for every thing. I grew to know I was his.
 My learning experience started with toilet training. When I had to relieve myself, I was trained at the outset that I was to perform those duties outside. I was taught to lift my leg to pee and to squat in a hunch to shit. Those functions were never going to be taken care of inside. I acted as a dog. It took some getting used to. It took practice before I was able to without pissing on myself or falling over trying to lift my leg. It was quite a sight when I kept falling backwards as I tried to shit , falling back into the pile I was making. I learned that I either balanced myself, or I went around being filthy. I learned to balance. When I finally learned the technique, I got a pat on the head and a "Good boy!" when I pottied as a good dog was supposed to.
 My cleanliness and grooming were my owner's responsibility. Once or twice a week I got bathed and brushed. I enjoyed those special times he showed his attentiveness. I was bathed in a large washtub, was never hosed down as I've learned some owners would do to their dogs. I was grateful for his consideration and the use of warm water. I showed my appreciation by a few barks and a little licking his hand or face.
 Sir, at the beginning of my training I was stripped of my clothes, belongings and ID. I was shaved head to toes and kept shaved during the entire course of my training. I learned from the beginning that the only covering I was going to have on my body was going to be the two-inch leather collar around my neck and the occasional application of my dog harness. Only after my training was complete did my owner allow me the privilege of wearing a fur pelt he had made for me. Only after I had earned it did he gradually costume me so that I not only acted like the dog I was becoming, but looked very closely like one; complete with paws, fur, tail, and muzzle.
 I wore paws that came off only for bathing. The paws quite effectively prevented me from grasping at things with my fingers. I couldn't grab at myself anymore as I had been accustomed to prior to meeting him. The paws were quite effective indeed, and they did make it easier to walk on all fours. I didn't have to worry about injuring the skin on my fingers or my bare feet. they literally forced me into carrying myself around on all fours, for wearing them was awkward if I ever to try standing straight up like a man I used to be.
 To part of my pelt was added a long bushy tail that curved up gently from my ass. Its length was about twenty-four inches, It was only added after he saw complete resignation of my will to his, once I learned and earned the right to wear it.
 There were times I was taken out for show, but only when my Master knew I would make him proud. When I was taken out, I was the object of a lot of comments, of course. I got a lot of petting, prodding, and examining. My tags saying I was property of my Master were looked at. I was made to sit up, roll over. I was talked down to as the dog I was. I was made to jump for little treats. I glowed with a little of my own pride when I heard those around make offers to buy me. I was thriving on attention as was my Master. At those times I felt very proud of what I had become And whom I was.
 I learned quickly what was allowed to do as well as what things would prompt getting my butt whipped. My Master balanced praise with punishment and was very quick but honest in his giving out of both. I learned disobedience resulted in pain. I learned that it was futile to even dare challenge his design or question his direction. Our relationship was clear. We both knew who and what we were and it was evident that we were both happy.
 My owner was a sadist who derived pleasure in administering pain. He enjoyed scenes with me where he could extract the response of a cry or yip from me. He enjoyed his workmanship and skill as a top. Play time was different from punishment time. I learned early to know the difference. He enjoyed using me and I enjoyed being used. I tried to be brave when his belt or his whip bit into my ass or back. It took great effort on my part. But I learned to accept the pain, because I was being even further changed to a deeper and deeper levels of understanding of the part I was playing in my man's life I began to find pleasure in pain because it gave him pleasure.
 Yes, my owner used and abused me, but he was never really cruel. He knew when to stop, he knew the point where he could really hurt me, and he never did. I was his dog, a very precious possession, and only secondary his plaything. He would never do anything that would place me in jeopardy. He told me an injured dog is useless. He wanted me healthy, strong, and responsive that I might continue to please him and be used by him.
 He taught me how to walk on a leash. He would take me out for walks in the park. We both liked those exercise times. They were for us special times shared with each other. In fact both Duke and I would be taken out for walks each on our respective leashes. We both shared unique position very rare when found.
 I did learn that my opinion was less than nothing. Since I had been forbidden human speech, my opinions became irrelevant. He didn't need my opinion. Whatever I had to communicate came forth in yips, cries, or barks. For those were the only ways I was allowed to make myself heard.
 Whatever he wanted was law. I was  given commands, not requests. I learned that his commands were well within my ability to be followed, and I dare not resist. I knew what behavior gave me pleasure and which gave me pain.
 I remember one day I peed on the floor when I was in the house. I did it on purpose. I had an attitude on and my dog thoughts said: "I'm going to show him!" The reaction I got I should have expected. His response startled the hell out of me. It was quite effective. I didn't get slapped or spanked, nor did he rub my nose in the puddle or force me to lick it up. But he took hold of my shoulders and began to shake me till I thought I felt my brain banging back and forth in my head. He gave me a verbal chewing out full blast. He spared nothing in the string of epithets he was pummeling me with. He laid it on so heavy that the sound of his disgust and his shaming did more on my psyche than any paddling. The verbal thrashing I got plus the whack on my butt, sent me to my cage. I never again even dared to think about doing it again. From that point on I was a very contrite pup.
 My living quarters were bare, but comfortable. I was sheltered and kept warm.  I spent many hours in my kennel in the yard when it was warm, sharing space there with Duke. I shared a lot with that old retriever. Not only his space, but meals and even his fleas. The kennel was about twenty feet long, ten feet wide, and about six feet high. It had a top made of the same chain link that the sides were constructed of. There was no way to get out except through a door at one end that while we were both in the kennel was kept padlocked. A dog hutch was at the opposite end of the run that was quite large, plenty of space for both Duke and me to be in at the same time. It had several places where we could climb up to be away from any draft that may come in through the door. The hutch was even heated when the temperature outside cooled down.
 Our Master worked and there were periods we were left alone with only each other for company. Duke didn't seem to mind. It was company for me to be with him. During the warm weather when our Master was out, we would be locked in the confines of the kennel. We had water, so there was no problem, Both our lives directly revolved around our man. We were equally and totally excited when we would hear him coming to get us, to feed us, and allow use to be near him.
 When our Master returned home, we were led back into the house, where we were fed. Meal time was a high point in our day. We were fed once a day and for me, I was really hungry by the time food came around. Our meals, both Duke's and my own, consisted of commercially prepared dog food, either dry or canned. Duke never knew the meaning of the word 'enough'. And too, there were additives in my bowl that gave me the nutrition I required that was different from the needs Duke had.
 My meals never included scraps from the table. They were considered too human  for me. I enjoyed the bill of fare that could be poured from a bag or scooped out of a can. The only treats I was given, if I was given anything, was out of a box that usually had a picture of a puppy on it. I grew to like milk bones. Begging from the table was quickly thwarted. I learned that it did no good anyway, because nothing ever came my way. I learned to be content with what I was given and I seemed to be thriving on it. I was even losing weight and feeling better. I took my meals out of a bowl, not too far from the table my Master would eat his dinner. He made sure I ate everything and that I licked his hand in gratitude after I finished. He had me licking a lot of other things, but I won't go into those just yet.
 If I refused any of the food that was put in front of me, well I just didn't get any food that day. Phil picked up the bowl and returned to the kitchen. He brought it out the next day the same feeding time. Going without food for twenty-four hours made sure I didn't turn my nose at what was in the bowl when it was put down the next time. I learned that lesson real quick.
 Furniture was off limits. If I was caught in the act of trying to get on any of the furniture, I quickly learned not to a second time. The floor was my domain and that is just where I was kept. That was the law. To disobey meant pain.
 When it came to sex, there wasn't anything unusual. I performed those things which was required of me. I got fucked. I learned to be a good cock-sucker. I got fisted once or twice in a punishment session. I learned to drink his piss and suck at his ass. I was gradually introduced into being his toilet. I was prodded and driven to do and want to do anything and everything that might give him pleasure at that moment. My own release was at the Master's design. Since my hands were now paws, I couldn't masturbate. I was either allowed to hump his leg, or he would milk me. When I came like any good doggy, had to clean up with my tongue the mess I made no matter where it was. But I was not often allowed my own release. I was kept primed and ready  and more than willing when my Master wanted to use me.
 My Master liked bondage. He liked securing me to objects. He saw the cage he kept me in as an effective way to keep me in bondage. But then the chain that was used as a tether did the job equally well.
 In the beginning I had thoughts of escaping, but found the house and the kennel impenetrable. There were double cylinder locks on all the doors in the house. The windows were also locked And then, too, when the Master was away I was locked up, or chained up, and always stark naked. Anyway, as the relationship grew with my owner, thoughts of trying to get away and to re-enter the human world faded. As my attention became naturally focused, even obsessively focused on my Master, I realized I didn't ever want to leave.
 When the days grew colder, too cold for either Duke or me to be constantly outside in the kennel, we were brought in and I slept in the cage that was located in the house. Of course, there were those rare times when I was allowed into my Master's bedroom where he would allow me to sleep at the foot or side of his bed.  I had my special place, a special rug to lie on when I was sharing his bedroom space. I felt warm inside for those moments when he would call my name... I would come up to him close to where he would be lying on his bed... when he would stroke my head, and speak softly to me, allowing me to lick his hand and maybe his face. I couldn't be happier.
 Eventually my entire being revolved around Phil, every move and activity centered around wanting to please him. Nothing else seemed to matter. He was my owner, my Master, He became everything to me.
 Sir, it has taken almost two years to get over the beating my Master gave me, I never knew why that final beating that went out of control happened. I never even to this day understand what if anything I did deserved that. I had given my all. And now...
 I was beaten badly one day, It came without warning. It came swiftly and severely. Blow after blow from his belt landed on my back, ass, and sides. I experienced a pain that went beyond reason. The beating went beyond any whipping I was ever given in any scene I found myself caught up in. At least before I knew whether I was going to get my ass whipped because of disobedience, and I knew the difference between that kind of whipping and the kind he enjoyed in a scene. My owner had always been in control, I can only surmise that one day, five years after the first from this man in that bar, my Master had somehow lost control. He seemed to be in a rage. Then it happened. I'm not sure if he had kicked me in the ribs or what, but the pain was excruciating. I heard a snapping sound. I became short of breath and eventually passed out.
 Five years seems like an awfully long time to spend living on all fours. It is two years later and 3,600 miles away from my former life as a dog. I had to borrow clothes from the hospital to be able to leave it. Fortunately I had a small savings account to get me an apartment. I finally changed my body over from my dog food diet, for the worst, I am afraid, as I began to put on weight. I seldom wear clothing when I am home, only when I go out or am work. I bought a collar in a pet store, but it wasn't the same. I had no Master and what dog is ever on his own alone, except to prowl back alleys and dig in garbage cans for food. I must go back to being a man.
 But I find that I have an unquenchable desire and a need to serve my Master. I have a lot to give, a good head and a willing heart. I had finally become more happy and more content that I had ever been in my life.
 My five years came to a halt along with my development as a dog. But Kai- for that is the name he called me by - is a survivor. I was, for whatever reason that stills eludes me, locked out of my Master's life. But I am still here, once again waiting. Maybe for a time when a man may again look my way with a glance that invites, that prods and inquires if I would again be interested in belonging. If he is the right man, I will throw myself at his feet to once again be the animal that both he and I can take pride in.
 

Editor notes

 This is an actual story in the subject's own words. we know him only as 'Kai'  and while he dictated all this, he sat at my feet, nude and in the position he was trained to be in for the last five years. he is a handsome fellow with clear, penetrating eyes and wide shoulders. Since his recovery, he has been ringed in both nipples, his foreskin, and his scrotum, perhaps in the hope that it might make him more attractive as a slave. But what he really wants, in spite of his fear, is to live again as a prized dog.
 He also gave me some favorite dog recipes (there are whole books of them available) and told what brand of canned dog food was the best tasting. Our dogs agree and here we have been feeding them another popular brand for year. Kai knows what he is talking about.

 Reprinted from Mach issue 6    1983
MY FIVE YEARS
AS A DOG

 In Mach 6, we published a nonfiction account called "My Five Years As a Dog." In his own words, Kai told the story of his departure from life as a man and his entry into existence as a dog. It was a graphic and sometimes shocking story, which ended when Kai was badly mistreated by his human Master and the two were separated.
 Yet Kai continued to long for his previous life as a dog-and one of the reasons he was willing to tell his unique story was his hope that he might find somehow find a new, caring owner who could return him to his canine existence.
 "My Five Years As a Dog" generated an unprecedented amount of response from our readers. Some contacted us by letter, believing that Kai's story couldn't be true, that it had to be a hoax. Others contacted Kai through the classified ad he placed in the DRUMMER magazine-and one of those contacts has now become Kai's new Master. Kai has left his home in Northern California to begin a new life with his owner in Texas-rather, to resume his old life, his life as a dog.
 Any attempts to make contact with Kai should now be abandoned, for Kai, as a dog, cannot respond. But his new owner has plans to keep us informed of Kai's progress. he writes" "Kai's story that appeared in MACH 6, 'My Five Years As a Dog,' will continue. But the continuing story will be written in Houston, not by Kai himself, but by his new owner... There may be room in the next several years to take on something that has seldom been done successfully before: Fully training a human male to be a full-time, full-fledged canine for his Master's amusement, pleasure, and pride.
 
 

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[ Stray's note: If you have any similar themed stories, I'd love to read them, : )
   and hopefully at some point I'll have time to put them up along with the rest
   of the collection.  You can email me at straypup40@hotmail.com ]