“Remember, you’re my pet. We’ll adjust your feedings as time goes by, but for now, you’ll eat your solid foods the way pets are expected to eat.”
I nod.
“You may take your pacifier out to eat and drink but put it back in when you’re not actively doing one of those two. No speaking.”
I nod again.
“Good girl.” Daddy sets a bottle of formula in the kennel with me, closes the door, and locks it.
I take deep breaths for long minutes while he turns to his computer. I’m trembling and trying hard not to panic. Some days are harder than others. I want to please him, but every time he introduces me to something new, reminding me that I’m owned and must obey, I get anxious.
Today has been filled with new stressful additions. Jammies that a human baby would wear. Leashes in many lengths that I’m certain will limit my movement even further in the apartment. Toys for a toddler. And the most difficult thing to swallow—kibble in a bowl to be eaten like a dog.
Daddy is only doing what he thinks is best. He wasn’t prepared for me to be intelligent. He doesn’t know what to do with me. So he’s following the path he’d intended, putting into place the kind of training he would for the pet he thought he was getting.
I need to be patient with him. I hope he will come around and give me more freedom soon. If not, I might lose my mind.
After staring at the kibble for a while, I finally get too curious to be stubborn about it. I take my pacifier out. It’s attached toa ribbon around my neck so it won’t get lost. It hangs down my chest when I release it.
Daddy glances at me. “Hands and knees, Little pet.”
I shudder as I obey him and come up to the heel position before tipping my head so I can capture a piece of the kibble with my tongue and lips. I lean back to chew. It’s not bad. It is very flavorful. I suspect it also has a lot of fiber that will cause me to empty my bowels more often.
Filling my diaper from my bottom is one of the worst parts about my new life. I hate it. I don’t have a choice, and Daddy doesn’t seem to care at all, but it’s humiliating. I pray some day he will let me use some kind of receptacle and stop making me poop myself.
I lean forward to pluck another piece of kibble with my lips. This time, I stay on my hands and knees. I chew and swallow and go for another bite. It feels good to eat, and it tastes yummy. In no time, I’ve finished all of it.
I’m exhausted from so many firsts. I pick up my bottle, curl onto my side against a giant pillow, and start sucking. Before I manage to finish it, it slips from my hands.
I’m vaguely aware of Daddy opening the kennel. He pops my pacifier in my mouth and strokes my cheek. “Such a good girl.”
The last thing I’m aware of is the snick of the lock as I’m once again caged. Will that sound always make me flinch?
TWELVE
I try hard not to giggle as Daddy takes his time showing me everything that came in the box this morning. He has made me wait until we’re back in the apartment after he’s finished working to show me the rest of the clothes.
The colors are all pastels—blues, pinks, and purples. I don’t know where he got the idea that I would like these colors, but apparently, he’s done some research on humans in the past week. He didn’t tell me at first, but he had the Venkorians who are occupying the space station send databases loaded with information about humanity and our history.
I’ve never owned anything in these colors. Clothing was a luxury on the space station. We made do with every scrap of material that was sent into space with us for the past twenty years. If anything had much color to begin with, it washed out over time. Everything on the space station now is a drab, boring tan.
The pastels are pretty. I’m not super fond of the fact that everything he had made is basically footed pajamas like human babies would wear, but I won’t complain. At least he got me clothes, and he’s so excited about them.
“I know you were wearing a dress when I picked you up, but dresses aren’t very practical for crawling, so I thought you’d be more comfortable in warm, soft clothes that protect your knees and cover your feet.”
I smile at him. “They’re very pretty, Daddy.”
I look down at the fluffy, round pillow I’m sitting on. It arrived in the apartment while we were gone. So did the leash I’m now wearing, which is attached to the newly installed eyehook in the middle of the room.
“How much research did you do about humanity?” I ask tentatively.
He’s in his favorite chair several feet from me, and he gives me a playful smirk. “Why do you ask, Little pet?”
Biting my lip, I glance at what is essentially a pink dog bed for a large-breed animal and then back at him. “Did you research pets, especially dogs?”
“I did. Fascinating information. That’s where I got some of my ideas from. After all, you are my pet.” He lifts a brow.
I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or being serious.
