Page 5 of Vabar

I’m mesmerized by this display. He’s training them. As soon as they sit, he pulls two treats from his pocket and holds them out in his palms for each dog to take one.

Their tails wag. The dogs are so pleased with themselves, especially when the man rubs their chins.

After tying the blanket around me like a cape, I kneel, grip the bars of my cage, and lean my forehead against them so I don’t have to hold my head up. My diaper is uncomfortable, and I need to pee again. I can’t do anything about the fact that I don’t have a bathroom, so I release my bladder.

The blond man glances at me and smiles before turning to the two dogs. He says something while he holds out his hand again, bending it at the wrist so his palm faces the dogs. When he moves backward, they remain in their spots.

The man pauses and then uses the gesture for “come” again. The dogs run forward, tails wagging because they realize treats are on the horizon. It’s fascinating to watch as the man goes through all the commands twice more. Come, sit, and stay. He has them roll onto their backs a few times, too.

I find myself oddly drawn to the man. He’s so tall and strong. He’s wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt. His muscles bulge. It seems like I can smell him, which makes no sense. How could I possibly scent the man? Especially over all these animals.

And I’m oddly calm. I should be freaking out. I was earlier. A part of me still is, but I’m not as frightened. I still have no idea what my purpose is, though, so that’s unsettling.

It’s obvious when the man orders the two dogs to sit on their respective pillows in the corner of the room. The pets are so well-behaved that they eagerly obey, trotting to their spots and lying down.

While I watch, the man opens one of the other cages in the room. He attaches a leash to the collar of the animal and sets the little furball on the floor. For the next hour, he works with this cute guy and then three others. It’s obvious they have not had as much training as the two who are not in cages. But they learn quickly because they are apparently bright enough and willing to do anything for a treat.

After the blond puts the last pet in its cage, he comes to me. My stomach is grumbling, so I’m hoping he’s going to give me something to eat. Also, I need to do something about the heavy, soaked diaper between my legs. Will he give me a new one? Or, for heaven’s sake, let me use the bathroom like a civilized human?

I’m surprised when he squats down and opens the door of my cage. I scoot back, slightly worried about his intentions.

The man reaches out a hand, palm up, and makes the “come” motion. He says the words at the same time.

I gasp and squish back against the bars, shaking my head.

He narrows his gaze at me and gestures again. His voice is firmer this time.

I’m so startled that I’m shaking. This can’t be happening. None of it. I’m not a pet. I don’t belong in a cage. This prison; it’s a kennel. That’s the word for this secure box. Pets are kept in kennels.

The blond makes the hand gesture and sound a third time.

I realize he’s going to let me out of the kennel. I don’t like his method at all, but I want to get out of this cramped space. Maybe I should obey him. For now.

Decision made, I drop to my hands and knees and crawl toward the open gate. I don’t like the position, but it’s my only option. It’s not as though I can stand up in here.

The blanket is tied around my neck and draped over my shoulders, so it hinders me, but I manage to set both palms outside my prison. The moment I do, the man rises, grips the back of my head, and moves my hair to one side. Before I can react, he clasps something around my neck.

I rear backward, but I’m not fast enough. There is another snap, and now the man is holding a thick chain in front of me.

Yanking myself back toward the kennel is a mistake. I land on my padded bottom, but I wrench my neck in doing so.

No, no, no, no, no.

With both hands, I reach up to find exactly what I expected. This horrible man has put a collar on me. And a leash.

He drops to his knees and leans partly into the kennel. He grabs me by the biceps and hauls me out of the cage. As soon as I’m clear of the bars, he forcibly sets me on my hands and knees.

“Stop. You’re hurting me!” I finally manage to scream. My attempt to twist away from him is thwarted.

He palms the back of my head and holds me in place. The pressure is too much, and my head isn’t strong enough to fight back. My elbows bend as my face is forced to the floor.

“No. Please. Stop,” I sob. “I’m not an animal. I’m a human.”

There’s no response. Nothing. He doesn’t scream at me or hit me. He doesn’t make a sound. He simply holds my head bowed to the floor. With his other hand, he unties the blanket from my shoulders and tugs it away.

“No!” I try to reach out for my only protection. My attempt is futile. The blanket is gone. And I nearly fall on my chin when I lift one hand. I’m too weak to hold myself up without both palms planted firmly.

In a strange twist, the man uses his other hand to stroke my naked back. Gently. He begins to speak. I can’t understand a word, but his voice is soothing. Not angry.