The jaguar is an animal of great power and meaning to me, my guardian. That is why the jaguar is my Patronus. But when I close my eyes and look inside, there is a dog. The dog is the embodiment of who I am, what I am. It's always been that way. The dog is my loyalty, my joy, my fear, my submission. It ties into every aspect of my being, it's the way I make sense of my world.
I've been wanting to write about submission and 'what it is' to me for a long time, but I've never been able to find the right words. With the dog analogy, it finally started to make sense.
I have never seen myself as a slave. The biggest reason I don't identify as a slave is because at the end of the day, slaves are still human. I identify as property. What is property in the eye of the law? Animals... dogs. Dogs are property. The Owner/canine relationship really appeals to me in a way that is entirely separate from puppy play. My submission doesn't involve pretending to be a dog, the dog is already there. Puppy play is a fun side project that I enjoy, but it is an entirely different animal than submission. [Haaaaaaa].
My submission is the submission of a dog. There is little more appealing than being in the warm, loving home of my [imagined] owner. Sitting at his feet, my head on his knee, eyes closed in quiet contemplation, my immersion in everything that is him. His collar closed around my neck. Trained. Expected to serve. To learn. To assist. I identify heavily as a service dog, and that is another way my service side manifests. I want to help, anticipatory service means a great deal to me.
My own dog has taught me a lot. My dog is a Beauceron, a French Shepherd. Like German Shepherds, they are aloof to strangers and develop intense bonds with their trainers or owners. This is one of the characteristics I wanted in my personal companion. My dog could not give two shits about random people he meets out on the street. It isn't until he develops a relationship with someone that he actually cares and wants to interact and seems happy. That is how I am, and as an ambivert, how I've always been. It just took my own dog to show me.
But my dog, the one inside, is a stray, not a pampered pet. My dog doesn't trust easily, or sometimes at all. She hasn't been abused, but she has been though a lot and has a long memory. Cagey, skeptical, cautious. She will allow you to get close and at the last minute bolt. Over and over again sometimes. Or approach, but with caution, that light-on-the-feet but still ready to spring, neck out stretched, ears up, eyes boring into you. Maybe she will take what you have to offer. Maybe she will eventually relax and stay with you for a while but at the end of the day she still runs because that's all she knows how to do. Run dog, run.
She doesn't know if she can relax enough to let you be in charge. She's been doing her own thing for so long. If you don't feed her, she can get food herself. She's been doing it for years. Scrounging, dumpsters, trash. Occasionally the meal lovingly looked by someone she adores, delicious and steaming. At the end of the day she's still outside under the moon. It's a beautiful place, even in the rain but not what she longs for.
It's taken years for some people to get through. But when someone takes the time to break through the barriers, and the distrust and the snarling maw at the end of a catch pole, they have gained a fiercely loyal friend.
And so I sit, good dog.
Waiting, good dog.
Watching, good dog.
Hoping one day to find the person whose love is right.
Whose soul is light.
Who will help me write...
Their collar will mean I have a home again and I can come off the streets to a warm bed and a soft voice and know it is all my choice.
I've been wanting to write about submission and 'what it is' to me for a long time, but I've never been able to find the right words. With the dog analogy, it finally started to make sense.
I have never seen myself as a slave. The biggest reason I don't identify as a slave is because at the end of the day, slaves are still human. I identify as property. What is property in the eye of the law? Animals... dogs. Dogs are property. The Owner/canine relationship really appeals to me in a way that is entirely separate from puppy play. My submission doesn't involve pretending to be a dog, the dog is already there. Puppy play is a fun side project that I enjoy, but it is an entirely different animal than submission. [Haaaaaaa].
My submission is the submission of a dog. There is little more appealing than being in the warm, loving home of my [imagined] owner. Sitting at his feet, my head on his knee, eyes closed in quiet contemplation, my immersion in everything that is him. His collar closed around my neck. Trained. Expected to serve. To learn. To assist. I identify heavily as a service dog, and that is another way my service side manifests. I want to help, anticipatory service means a great deal to me.
My own dog has taught me a lot. My dog is a Beauceron, a French Shepherd. Like German Shepherds, they are aloof to strangers and develop intense bonds with their trainers or owners. This is one of the characteristics I wanted in my personal companion. My dog could not give two shits about random people he meets out on the street. It isn't until he develops a relationship with someone that he actually cares and wants to interact and seems happy. That is how I am, and as an ambivert, how I've always been. It just took my own dog to show me.
But my dog, the one inside, is a stray, not a pampered pet. My dog doesn't trust easily, or sometimes at all. She hasn't been abused, but she has been though a lot and has a long memory. Cagey, skeptical, cautious. She will allow you to get close and at the last minute bolt. Over and over again sometimes. Or approach, but with caution, that light-on-the-feet but still ready to spring, neck out stretched, ears up, eyes boring into you. Maybe she will take what you have to offer. Maybe she will eventually relax and stay with you for a while but at the end of the day she still runs because that's all she knows how to do. Run dog, run.
She doesn't know if she can relax enough to let you be in charge. She's been doing her own thing for so long. If you don't feed her, she can get food herself. She's been doing it for years. Scrounging, dumpsters, trash. Occasionally the meal lovingly looked by someone she adores, delicious and steaming. At the end of the day she's still outside under the moon. It's a beautiful place, even in the rain but not what she longs for.
It's taken years for some people to get through. But when someone takes the time to break through the barriers, and the distrust and the snarling maw at the end of a catch pole, they have gained a fiercely loyal friend.
And so I sit, good dog.
Waiting, good dog.
Watching, good dog.
Hoping one day to find the person whose love is right.
Whose soul is light.
Who will help me write...
Their collar will mean I have a home again and I can come off the streets to a warm bed and a soft voice and know it is all my choice.
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