This is a story I wrote mainly to illustate and organise my thought on
how the proposed club might function. It's not been proofread. Yes, I'm
prempting the democratic process in chosing a name - I'll change it
when the real name is finally decided. Malcolm

The Barnyard Club

Paul found it difficult to settle down on the train ride. The suitcase
above him on the rack was solid and opaque but that didn't stop him
dreaming up nightmare scenarios where it fell open, or where,
impossibly, he got off the train without it, or where someone stole it
while he was in the buffet. How would his fellow travellers react if
they saw it's contents? With puzzlement and mild amusement probably if
they didn't look too closely. With nervous incomprehension or perhaps
contempt if they somehow recognised its true nature or learned how much
he had paid for it.

This was to be his second visit to the Barnyard Club but it was hard to
say if he was more or less nervous this time around. The first time he
had been new and unknowing of what to expect but had quickly found it
to be a sympathetic environment. So much so that he had soon relaxed
completely and found himself talking to perfect strangers of things he
had not spoken of before face to face with anyone.

If he had merely been going for another social evening he would have
been far more sanguine this second time, but he was not, this time he
was going to be initiated. This time he had the suitcase with him.

He thought back to the previous meeting. To the woman who had given him
the address of the shop, scribbled on the border of a beer mat. She was
a handsome woman in a way, what he thought of as the horsy type, very
down to earth with a man's laugh, though most of his attention was for
her pet which he had patted rather nervously. "Ask for Lucinda." She
had told instructed. "She's not here tonight but she makes it when she
can." He had muttered something almost inaudible.

I had turned out to be an ordinary looking costume hire place and he
had inevitably wondered if he had been hoaxed. The horsy woman had been
the type for practical jokes, he had sensed, though not really
malicious ones. Going into the shop and asking for Lucinda had seemed
to him like a role from a bad spy movie but he had set himself to the
task with determination and performed it with steady voice. There would
be more difficult roles ahead.

Once he had given the horsy woman's name Lucinda led him through the
racks of hanging costumes through a door into a workshop at the back.
She had sat him down, talking at first about the club with obvious
familiarity and of the people he had spoken too. Checking him out he
had later realised. She had offered him coffee. Soon he had found
himself talking about his own fantasies, delighting in a truly
sympathetic audience.

After a while she had got some photographs out of a drawer and began to
show him some of the costumes she had made for previous clients and
explaining their subtleties, watching him all the time for his
reactions. One or two he had seen at the meeting though some of the
things she explained to him about them surprised him.

After the last photograph had been shown she told him what she could
make for him and what it would cost. He had questions, of course, and
ideas of his own but when they had discussed details for a while they
had ended up with almost exactly her original suggestions. He thought
about the whole thing for a while. It was a lot of money but not more
than he could afford. On the other hand if things didn't work out at
the club the whole effort would be wasted. He would have no practical
use for the thing. He had gone through a brief internal struggle then
he had heard himself say "OK, let's do it."

She had asked him if he had the time to be measured now, explaining
that she would need him for about two hours. He told her the time of
the train he meant to catch. "Strip." She had told him. "I'll go and
see that we're not disturbed. You can put your clothes on that shelf.
It's fairly clean." She had left him alone passing back into the shop.

He remembered how hesitant he had been. Given the purpose of the
excercise modesty was absurd but it was there to be dealt with. He had
taken off his shoes and socks first, setting them neatly on the shelf.
He had been down to his underpants when Lucinda had come back in. He
felt a brief surge of panic but, after a moment of hesitation, he had
completed the unveiling encouraged by her professionally objective
regard.

What followed was to remain one of the most memorable experiences of
him life. He had been vaguely expecting the kind of measurements that a
tailor would take but, of course, he should have been aware that this
item of clothing would require far more intimate measurement. Her
attitude to him now completely changed. She gave him brusque, one word
orders and set her finger across his lips the first time he started to
comment.

Some of the process was extremely bizarre. She had him on hands and
knees while she rubbed Vaseline into the crack of his arse, then sat
him in a shallow bowl of plaster while it dried. While it hardened she
pressed his hands into soft wax, taking an impression of the shape of
his fingers. He found himself with an instant erection but her only
reaction was to take measurements both erect and later while it was
briefly flaccid. He had been able to detect no trace in her of his own
arousal. Nothing, in fact, to suggest that there was any thought in her
mind of him as a potential sexual partner. Somehow this realisation had
caused him to relax and experience what was happening as a curious
novelty: He no longer felt threatened or embarrassed.

The final step had been to take a life cast of his face. This he found
the most frightening part of the process, lying back as the plaster
poured over his features and he felt the liquid rise to cover his nose,
inevitably fearing that the breathing straws would fail somehow.

After that she had washed him. She had fetched a large bowl of soapy
water and had him crouch on all fours while she cleaned away the
remains of the plaster and wax, cleaning his penis with no more or less
care than his face. When he tried to help she slapped his hand away.

He had dressed himself at last with some reluctance. When he was fully
clothed her attitude had seemed to snap back to the courtesy with which
she had originally treated him. "It'll be about three or four weeks. If
you give me an address and phone number I'll let you know when it's
ready for final fitting. We need to have a fitting session after which
I may need to keep if for a day or two to make a few adjustments before
you take it away. Do you have an e-mail account?"

Those weeks had seemed like an eternity during which he had been able
to think of little but that final fitting. It was actually three weeks
to the day when he returned to the shop to be greeted by Lucinda like
an old friend.

As she had led him into the back room she had given him an appraising
look. "I have my own way of doing this. Bear with me. I know what I'm
doing."

He nodded although he was surprised to see no sign of his costume when
they entered the back room. He expected her to go and fetch it
immediately but she just stood there and told him to strip. He shrugged
and obeyed.

Once he was naked she had had him sit on the floor and told him to
close his eyes. I moment later he had felt soft pads cover his them.
His eyes had shot open in surprise but he could see nothing. He was
confused and had been about to ask what was going on when sense of
occasion struck him. There had been a ceremonial air to this procedure
that demanded silence.

She didn't speak either as she started to put the costume on him. She
moved him about bodily rather than asking for the movements she needed.
He had suddenly seen the logic of the way she was doing this. She
wanted him to see the costume for the first time from the inside. His
first awareness of it was not to be as a patently dead collection of
fur fabric and leather but as his own new appearance.

The innermost layer of the costume had been slick, silky and cool
against his skin. He had squirmed a little as first his cock and balls
slid into an inner sheath and then part of the costume slid into the
crack of his arse. After a moment though the costume settled on his
skin and his sense of touch almost ceased to report it. Something was
pushed into each of his hands fitting into his palm and between his
fingers. It was hard with a slightly resilient surface. He found he
could now move his fingers only a little, each in its own separate
space, unable to touch anything but the plastic.

A moment later, lying on his side, he had felt an even constriction
around his abdomen. Then a lighter constriction about his chest and
back. He had imagined her tightening the laces. She had told him she
preferred laces to zips in this application. "Laces are fiddly and take
a long time to do up and release. In a normal costume this would be a
drawback. With these special costumes I regard it as an advantage. Also
lace ups have a bit of stretch and are stronger."

After a few moments of this she had spoke to him at last, telling him
to close his eye again. She removed the pads and he felt first the gag
pushed into his mouth, and then the mask settle over his face, soft and
smooth but with a noticeable weight to it. This then was the dress
mask. She had spoken at length about masks, the part of her costumes
she seemed least satisfied with.

"The trouble is," She had explained, "That you really want a muzzle for
it to look anything like right but nobody, as far as I know, has worked
out how to make a mask with a muzzle you can eat through. I've done the
best I can. I will supply two masks. A fairly flat one that you can eat
through and a dress mask with a proper muzzle to it. The muzzle is
quite good really. You can drink from a bowl at least though that
doesn't look quite right, and it opens and closes. With practice you
can pick up a small, light object like a stick. Doesn't have any
strength to it though."

She had explained the simple mechanism. It was based on an inflatable
ball gag. There was an inflatable rubber ball that went into the mouth
with a central plastic tube. The central tube opened just behind the
mask's teeth and you could drink through it as if through a straw
though she warned him it took practice because it delivered the drink
rather far back in the mouth. Another tube connected the inflated part
of the ball to a little mechanism in the hinge of the mask's muzzle.
The mouth was sprung open but increasing pressure on the ball would
close it. So if you squeezed the gag with your mouth then the mask's
mouth would shut, relax the pressure and it would open.

He had never been gagged before and he hadn't liked it at all. He kept
feeling he was going to choke and it was very hard to swallow.

"OK, boy up you get." She had ordered.

The first few moments in the costume had been strange and awkward. In
certain directions it restricted his movements uncompromisingly but as
long as he stayed within the restrictions it was surprisingly
comfortable except for the gag. It took him several tries to work out
how to get up on all fours as he found himself fighting the
restrictions of the costume. It did not permit him to move his arms
much from side to side. It refused his attempts to rotate his hands
away from the fingers facing forward position. It did not allow him to
straighten his legs.

Once up on hands and the balls of his feet though he had found the
costume helping rather than hindering. It seemed to take some of the
load way from his legs. The forepaws transferred the weight evenly onto
the heels of his hands. The hind paws similarly distributed weight to
his heals rather like high heeled shoes. He had turned, still awkwardly
to view himself in the mirror. The effect was better than he had hoped
for. He looked pretty much like a large brown dog with white patches.
Oh, there were distortions. His face angle was wrong, too little neck,
too much head, too short in the body but the resemblance was real. He
looked more like a dog than he did a man dressed, in the conventional
way, as a dog.

She had given him a little time to examine himself and then approached
him saying "Sit." He had complied awkwardly, feeling a strange
excitement in being ordered that way. He saw in the mirror that she was
holding a heavy, studded dog collar and fought an impulse to resist as
she buckled it on, adding the final touch. Then she said "heel" and
without looking to see if he followed opened a door with an emergency
push bar at the back of the workroom and walked out into the sunlight.
He had followed as best he could, halting nervously in the doorway
afraid of a public appearance and then again when he saw the ramshackle
wooden kennel in one corner of the yard and the length of chain whose
end she had picked up.

He had been genuinely frightened then, worried that she was some kind
of crazy who might be intending to keep him permanently. At the same
time though that possibility was perversely exciting. Although he had
instantly decided that there was no way he was going to let her put
that chain on him when she snapped "Come here you stupid mutt." in a
peremptory tone he found himself walking over, cringing as the snap
clicked on the collar and then feeling a strange sense of release. For
good or ill the die was cast.

"Here's the deal." She told him then. "I need you to wear the suit for
an hour or two anyway so that when I take it off it will leave visible
marks anywhere it's binding and any circulation problems will show up.
So we're going to take this opportunity for you to convince yourself
that the restriction of the suit is real. I want you to try to free
yourself. If you can free yourself of the chain or any part of the suit
in the next ninety minutes, even by damaging it, you can have it for
free. I'll even repair any damage you do. While you're out here do try
to relieve yourself, by the way. Take a piss at least and shit if you
can. I want to be sure that that aspect of the suit works properly
too." With that she walked back into the shop, firmly closing the door
behind her and leaving him completely alone in the yard.

For a moment he had stood there feeling a strange sense of abandonment.
There was no handle on the outside of the door through which they'd
come, even if he did somehow free himself from the chain he would not
be able to get back into the shop though there was a gate leading
presumably back to the streets. He had shaken off the feeling. The
challenge offered a good deal to gain and, on the face of it, nothing
to lose though there was the feeling that if he could get free of this
thing he didn't want to know. He determined to give it his best shot.

The most accessible thing was the far end of the chain but he quickly
ruled that out. It was attached to a thick steel ring set in a block of
concrete paving and appeared to have been brazed in place. There was
about five feet of fairly heavy chain.

Of course he couldn't see the other end of the chain but he could tell
by feel it was somewhere near the nape of his neck. Experiment quickly
showed that the restrictions of the suit prevented him from even
bringing either of his forepaws into contact with it in that position,
let alone manipulating it. So he walked away from the ring until the
chain was taut and turned sideways on. By pulling and circling his neck
he was able to turn the collar until the D-Ring was at the right side.
There he seemed to be able to get a paw to it although he had so little
sense of touch it was hard to tell. But that got him little further. To
undo the snap hook needed to exert force on it in two different
directions at the same time. Perhaps if he could get both forepaws to
it... He had lain on his side and worked the collar further around. He
had found that although the suit just barely allowed his forepaws into
contact against his chin the ends were too broad to get in at the
collar. This route had begun to look hopeless. He would have needed his
fingers.

He had quickly determined that he could not pull his fingers free of
the paws. He had faced up to the possibility of damaging the costume to
get loose. There had been her promise to repair any damage without cost
but he was still reluctant. Still he started to explore for some edge
or point that he could use to try to cut the material. He found only a
rough but obtuse corner of stone but set to work awkwardly. The
material, however, proved a lot tougher that it looked. In fact he
realised that the material over the paws was cured hide and was going
to require something far sharper.

It had seemed more like hours later the ninety minutes when he finally
admitted to himself he was out of ideas. Left to himself he would
probably have died of thirst before he had even made an impression on
the costume which seemed to present tough hide wherever it mattered.
That had made him think of the bowl of water he had seen next to the
kennel. Had she put is out for him? He hadn't seen her fill it. It
could have been there for a week. It was a dirty looking earthenware
bowl with "DOG" on it in raised letters and there were bits of
something that looked like straw floating in the water. His first
reaction to it had been disgust but now he felt differently. The last
hour had taught him how little difference there really was between him
in this costume and a real dog. His intelligence and knowledge were
useless without the fingers and voice to put them to use. He had
decided that he would try to drink.

It had proved harder than he had expected. He had dipped the tip of his
muzzle into the water and sucked on the gag but the spurt of water,
when it came went down the wrong way leaving him heaving and sputtering
through the gag. For a moment he had feared he might choke to death but
he finally expelled the last of the water. He had crawled into the
kennel and lay there for several minutes just getting his breath back.
When he had tried again it was much more cautiously taking in only a
small sip and lifting the muzzle out of the water before swallowing it.
When you suck through a straw you use your lungs to take the drink into
your mouth and then swallow. The problem had been that the gag took up
most of the space in his mouth leaving room for only a small amount of
water before it got into his airway.

He had remembered her instructions then and managed by dint of
concentration to piss briefly. There was no way he could have shitted
though, embarrassment aside his bowls just hadn't been ready. He heard
the tinkle of the urine on the slabs and there was no sudden warmth to
suggest it was leaking inside the costume. The sheath and tube
arrangement was evidently working.

He was back in the kennel, meditating on his condition when Lucinda
finally emerged. He had intended to be casual but he found himself
trotting over to her to the limit of the chain as soon as the door
opened. She patted him on the head grinning. "I see you're still here
then boy. I don't see any dog shit. Couldn't you manage one bowel
movement for your mistress?" She unclipped the chain, so easily! He
decided to play this right and walked around behind her to sit at her
left side and did his best to walk neatly to heal as she walked inside.

Although she worked quickly and expertly removing the costume had taken
almost a long as putting it on had done. As she removed it she checked
his skin for any telltale marks of dangerous constriction or loss of
circulation, noting only a couple of minor marks. When he stood upright
at last it seemed strange and a little wrong. He had started to dress
while she was minutely examining the costume but she had stopped him
and made him wash first, though he was less sweaty than he had
expected. Soon though she was ushering him out telling him to come back
in a couple of days.

Since then he had spent a lot of time looking at and handling the
costume. He longed to wear it and would sometime put it one as best he
could though it was impossible to do up. He also wore the masks for
hours at a time especially the difficult one with the muzzle and gag,
feeling an enormous sense of satisfaction the first time he managed to
sleep most of a night with it on. He had counted the days until the
next meeting of the barnyard club where there would be people who would
be happy to lace the thing up for him. He was torn between hope and
fear at the possibility of finding an "owner". It was a different venue
from the previous meeting. A small club in Nottingham which had been
booked for the evening. It was reached down a narrow flight of stairs
from the street, steep enough to give Paul a little trouble with the
large suitcase.

The man checking tickets was somewhat familiar from the previous
meeting. He nodded towards the suitcase "Hi Paul, you got an animal to
register tonight?" Paul nodded rather nervously and the man handed him
a form. "Please fill this in sometime in the next half hour or so. You
got a pen?" Paul nodded again and moved past the desk into the main
bar.

Paul was early and there were only a few people about, chatting quietly
and drinking - soft drinks for the most part. Most were dressed fairly
conventionally although there were two women and a man in latex
catsuits. One woman knelt, naked except for a dog collar and held on a
loose leash by another woman. Both were grinning. Paul bough himself a
tomato juice and, with a nod to a couple of people he'd talked to at
the previous meeting, went in search of somewhere where the light was
bright enough to read the form he had been given.

He followed a corridor from which brighter light was coming and found a
set of lockers that had been set up, mostly open with keys in their
locks. Catching on he put his case into and empty locker, locked it and
pocketed the key. At the other end of the corridor was a medium sized
room with a few rows of plastic chairs and a stage. He quickly saw that
the chairs had little side tables attached so he sat in one and pulled
the table into place to work on the form.

It wasn't a long form and a fair bit of it was "for official use only".
He copied his membership number and filled in his name and address. He
put "dog" in the species box. He ticked "male" and "heterosexual".
There was a section that was headed "what commitments do you put above
the role-playing." He ticked "Work" and "Parental Family". He hesitated
over "How long a period of confinement is acceptable without special
negotiation?" finally writing "7 Days" firmly.

The section that really took the time though was the "limits" section.
He hesitated over "bestiality" but in the end left it unticked. He
ticked "Permanent marks" without a second thought. He hummed and hawed
over "Buggery (protected)" finally writing "not by man" next to it.

Having finished the form he though he had better read the instructions
before signing but there wasn't anything unexpected. He checked it
again, remembering to tick "I am over eighteen" this time and signed
and dated it. He sighed. Forms even here but the club had to cover
itself.

When he looked up he saw that people had started to trickle into the
room and take seats. Even the woman in the dog collar, now off the
leash, took a seat and relaxed next to her mistress, casual in her
nudity. The formal business of the meeting was always held first. It
hadn't taken long last time and Paul knew the registrations came
immediately after. During this phase everyone was a person and animal
personas were put aside which was why the majority of the pets were
dressed in street clothes at this stage moment. Most of them, he knew,
hated to talk or otherwise act human in costume or naked. It wasn't a
rule. It was simply that the costume and the persona went together and
in putting on one they put on the other.

It didn't take long this time either. There was a brief debate and a
show of hands concerning a new printer for the magazine. There was a
brief statement from the chairman about the current membership levels
and a new chapter opening soon in Germany. That was essentially it.

As the formal meeting broke up the man who had been on the door earlier
made his way over to Paul. "Hi. I'm Steven. I've been asked to look
after you tonight. Each candidate has a minder. It's my business to see
that nobody steals your credit cards or whatever and you get to go home
at the end of the evening. Let's get your costume."

They went to the lockers and Paul unlocked the door and took out the
suitcase. To his surprise Steven locked the empty locker and pocketed
the key. "That makes sure I have somewhere to put your stuff later." He
explained. "Antisocial perhaps but these lockers can get scarce."

"What's going to happen?" Paul asked nervously but his companion just
tapped the side of his nose with his index finger.

"Never you mind." He said in a quavering voice. Then more normally.
"Don't worry about it. Just go with the flow and remember your place
and you can't go far wrong. The nice humans aren't going to hurt you if
you behave yourself."

Steven led Paul into a small room with a row of chairs where there were
already two people waiting, obviously another candidate and minder. He
took the form and leafed quickly through it. It seemed like a long wait
and Paul was increasingly on edge before the far door opened and the
other couple were called through. In the meantime another pair had come
in. That seemed to be it for the this meeting.

"There's an ongoing debate about the rule that insists registration be
in person." Steven explained as they waited. "There are all sorts of
practical difficulties and it's very difficult for some members to make
it to a meeting but I think it's important. It's really the only way to
be certain that the candidates are of legal age and not under pressure.
Besides which you'll remember this for a long time. It will help you
with your characterisation. Now show me you costume and how it goes
on."

Eventually the door opened and they were called in. Steven carried the
suitcase

To Paul's surprise the door led back into the small theatre where the
meeting had taken place. The chairs had been stacked to one side
leaving one chair and a table near the door they had emerged from and
three chairs for the officials, two women and a man, who had been on
the platform earlier but now sat in a row in front of it.

Steven opened the suitcase and spread the costume out on the table.
Meanwhile one of the women spoke to Paul in a clear, ritualistic voice
demanding his full attention. "Paul Marlow" She said "Have you come
here of your own free will to set your humanity aside and put on the
mantle of beasthood?"

Paul started to nod nervously and then realised something more positive
was required. He cleared his throat and, trying to match the solemn
tones said. "I have.", He winced. His voice seemed overly loud in the
room.

"Then put aside the fetishes of humanity." The woman said in the same
sonorous tones as before. Paul thought frantically for a moment, what
were the fetishes of humanity? Then he caught on. He took his keys from
his pocket and handed them to Steven. Then he did the same with his
wallet. As he did so he felt a kind of nakedness. No, not nakedness,
nudity. The possessions that those keys and those cards represented
lost some of their hold on him and he felt lighter for the lessening of
their weight.

Systematically he emptied his pockets. Then he removed his clothing
beginning with the shoes. He was pleased to find no sense of
embarrassment within him. A couple of moments and he stood completely
naked before the impassive gaze of the three people, sternly resisting
a momentary impulse to cover his testicles with his hand as if by
accident. He kept his eyes on the officials, not looking at where
Steven was putting his clothes and possessions into the suitcase.

The woman who seemed to be in charge spoke again. "To grasp the freedom
of the beast you must let go the freedom of the person." She told him.
"Down beast!". Paul dropped to all fours without hesitation. Still
looking at her but now only seeing her from the waist down.

A moment later he felt a push against his side and, turning his head,
saw Steven carrying the costume and pushing him with the toe of his
right foot. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Of course he
knew every detail of the costume's construction by now but he didn't
want to think about it. He kept his eyes closed and co-operated
passively as Steven put the costume onto him. He caught himself
wriggling a little, sexually aroused by the costume's embrace, most
intimate than any lover.

When he was fully dressed Steven gave him a couple of firm pats on the
backside and he got up onto his legs and opened his eyes. He discovered
Steven had put the thin mask on him rather than the dress mask which
was briefly disappointing. Most of his nervousness about the ceremony
had now gone. He was a dog now and no one would expect him to
understand what was going on. He just had to do what he was told. The
worse that could happen now if he messed anything up was that he might
get a scolding or maybe even a blow and be made to do it again.

Steven folded the form Paul had filled in earlier and offered it to
him. "Take" he instructed and Paul took the paper gently in his mouth,
trying to neither drop it nor put teeth marks in it. He guessed what
was coming and took a half step towards the officials but then he
stopped himself and sat down. It wasn't his business to anticipate.

The woman smiled, obviously aware of what was going on in his mind.
"Good dog!" She told him. "Here boy."

He was absurdly pleased and had his tail been properly a part of him it
would have been wagging strongly as he scurried over to her and sat in
front of her. He saw the man take a metal disk out of a box and made a
note from it on the form. He then bent down and attached it to Paul's
collar without giving him a chance to read it. He then patted him on
the head and looked up at Steven who was closing the suitcase. "OK
Steven. Take him."

Steven walked over carrying the suitcase. He clipped a leash to Paul's
collar and Paul got up onto all fours.

"No!" Paul told him waiving an index finger in front of his face. "Sit.
Wait to be told." Paul sat again, squirming with embarrassment. He
really wanted to be a good dog and this was his first mistake. When
told to heel he did his best to get it right, walking to Steven's left
and trying to keep his head level with Steven's body.

Steven walked to the lockers and told him to sit. Then he put the case
in the locker they had appropriated earlier and pocketed the key. He
then removed the leash and patted Paul on the head. "Good boy. Go
free." He ordered and gave him a push towards the bar. Paul hesitated,
confused, and earned a slap on the backside. "Go!" Steven said again.
Paul went.

The bar was now fairly busy. There were people and there were pets.
Many of the pets were naked except for collars and other bits of
harness. Others were in costume like himself. There were even a couple
of real dogs. Most of them were sitting or lying by what were obviously
their owners, some leashed, others seemingly free to go. There were a
couple wandering around looking slightly lost as he must himself be
doing.

There was a large buffet supper set up and people were beginning to
remove the cling film covers from plates of sandwiches and savouries to
help themselves. The buffet had been mentioned on the invitation and
Paul hadn't eaten. It now occurred to him, for the first time, that the
buffet and the bar were only for people. He would not be allowed to
help himself. He could not ask for drinks and had no money to pay for
them in any case. He saw a depressing prospect of a hungry and thirsty
evening ahead.

That made him think of something else. Yes, there it was in a corner of
the room, under a big wall-mounted loudspeaker where no one would step
in it but in plain sight of the whole room. A large litter tray with
white zeolite absorbant in it. As yet unused, it appeared. At the last
meeting it had struck him as common sense. Animals did not require
privacy for such natural functions and certainly could not be allowed
in the lavatories. Now he sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to use it.
Suppose he missed? He'd be punished and disgraced and, worse, who would
want to adopt a pet they couldn't trust with the carpets?

He walked around the periphery of the room wondering what to do next.
Steven, apparently, had fulfilled his obligations for the time being
and had no brief to entertain him for the evening. He saw a woman
stroke her naked male pet and felt a surge of envy. More and more
people were eating now and he felt thoroughly left out.

He thought about fratenising with the other strays. As he moved that
way though he saw something else. A man dropped a voll-au-vent on the
carpet and cursed. Paul rushed over before the man could get his
cutlery reorganised and set about eating it. The man called him a
filthy animal but he was smiling and didn't push him away. Not wishing
to be any more filthy than necessary Paul was careful to lick as much
of the prawn sauce from around his mouth. He considered whether he felt
embarrassed by what he had just done. A little but nothing he couldn't
handle.

The treat was tasty but it wasn't going to keep him from hunger for the
whole evening. What was a dog to do in these circumstances? Whatever it
was he'd better do it before all the food disappeared. Of course the
answer was obvious but could he bring himself to do it? He decided to
pick a victim and try.

There were four or maybe five groups of people without pets. He tried a
solitary woman first, slightly overweight and with a large plate of
food. He sat himself down near her low table and stared wistfully at
the food. When he was convinced he had her attention he squatted back
in a sit up and beg. "Clear off." She told him decisively.

He tried a couple next. The man took a bite out of a sandwich and then
held it out in his direction. Then, when Paul reached towards it he
snatched it away and ate it. Paul whimpered. It suprised even him
because it wasn't an act. It had been completely spontaneous. He
actually felt miserable.

The woman of the couple grinned for a moment then seemed to reconsider.
"Aw," she said "Don't be so mean Ron. Here boy." She held out her own
sandwich which she had taken a couple of bites out of. "Now take it
nicely: Don't snatch."

Paul took a careful bite out of the sandwich. It was difficult at first
to get the right position. The mask made it difficult to feel the exact
position of the sandwich and the angle was wrong to see it properly.
The woman though saw his problem and fed him the sandwich
systematically. When it was all gone she patted him on the head and
turned away.

Paul debated whether to stay put or try someone else. Since the lady
seemed to have lost interest in him for the time being he decided to
try elsewhere. His luck was limited. He netted in total two cocktail
sausages, half an onion bargee and a back handed blow to the side of
the head. The lady who had fed him the sandwich definitely seemed like
the best prospect.

He decided to try a campaign of attrition, sitting quietly a little
behind her to her side where he would be visible out of the corner of
her eye without being intrusive. He no longer felt any sense of
embarrassment about begging like this. Ron gave him a dirty look but
this only served to focus her attention on him. She finally offered fed
him a whole sausage roll and stroked his ears. "I think he's rather
cute." She told her companion to his evident irritation. Then to Paul's
delight she took hold of his identity disc and wrote the number down on
a napkin.

This was exactly what he had been hoping for. No negotiation could take
place here and now because he was a dog and could not speak but if she
chose she could get in touch with him via the society and perhaps come
to some arrangement. He wondered what her relationship with Ron was and
whether he would be involved in any agreement that emerged. If he was
Paul suspected that he was likely to prove a harsh master. He was
suprised how little that put him off the idea. It would be a kind of
challenge. Perhaps Ron would be able to accept that a dog was no threat
to him.

The lady, whose name turned out to be Mary, kept him by her for most of
the evening. He did, in the end, have to use the litter tray to shit.
It was humiliating but no one paid any attention to him and there were
no accidents. She and Ron, however, left early and Paul was left
abandoned and suddenly feeling very lonely.

He was mooching about looking for sympathetic company when Steven
called him over. He was carrying a long riding crop. He put Paul on a
leash and took him through into the empty theatre. Paul had no idea
what to expect but what he got was a series of lessons. Steven walked
him to heel, correcting his position again and again with little
touches of the crop. On one occasion he gave Paul a sharp cut with the
crop when he thought he wasn't concentrating. When he was reasonably
satisfied with that he went through stay and recall teaching him to
come and sit in front of the trainer when called, then walk around
behind and put himself in the right position when called to heel.

Paul was quite suprised when Steven removed his costume and brought him
his case. It felt strange and unnatural standing on two legs at first.
It took even longer for him to rediscover the art of concentration when
Steven complimented him on the costume.

"You did very well tonight for your first time. I think you've got
every chance of finding an owner."

Paul told him about Mary and Ron and Steven agreed that it was a
hopeful sign. "Do come again next meeting even if you don't have
someone to bring you. I'd place and advert in the magazine too if I
were you."

He slept on the train ride home, completely relaxed. He felt no anxiety
about the suitcase now. Maybe he would be hearing from Mary. If not
there was the next meeting or the magazine. It was only a matter of
time now.