Rescue Dog

CW: Physical violence, abuse, explicit sexual phrases

It was only 11 am and already she had broken 6 rules. She had spoken to the woman who lived on a boat. (1. Thou shalt stay away from unnatural women.) The Book called these single women ‘wild’ but they had begun to wear the word like a badge of honour. Cathy was curious - why did these irrational women always have tattoos inked into their skin? 2: Thou shalt not speak to branded women. Of course she had not branded herself. It was a punishable offence. But she dreamt of displaying a small blue fish on her ankle, its flashing tail suggesting a freedom of sorts. Up until now Cathy had thought freedom was just a dream - but this woman had it. This ‘Alice.’ Cathy made herself a coffee and added sugar (3. Small waistline, clean heart) then nervously hid the half eaten packet of biscuits behind the mandatory pink pills. The dispenser was still full. She had stopped taking them months ago - He never checked. (4. One pink pill a day keeps the Devil away) She mentally listed the 6 rules she had broken, cursing herself for always wandering away in private confession time. A blue fish tattoo! What did that have to do with anything? Focus Cathy!

Forgive me for I have sinned. 1.I talked to the untamed. 2. I spoke to a branded woman. (In fact they had briefly touched. Focus!) 3. I have spoken to another owner Mark and (if I am being brutally honest) 4. I have imagined him fucking me roughly from behind in the small toilet cubicle of his cafe 5. I have eaten half a packet of biscuits and hidden the evidence. 6. I no longer take my pink pills.

Her Husband-owner was right. Women were nothing but walking appetites. Beasts. He also believed some were ‘untamable’ and lately, the way He had been looking at her ….well…..did He notice something untamable about her? Would she be the next pet-wife to be sent to the pound then replaced by a puppy woman? It had happened to her friend Hilary straight after Christmas. The worst thing was that no one mentioned her now. It was like she was dead and buried - maybe she was. Or maybe she was living on a boat somewhere in glorious freedom.

Since Hilary’s disappearance, Cathy had just not felt the same about her life. She had found herself gritting her teeth at their wedding vows. Harry: ’With this ring I thee own’ unfastening her diamond encrusted muzzle so we could all hear Lauren’s misty eyed: ‘I am owned’ followed by Harry’s reply: ‘Now I own you.’ After they had cut the cake, Lauren proudly wandered around displaying her certificate of ownership. From then on, Lauren replaced Hilary at their weekly Foursome Friday night dinners. Cathy found herself suppressing a low growl as she served coq au vin to this new puppy-wife with immaculate teeth and hair and nothing of interest to say. ‘You’re so funny Harry!’ Cathy had stopped finding her Husband-owner funny years ago but felt duty bound as a loyal pet-wife to pretend to be entertained. (5. A dog-wife is a Man’s best friend.) She was beginning to hate Lauren’s waggy tailed energy and soon found herself making excuses not to accompany her for their mandatory weekly visits to the pamper parlour. (6. Thou shalt stay well groomed.) Now, outside the home, Cathy only glimpsed Lauren in passing when their Husband-owners took them for a walk, jog or fishing trip. It seemed as if everything was sliding now she had turned 50. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks - that’s what Hilary found out in January. Was she next? Would it be so bad if she ended up tattooed and ownerless in a boat, drinking coffee and staring at the water?

6pm checklist. Cathy scanned the room. Slippers warmed and placed perfectly aligned by her Master’s armchair. Table laid neatly. Clean white tablecloth, its pointy corners cutting the air. Fresh green salad in a heavy glass bowl, perfectly mixed next to a chilled dressing ready to apply on His arrival. Fruity white wine chilling next to it like some saucy bedfellow. Salad and wine. Jekyll and Hyde. She ran her finger along the bottle, craving a glass. (7. Never drink without your Master’s permission.) Only the finest wine would do. It was so strong that one sip was all it would take for her to escape this drudgery she had no real name for. Words could not define this life she was leading. She wrung the gold ring tag around her finger. Was it her imagination or was it becoming too tight - cutting off her circulation? Ring tags were a mandatory part of the wedding ceremony along with microchips and diamond encrusted muzzles. Chipping was often done by Masters on their wedding night as an important act of initiation. She rubbed absentmindedly at the scar at the base of her neck.

At the wheezing sound of the garage door sliding open (something else that needed replacing?) she sprang up to scoop the pasta dish from the pristine oven, brown cheese bubbling angrily on top. It was slightly burnt thanks to her daydreaming. Her Master’s palate was unrefined. Anything cheesy including pasta and meat or a combination of the two. Spaghetti bolognaise. Lasagne. Pasta bake. The same familiar dishes on rotation. He said her cooking reminded him of His mother. He even called her ‘Mother wolf’ as a nickname. It made her feel uncomfortable - another emotion to push down.

He entered the house silently as was His habit. (8. Thou shalt keep a calm household.) He called her name and she came running for a pat on her head. Smiling distractedly, He handed her His coat. It smelt strongly of His work musk.

‘Glass of wine?’

‘Please.’ The tired emotion behind His reply was as heartfelt as He got. The whole evening’s emotional connection summed up in one word followed by a silent dinner, three glasses of wine, a bath followed by cold rutting in a king size bed after which she was required to sleep on the floor. It was considered ‘poor hygiene’ to keep a pet-wife in your bed overnight.

Lying on her blanket post shower (9. Thou shalt keep thyself clean and prepared for intercourse) listening to Him snore like some sort of ancient dragon, Cathy felt her mind drift once more ………..back to Alice …..and the boat like a kite……. in a strong wind. She often lay awake thinking now that she had stopped taking her pink pills. It was not surprising she felt so unsettled tonight. Earlier, Alice had sailed up and moored directly outside their marina flat then proudly walked her dog across their Moroccan patio tiles. Imagine! A woman walking a dog! (10. Thou shalt not serve more than one Master.) And she was wearing boots - the tough black kind that zipped up to her knees which Cathy noticed looked decidedly gnarled and bark-like. (11. Thou shalt not show thy legs above the knee after the age of 25.) This rule had been changed recently from 18. The rules could be changed at any time. It was their responsibility to keep up to date with The Book. Alice looked like she was pushing 50.

Cathy tried to sleep but could think of nothing else but Alice: her purposeful stride, the ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude, her branding so strange it rattled the pills in the kitchen cabinet when she walked by. Cathy had drawn the blinds to stop her Husband- owner noting the night lights on the red sailboat, shining like some kind of bordello parked up in their front garden. He would report Alice for vagrancy and she would be quietly removed. But where would she go? Cathy wanted to see more of her before she disappeared. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be curled up next to her in the red haze of that boat, her blue fish tattoo resting lightly on Alice’s ankle - skin to skin - in a bed that rocked and swayed and hummed with selkie energy. She fell asleep and dreamt she was already there.

Moored here, I’m living on borrowed time. And that’s how I define my kind of freedom - time limited - which makes it all the more delicious. I know she is watching me through those blinds. Expensive. Venetian. Must have cost a fortune. I’m used to being watched by men but this feels different - like a pulse or a heartbeat. The rescuer in me wants to save her, to save them all. But I’ve learnt that rescuing is its own form of hell, ego driven and unequal. Just like the addict realising they have a problem, she needs to wake up to the fact that the way she’s being treated is unnatural. Power. Control. Men. We’re not so much the underdogs, we’re the rescue dogs now. She needs to wake up - they all do - and throw away their pretty muzzles. But most of them are content to be fed and petted, a pat on the head, a cock in the ass. Thank you master. So grateful. They judge me but I don’t judge them - I was like them once. Before I found my freedom. I used to think there was something wrong with me. Unnatural. Dirty. Ungodly. But now I understand - I cannot be a wife for I am of the other.

Cathy woke up at midnight, restless. She padded over to the blinds to peer through at the boat floating lightless on the moonlit water. Was Alice awake? They say she murdered her Master. But with no evidence that could stick, she was set free to become one of the unnatural - punishment enough for someone like her they said. They said a lot. Power. Control. Men. Food was hard to come by and jobs were impossible to win without an owner. (12. No woman shall work for money.) Wild women tended to live on the edges - on the streets, in empty squats, boats, vans, parks. There were so many of them now. Cathy returned to the floor, cold in her meagre blanket. Above her the fat dragon lay on His soft king size bed under a duvet she changed every Monday (deep clean day.) She growled silently in the dark. Was she being ungrateful for thinking her Master so unfair?

She closed her eyes and thought of them all - those wild women - gathered together around a fire, laughing, feeding each other from a shared pot. They had passed a wild gathering last summer on a road trip Cathy had hated, forced to sleep outside the winnebago on itchy marshland. So many muzzled, unfamiliar women growling as if she wanted to steal their Masters. What sort of threat could she possibly be at 50? The more well fed and groomed they were, the more territorial they became. (13. Always stand your ground to protect your Master.) With more to lose, growls quickly turned to snarls and skirmishes. Cathy could not wait to get home even if it felt like a cage after only a few days. At least it was her cage.

Then Alice had sailed up and placed herself on their front stoop. It was probably an admin error - an exciting one. Victory Mews residents hated the boat people. It was an unspoken rule that those sorts of women did not live amongst them. Alice’s presence would stir the Masters into action once the pet-wives sniffed her out. Cathy had to act now before she was moved on - this strange impulse brought her body to life. She felt alive, hungry and…… there was a faint taste of something else she could not define - a new emotion. Beyond the blinds was another world.

I feel her awake like a small flickering flame. She’s not dead inside yet, but it won't be long. We simply can’t live this way forever. Come to me.

***

Now. Alice clumsily opens the hatch and steps outside, the night air feeling electric next to her bare skin. It’s best to slip on a dress though - there are security cameras everywhere. She doesn’t have much time before they move her on to the dirty bay where ‘her people’ go. It’s not so bad there and there’s warm company but Alice loves the clear water here, watching the morning fish jump and the swans flapping their serenity over the darkness.

Silently she walks up the jetty, barefoot and smooth in white like a selkie from another land, a colder one where the power lies with the icebergs - not the men. Power. Control. Nature. It’s surprisingly warm tonight but the moon tilts in the sky as she stands staring up at the bedroom blinds. And there she is. Bright lights at the window, her face lit with excitement. Then she’s gone. A soft patter and the door opens. They stare at each other for a long time, sniffing the unknown energy. Come to me. Then Alice runs and Cathy follows, catching up quickly as they both dodge the cameras, heading for the roaring beach. Rolling around in the cold wet sand, their first touch is more of a challenge, a fight, a burst of conflicting energy. Then tongues, bites and a coupling like nothing they had ever experienced before. They know they should be quiet but it’s impossible. Only the moon is watching here - straightened yet wild at last. When the first light of dawn appears, Alice whispers, ‘Follow me.’

***

‘He’s dead now. You can stop.’ There’s something comforting about the silence. The dragon lies with his neck torn open. Powerless. Fireless. Alice tenderly licks the blood from Cathy’s face and neck. They could mate again right here - the air so charged with sex and death - but she takes her hand and pulls her away from the bed and they run. Run. Run. Run faster and faster past the tidy bedrooms, the clean kitchen, the empty nursery, the white leather sofa. Cathy stops to pee on the white carpet, leaving a slightly pink stain to ripple out into the centre of the room, then they run, run, run, tearing off their clothes. Cathy wants to howl with delight but she doesn’t. The neighbours. The cameras. Power. Control. Men. They scramble on to the boat and set sail for the oil slicked bay, sticky and guilty and wild and untamed.