Dog Days

"It's crazy?" Ulla stopped. "Okay, what do you want to know about me?"

"I don't know: What music do you like, for instance?"

"Reggae. And R&B, and also some rock music. Jazz and classical too, sometimes."

"Really? Me too!"

"Okay. Good. Now you'll come."

"No, no, there's a lot more... erm... did you go to college?"

"Yes."

"Me too. What did you study?"

She flapped her arms, frustrated. "Psychology -- Oh, Joey, it's not important. You know me now, okay? My music and college. Now, come Joey."

"Wait. Wait Ulla. What about me? Don't you want to know about me?"

"About you. Okay: You were born in nineteen eighty-two. Yes, Joey?"

"Right! Good guess!"

"Not a guess. Of course I knew it, in the year of The Dog. Joey, I know you even better than you know yourself. I know everything you need: You need discipline, exercise, nice long walks. You need food: meat, but not too much, also fruit and vegetables. You need to work, with your body and with your brain, not for yourself, but for your Ulla. You need a warm place to sleep, and you need this." She patted her groin. Because you are a dog. Min hund.

She came over and sat next to me on the bed, and rubbed my thigh. She took my head gently, raised her arm and pressed my face into her armpit.

"Smell."

I breathed in her scent.

She resumed, gently. "See how you need your Ulla. You won't be happy now without me. I know it's scary because you feel you'll not be free any more. All men fear this. But I won't put you in a cage, or make you wear a collar or lead. My dogs don't need them, and nor do you. You follow me, like they do, because you choose to."

While I was still absorbing this revelation of my true nature, Ulla said, "And we can build a nice kennel for you in my garden."

I burst out laughing. "With Internet?"

"Yes, and a kettle for your morning English tea. So: You're not so scared now, my Joey?"

"I'm not scared. I'm just, it's just -- nuts."

"So, you'll come. We'll start walking tomorrow. It'll be easy, you'll be stronger and travel lighter. And you'll be with me, and be happy."

Part 2: Kennel

We hiked all the way down to Algeciras. We fed ourselves on fruit and almonds from the trees. And as she'd promised, we stopped in a little roadside restaurant for venison stew and grilled pork, with fried potatoes. She got drunk on wine, and started singing Danish nursery rhymes. She had a terrible singing voice. If I wasn't sure whether I loved her before, I was sure after that.

Finally, we reached her home. It was a mile or so out of town. It had a big back yard, where she grew vegetables. The dogs ran into the house as soon as she opened the door and, after lapping noisily at their water bowls, flopped down on the floor in the cool shade of the dark, rustic living room.

"Like your new home, Joey?"

"It's lovely. Funky and lovely. Like you, Ulla."

"Come. I show you your place, where you will live. Soon we will build a real kennel for you, outside in the garden."

My "place" was a tiny laundry room by the kitchen, filled with mops and a washing machine. I hoped she was joking when she showed me it, but no, she was serious. When she saw the disappointment on my face, she said, "Take out the washing machine, and put it in the garden, I don't use it. Do it now, while I bring you your mattress."

I heaved the washing machine outside; it was hard work. She hauled down a mattress from upstairs; it was a small double mattress, which just about fit in that small space.

"Lie down, Joey. It's comfortable."

I did as I was told. I lay on my back, looking up at the cobwebs on the ceiling.

She looked down at me with approval, deciding that this tiny room was just right for me. She stripped quickly, kicking her clothes out into the kitchen. She "assumed the mating position" on all fours.

"Now you can fuck your Ulla, and then sleep."

I pushed my jeans down over my throbbing hard-on and slithered my dick inside her. She was always wet, she was always perfect. I stroked my fingernails up and down her back and pumped her, slow and deep. She sighed, and I felt her pussy twinge with her orgasm. But I'd learned how to pace myself with her; I kept pumping her, in and out, powerfully, inevitably, like waves against the shore, never stopping. I now knew how to please my mistress. Only after she said to me "Mmm, good Joey. Now you give your Ulla everything..." -- only then did I let go completely and explode inside her. And then, I slept.

I awoke to the sound of Ulla preparing food in the kitchen which adjoined my room. Naked, I crawled off the mattress and through the doorway to join her and the dogs. I stayed on all fours while I greeted the dogs, who were pacing around at her feet, waiting patiently for dinner. They licked my face and wagged their tails.

I stood and kissed the back of her neck.

"You see, Joey, it's nice to come straight from your bed to me here. Oh, your dick is hard again! No more fucking until tonight. And now you must go on my bike to the shop and buy salt, eggs, and tomatoes. Tomorrow you'll cook the food, so you must choose good meat from the carnicería there. Go!"

I dressed and found her bike, which was a lady's bike with a panier, a little too small for me, but useable. It was only a ten-minute ride to the shops, along the sleepy country lane.

That's how my dog's life started; after a couple of weeks, I'd almost forgotten my previous life, so effortlessly did I adapt to my new routine: Ulla would ride out to work in town in the mornings, leaving me a list of household and gardening chores. She'd come back, and I'd greet her happily, along with the dogs.

On my first day there I'd phoned my mother in England to let her know I wasn't coming back, just so she didn't worry. Presumably Jack would contact her to find out what had happened to me, so he would at least know I hadn't died out in the wilds.

I had everything I wanted; well, almost: After a few more weeks I began to get slightly bored and in need of intellectual stimulation. Ulla, even though she was clearly intelligent and well-read, was not really much given to conversation. She had lots of books, but most were in Danish. It seemed as though she had studied zoology as well as psychology, as there were many books on both these subjects. The title of one book, a little paperback, caught my eye: "Man Meets Dog". I started reading it.

She came back from work to find me lying on my bed engrossed in it. She laughed. "Learning about yourself, Joey. Good."

"This guy Konrad Lorenz is cool. He was an animal behaviour expert, it says on the back. But it's basically just a lot of anecdotes about his pets."

"He was a very smart man. He invented the science of ethology -- animal behaviour. He was the first, really."

"'Animal Behaviour' -- like B.F. Skinner? The guy who rang a bell and made dogs salivate?"

"Oh, I had to study Skinner at college. 'Operant Conditioning'. He was a cold guy, no heart. And you're confusing him with Pavlov who did that experiment. Those guys were assholes."

"But it works, right? You can train animals that way."

"I guess so, but there's no love, no real understanding. After you finish this book, I'll give you your next book in your self-education. It's fiction, but it's brilliant: 'Sirius' by Olaf Stapledon."

"He's Danish?"

"No, he was British. It's a very sad story about a dog. You will understand yourself after you read it."

I read the book Ulla recommended. I connected so strongly with the tragic hero, a misfit in both the human and canine worlds, that I howled with grief as I read it.

So profound was the effect of the story on me, that it turned me mournful and listless. Ulla decided that I needed to get out of the house more. One day she came back after work, and said "I found you a job here. It's good for your brain, it's on a computer, for the Taxi company. The boss, Adrian, is my friend. The people there are nice."

It wasn't the most exciting job, but it got me out of my slump. And it helped pay our bills, so we didn't have to eat into my savings. It was four mornings a week.

One day, I returned home from work, expecting the dogs to greet me as usual, but they didn't. I thought maybe Ulla had come home early and taken them out for a walk. I went into the kitchen, and there to my surprise I saw a young man sitting at the table, sipping mint tea. He looked no more than eighteen. The dogs seemed to know him, and like him. He smiled shyly at me. His name was Hassan.

Hassan spoke only Moroccan, with a smattering of French. He was a mechanic by trade, but seemed to be more of an odd-job man. He'd come to fix the guttering on the house. That was something I could have done, so I was a bit peeved that Ulla had asked him to do it.

When Ulla turned up, Hassan stood, beaming. Then Ulla greeted him with an unambiguously sexual embrace. She approached me to do the same, but I flinched.

"Oh, my Jealous Joey. Don't be jealous of Hassan. He is sweet. He wants to be my pet, but I told him I have my dogs and my Joey. He has nobody here, no friends."

"I see, another stray." I stormed out into the yard. I could hear her and Hassan talking. It sounded as though Hassan was scared I'd beat him up, while Ulla attempted to reassure him. Then their conversation grew quieter. After a few minutes, I heard Ulla cry out; that sound usually was heavenly to me, but this time it made me weep.

I was still sulking out in the garden when I saw Hassan leave, in a real hurry to avoid me. Ulla came out into the garden.

"Joey." I ignored her.

"Joey. Come." I turned to face her. Slowly I walked back to her, tail between my legs.

She kissed me and stroked my hair.

"My Joey, it's not so easy, to be a dog, heh? Remember when we fucked, the first time? Think how it was for the dogs to see this -- don't you think they weren't jealous too? But they know that their Ulla will never abandon them, even if she brings another dog sometimes. I told you, I have all my dogs now. One, two, three. Don't be jealous when your Ulla sometimes goes with another man, she won't leave you."

"But Ulla, it's not fair: Supposing I fucked other women?"

"But you don't want to."

"No? I have urges."

She laughed. "Urges? Really? With whom?"

I wasn't really thinking of anyone in particular, but Ulla had put me on the spot: "Lourdes. From the cab company. She's hot."

Ulla laughed again, louder. "Yes, she's a hot chica. But she's a cat. Not right for you."

I shrugged.

"Joey. If you went with another woman, you wouldn't belong to me anymore after that, so it would be the end. Understand this: If you want to stay my Joey, you and your dick must stay only mine."

"Meanwhile you just fuck anyone you want," I snarled.

"Joey, don't talk to me that way. Ever."

She'd never got angry with me before. I grew fearful for a moment, and then composed myself:

"Ulla, for God's sake: You fuck someone else, then get pissed off with me?"

"Joey, I'm your owner. You're not my owner. This is how it is."

"Well I don't want it like this. Why can't we -- I don't know - own each other? For fuck's sake, why does anyone have to own anyone here?"

"Joey. I'm letting you go now. Go. Away, back to England." Her lips trembled.

"But Ulla, I don't want to go."

"No, but you want me just for yourself. Maybe you even want me to throw not only Hassan, but also Caspar and Jamie out!"

Hearing their names, the dogs wagged their tails. Jamie, sensing the tension, came to me and nosed my hand reassuringly. At this, I broke down. I sat on the ground and hugged him tearfully as he licked my face.

"Joey. If you want your dog's life, you must accept it. Or go."

She couldn't have put it much plainer: This would never be an equal relationship. It was her way or the highway.

"So, Joey, will you be 'My Joey' again?"

I looked up at her, and saw fear, almost terror in her eyes, and then I understood: She was as scared of losing me as I was of losing her. And she needed me as much as I needed her. And she loved me as much as I loved her.

"Yes, my Ulla. I will. I'm sorry."

"Good. You know, it's a contract: The rules may be different for you and for me, but there's a, how to say it -- forpligtelse..."

"'Obligation'?"

"Yes, an obligation, on both sides. You should know it. You already read Lorenz."

"Ok. I promise I won't fuck Lourdes, or anyone else."

"And I promise to be your mistress. Always."

I scratched Caspar behind his ears. "So, is he better than me?"

"Who, Caspar?"

I laughed. "Hassan."

"He's a boy. He's sweet, and he's awkward and finishes quick."

"Sounds like me."

"No, you're a real dog." I took that as a complement.

We took the dogs out for our regular walk in the local olive groves. Here, out in nature, we always felt close, like when we first hiked out from Benaocaz.

We stopped under an ancient tree, laden with black and green olives. The dogs ran off, hunting rabbits. We exchanged a look; she pushed down her shorts and leaned against the trunk. We fucked, facing each other, sucking at each other's necks and kissing gently. She climaxed, letting out a long, lingering sigh.

"Good, mistress?"

"Mm. My Joey. But you didn't cum."

"I don't always need to."

"Yes, you do. I know what you need." She cleared away a few sticks off the ground, and went on all fours. She wiggled her ass.

"Fuck din Elskerinde, min beskidte hund..."

Unusually, I was tempted for a moment to fuck her asshole; but my dick is pretty big, and it would have hurt her. Besides, her pussy was so perfect, wet and smooth; it gripped me tight -- we were really made for each other.

I came, and immediately collapsed blissfully on the ground. She pulled up her shorts; her eyes twinkled: "Now, ask me whether Caspar is better than you."

I laughed, but I'd actually had a dream that she was doing it with a dog, though not one of hers. I'd woken from it with a massive hard-on; my analysis of it was that the dog had been me.

Hassan did turn up again a few days later. He was still terrified of me, but Ulla insisted he say hello. Ulla made me go and shake his hand; he was so grateful that he hugged me tearfully, babbling lots of Allah's and Shukrans. This time he got nothing from Ulla beyond some mint tea and a slice of almond cake.

Part 3: Perro Loco

Months went by; I'd moved into my "Kennel", a hut Hassan and I had built together, in the back yard, right near the dogs. And it did have Internet, and electricity, so I could plug in my kettle for my English tea.

I assumed Ulla and Hassan were still doing it on occasion, but were just being discreet about it now, choosing times when I wasn't around, so I wouldn't get upset. The Taxi company had merged with a rival firm, and I was pretty busy sorting out the new dispatch and payroll systems. I was now working full days there. I'd join my colleagues after work in the bar next door, which was run by the owner Adrian's brother, Manuel. I'd sit there by the bar along with the other guys, drinking beer and watching the bullfights on the TV. After a few weeks, I was accepted there. Every Friday, I would, in typical Spanish fashion, stay out till two or three a.m. drinking and snacking on tapas, arriving home when it was light, when I'd collapse in my kennel and sleep till noon on Saturday. Ulla seemed to think it was good for "Her Joey" to stay out like this every so often.

One Friday afternoon I heard a commotion in the street outside the office. Two guys were sitting in the back of a cab, arguing with one of our drivers, who was standing by the door trying to make them to get out. He was telling them in Spanish that he was not on duty. They were British. They were both really drunk.

A crowd of us came out to help the driver. When he saw me, he asked me to explain the situation to them in English.

I got one of them out okay, but the other was a surly bastard: As I took his arm to help him stagger out, he swung at me, and his punch landed hard in my eye, and knocked me to the ground. He started laughing, and calling me a "fucking Dago", thinking I was Spanish -- by that time I really did look like a local.

Hearing this, I snapped: I pushed away the others as they helped me to my feet, and laid into the guy with my fists. I kicked him as hard as I could, right on his kneecap; he instantly crumpled. Once he was down I kicked his head repeatedly, intent on killing him. When he tried to shield it with his arms, I stomped and kicked his balls. He groaned and writhed. I straddled him and spat on his face, landing blow after blow on his bloody mouth. The others tried to pull me away, but I broke free, and gave him a couple more kicks in his ribs for good measure.

Two members of the Guardia Civil turned up; they were immediately surrounded by four cab drivers and the other guys from the office, who clamoured round them protesting, claiming self-defence. Lourdes, the dispatcher, who was the "sexy chica" I'd mentioned to Ulla, bundled me inside to get out of their way. She pushed me onto a chair in the waiting room and returned with a first aid kit. For some reason, she thought that a cigarette was what I required, and popped the lipstick-stained one she was in the middle of smoking between my lips while she leaned over me, dabbing my bloodied eyebrow with iodine.

As she fussed over my eye, she coined a nickname for me, which stuck: "Perro Rabioso" -- "Mad Dog".

Lourdes always dressed really sexily: Today she was wearing a tight royal blue low-cut dress, short enough to show plenty of shapely nylon-clad leg. She always wore heels; high black ones today. Her long, shiny black hair was pulled back tight, garnished with a fake flower, Flamenco style. Our proximity made me grow hard. She was probably aware of her effect on me, because she leaned almost on top me, pushing her knee on the seat right between my legs, touching my groin.

Her voice had a typical Andalusian deep husky tone, brought about mostly through smoking plenty of rough Spanish cigarettes. She asked me, in her bad English how I felt.

"Fine. Except my hand; I think I broke it on his nose." I held up my fist; the knuckles were cut from when I'd punched the man in the teeth. She licked them, slowly, fixing her big eyes on me. No room for ambiguity there: She wanted me. She clearly had a thing for fighters.

"Come to the bar, you should drink aguardiente. It's good after a fight."

She took my arm and we went next door to the bar, which was always busy. I got a few appreciative cheers, laughs and "Perro Rabioso"'s from the customers while she ordered the drinks.

She returned to the table with two glasses. "It's free. From Manuel." I raised my glass to Manuel at the bar and drained it. And then I drained four or five more, which appeared on my table donated by various people. Drinks still kept arriving, and Lourdes had to help me out with them. By the time I'd had eight or nine, Lourdes, who was now sitting with her legs stretched across my lap, stubbed out her fifth cigarette and said to me, "Oh, I'm drunk, Joe. You must take me home, I'll fall down."

Manuel grinned and called to me: "I call Ulla, I say you stay on my floor tonight." I'd stayed over at his place once before, after working late and being too drunk to cycle home, so she would probably accept his lie.

It was only a couple of minutes' walk to Lourdes' place. She fumbled with the front door key. "What about your husband?" I asked.

"Not home today." I followed her inside.

"I make us a coffee."

The kitchen in her apartment was just a sectioned-off part of her living room, separated by a counter.

I listened to the sexy clicking of her heels on the terracotta tiles as she prepared the coffee. Meanwhile I stripped naked, and stood there in the middle of the room, waiting for her to notice. When she turned, and saw me, she laughed "O Dios! You are in a hurry!"