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“Alright, Dobe. I want you to stand there and focus – really focus. Don’t just see green. See the leaves, each individual one. See branches. See paths and ways. This is going to be your territory. You must know every inch of it. Next fall, I’m going to send you into these woods and expect you to bring supper back home. I’m going to petition to host the annual charity fag-hunt here for 2018. You mark this territory as yours, and it becomes yours. Are you up for it pup?”
“Arf arf!” The tail began to wag.
“That’s a good pup. No more days of haphazardly chasing squirrels. You will be disciplined and stealthy. The pup suit will protect you from poison ivy and spider webs. You will channel all of your horniness into energy to prowl here. Understood?”
“Arf arf arf!” Doby bellowed.
The young master smiled. “Good pup.”

The pup squinted. He straightened his back and his knees moved; he strained his neck and lifted a paw – pointer move. A soft woof sounded in his throat.
“What? What is it pup?”
They both stood still. A long moment later, a doe strode past them, pausing to nibble grass, then moved on.
The young Master could feel Doby’s muscles under his hand. They were tight. He wanted that deer, but knew it would bolt. Plus, he didn’t have his knife.
The deer was now gone.
“Arf!” Doby said.
“That was excellent,” his Master noted. “Learning self-restraint already. One day you will take down prey that size – but not yet. Alright boy, lesson is over for the day. Let’s make a lap of our property and go home.”

Doby head butted his Master’s hand, then jumped down to the carpet of leaves below. Master began to walk, but Doby pulled and paused – had to mark that stump first.

Captions are fictional.


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