Fido's Californian Vacation

MY VACATION: PART THREE: Tuesday.

But it was Her sister who returned, carrying with her a large cool-box which she strapped to the rear of my cart. She untethered me, took her seat in the cart, and whipped me into a fast trot. I was panting and sweating when we arrived at our destination: the Summerhouse, where my Lady and her two friends sat upon the broad wooden verandah in the shade.

"Got the ice, sis!" the young lady exclaimed triumphantly as she pulled me up with a jerk on the lawn before them. She got down and handed the cooler up to her sister.

Ms Howard wrinkled her delicate nose. "Tether the beast downwind, little sister; please!" She said as She turned away into the tiny kitchen.

"I will, Sis!" came the cheerful reply. "And I'll swill him down too!"

With that she led me off into the small concreted yard behind the structure where she dipped a bucket into the rain-water butt and poured its sun-warmed contents over me. She used another two buckets before she was satisfied, then she tied me to a steel ring set in the wall and left me for the verandah, from which came the sounds of ice tinkling in glasses of cool liquid among animated conversation.

I soon became very bored with my environment; the walled yard, though shaded, was hot and airless, the hard concrete hurt my feet, my tether was so short I couldn't turn my head, and my only view was of the brick wall framed in my blinkers eighteen inches in front of my eyes; on top of all this the flies found me, clustering around my eyes and on the saliva drooling from the corners of my mouth where my bit entered my mouth, causing me to toss my head about in attempts to dislodge them. Nor could I find any distraction in listening to the conversation of my Lady and Her companions; they were too far from me for anything but a buzz of voices to be audible.

I stood there in silent misery for what seemed a very long time before the wide wooden gate to the yard opened and the young lady came to me. She led me out onto the lawn where the cooler air was intensely refreshing. There she re-tethered me for the purpose of giving me a much-needed drink. The rest of the group, my Goddess among them, sat at their ease at the table. From their conversation I soon gathered that I had been led there so that Ms Howard's two friends could have the opportunity of taking a ride.

Flora seemed very confident; she had, she declared, been raised on a farm and had driven carts in her childhood. Constance was much less so, and was anxiously quizzing my Owner on the methods of controlling my movements by means of reins attached to a bit in my mouth.

"It's quite easy, dear," I heard my Lady explain, "Muffin is very tame and well-broken to his cart. Hold his reins with your hands about a foot apart; if you want to turn him just pull - gently! - on the rein attached to the side of his bit you want him to turn to. The harder you pull, the sharper the angle he will try to turn. Bear in mind that, because his head is forced down and forward by his leaning into his harness, he won't be able to see more than a few feet in front of him; you will have to direct his movements through his bit. To slow him, pull back on both reins. To stop him, keep pulling back gently until he comes to a halt. And remember, one flick of the whip to make him walk off, another to make him trot, a third makes him increase speed again, and a fourth makes him go to his full extent. But you won't need that; best to keep him at a slow trot as he can keep that up for a long time. If he seems to be tiring, slow down; if he's in obvious distress, stop long enough for him to recover. If a grade gets too steep for him, dismount and lead him up. Remember he's an animal, not a machine........ And don't forget: the whip isn't for punishing him; it's to tell him what degree of speed or effort you want from him."

Her Southern friend seemed far from convinced, but she took up her seat while Ms Howard's sister held my reins. She passed them up to Constance; I could tell the exact point at which they changed hands from the difference between the confident handling of the young lady, and the timorous way Constance was holding them.

"Brake off, dear ........and use your whip!" my Lady called to her.

I heard the click as the brake was released, and stood for a moment uncertain what to do. Ms Howard had trained me to move off only when she shook my reins or flicked me with Her whip. But quite quickly Constance got the idea; I heard the swish of the whip and felt the pain as the lash struck me high on the back.

"Lower down! Not so hard with the whip, dear!" My Lady called as we moved off.

Constance had not been exaggerating her lack of experience. She was, by turns, either too heavy or too light on my bit, causing me to turn too early or too late and constantly having to correct me. Fortunately she was content for a time with keeping me at a slow walk while she gained confidence. She'd driven me onto the long straight which I recognised as ending at the Estate gates before I felt a second blow from her whip which told me to increase my speed to a trot. Becoming over-confident, she whipped me into a canter, with the result that she had to clumsily and painfully pull back on my bit to slow me enough to take the sharp corner where the path continued along the side of the boundary wall. Sobered by this near miss, she contented herself with keeping me at a slow trot, straight though the way was. But it was climbing, and soon I was panting and slowing in spite of my best efforts to keep up to speed. Naturally she misunderstood; equally naturally she struck me heavily across my back and my straining haunches several times in her exasperation to make me increase my speed, but then she evidently realised her mistake and eased back on the reins, allowing me to find my best pace up the grade. At the top she allowed me to rest for a few minutes before urging me on. It was all downhill now, and much easier for me although the path wound and twisted among the trees showing up her unsureness with the reins. I was very glad indeed when we finally arrived back at our starting point.

"My turn now!" exclaimed Flora, rising from her chair eagerly.

"Not yet, dear!" replied my Lady. "Give him a little time to recover. Freshen up your drink, and I'll give him some water."

The Goddess Herself came down to water me. She pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, of course, to avoid soiling Her carefully manicured hands, filled the shallow plastic bowl they watered me from when I was in harness, and held it to my eager lips.

While I drank noisily I could sense Her disapproval and imagine the tell-tale slight thinning of Her lips as She inspected the angry welts on my back, buttocks and thighs. I suspected it was only the claims of old friendship that had persuaded Her to allow Her friends to drive me, and that She was now regretting it. But finally She turned from me with an audible sigh and signalled Her older friend to come down and mount.

My Mistress handed Flora my reins with the following: "Take it easy, dear; he's getting tired! Tell you what - why don't you drive him to the house, and bring back more ice? There's some nice straights, and it's fairly flat."

"Don't worry Cardew, dear!" came the breezy reply. "I shan't exhaust the brute!" And she shook my reins and commanded sharply "Muffin! Walk on!"

I was reassured by her confident handling, so different from that of poor Constance, as I moved off a slow walk. The way off the lawn back to the house was straight, and I needed no guidance to take it. The first hundred yards was straight, and Flora whipped me into a slow trot. It was only when we went to take the first slight bend that I began to realise that I may have exchanged King Log for King Stork. For Flora was, as well as being older than her friends, considerably heavier; her fault was over-confidence; also she was more brutal on my bit than anyone who'd driven me so far. In spite of the relatively slow pace I was beginning to pant when we reached the junction where the path to the left led to the house. The path on the right I did not know; looking down it I could only see that it was straight, and the trees seemed to thin out further along it.

Flora brought me to a halt at the junction for some reason; I was glad of the brief rest; my Lady had been right - I WAS tired.

She shook my reins and I moved off, but as I instinctively made to turn to take the path to the house Flora tugged my head savagely round to the right, forcing me onto the other path where she whipped me back into my slow trot. I wondered about this change in plans, but obeyed as I had no choice - I'd no idea why or where we were going, but then; I had no need to know; I was only a draught animal whose movements were under the control of its Mistress.

After about four hunded yards the trees thinned out completely, and the turf beneath my feet became hot sand. In front of me, I sensed that the track ran straight and level through sandy scrub. But I had little time for surmise; my driver immediately whipped me into my fast trot mode. At first it wasn't too bad; the ocean could not have been very far for the cool breeze was stronger, and I could smell the salt in the air, also a high haze had cut some of the heat from the sun, but as I was driven on and on I began to flag under the burden of my previous exertions and the unaccustomed weight of my Lady's large friend. She was having none of that, as I soon discovered. As I slowed, her whip would fall hard and painfully upon my shoulders, my back and my haunches, as she ruthlessly kept me at the speed she wanted from me

I was reaching the end of my resources and panting with exhaustion when the trees re-appeared around us, the path became turf again, and very shortly, much to my relief, we stopped on the gravel at the front porch. Without even bothering to tether me, Flora got down and bustled into the house. She was away just long enough to let me get back my breath before remounting and whipping me into motion. I found her still as heavy-handed on my bit, and my jaws were sore and aching when I was finally stopped at the Summerhouse. So was relieved was I by the end of my ordeal that I was happy to be led into the concrete yard and tied in the position I'd found so unbearable earlier.

Drooping with tiredness in my sweaty harness, I heard the gate open and someone come to my side. I could tell it was my Mistress from the sound of Her footsteps and the faint hint of Her exquisite perfume which I inhaled greedily. I couldn't see her, of course, due to my blinkers. There was concern - and some anger - in Her soft voice as She spoke to me.

"Oh, you poor thing! I shouldn't have let them treat you so badly, whipping your poor back like that! And tiring you so, too!"

She ruffled my hair with Her fingers, and I felt Her fingers gently trace my welts through Her plastic gloves.

"Only a little while longer and I'll take you back and let you rest a spell." And with that she left me, contented and cheered beyond measure by my beloved Goddess's concern for me. Alas! It was not to be, as I soon discovered a little while later when She Herself returned to lead me out onto the lawn. Flora, apparently, had raised such an outcry about the prospect of having to walk the half mile or so back to the house that she had prevailed upon my Lady to allow her to drive me there, after which she would send me back alone to collect my Mistress.

"You say it's a clever beast," she said cunningly, "and so it should be able to get back here on its own! The two young ones can easily walk back, but I don't believe in using my own muscles when an animal's muscles are available - what else are they for?"

Ms Cardew had been obliged to agree with this inexorable logic; the two younger Women had left for the house, and my Owner felt it owing to to Her older friend not to have her walk back instead of riding.

So once again I carried this large, heavy Woman; once again I suffered her heavy hand on my bit and felt the painful blows from her whip.

At the house she alighted, flicked me with the whip, and told me to go to my Mistress. The reins she had loosely tied to the headboard of my cart and I wasn't disturbed by a rider's insistence that I should go this way or that. Also, without the weight of a rider, the cart was amazingly light, and I arrived in front of the Summerhouse where my Lady was waiting in only a few minutes.

I felt the cart shift as She took Her seat, then the gentle, confident, reassuring way She shook my reins to start me moving. Coming off the lawn, instead of taking the direct, shortest route to the house, She steered me onto another which I recognised as a longer one, but which had the advantage of being shaded most of the way. I was brought to a trot; both my Mistress and Her beast enjoying the rush of cool air against their respective skins. Her slender hands were sure in directing me; Her whip fell upon my haunches only when She judged I needed to make more effort to keep up my steady pace. In spite of my fatigue, I found I was enjoying myself; but then I would have run until my heart burst to spare my Goddess a single unecessary step.

She drove me into the cool garage; then, with Her own hands She unharnessed me. When I'd been freed of all the paraphernalia of harness, bridle and bit, and my arms released from behind my back, my Lady spoke.

"Go into your cage," She ordered me, "and rest. When I raise the door, come out, and get into your box. Wait there for me."

She watched me scramble into my cage and lowered the door on me using the remote. During this operation Her sister appeared.

"Oh! There you are, Sis!"

"Come and see what those two butchers have done to poor Fido's back!" my Mistress said indignantly, and I felt again the soothing touch of Her gloved hand tracing the weals on my body.

The young lady came over and stared down at me. Her tone was careless as she replied.

"Oh; be reasonable, big sister! The skin isn't broken - and it's only a beast!"

"I'm well aware of the condition of its skin, but it's my beast and my property!" My Mistress retorted fiercely. "And I do not care to have my property abused! I should never have agreed to let them drive him!"

"No help for it now," soothed Her sister. "Come and have a cold drink - and I'll help you prepare dinner!"

The two left, my Lady somewhat mollified, while I lay there ecstatic at this further evidence of Her concern for my welfare.

Only a short time later I fell into a deep sleep, from which I was woken by the sound of the cage door opening. Mindful of my Lady's instructions I did as She had bidden me. Crouched uncomfortably in the hot, cramped box, but much refreshed by my short sleep, I waited in patient docility for my Goddess.

She was not long in coming, accompanied by the other Women. I licked clean the shoes of all four, from the large sensible brogues of Flora to the chic leather shoes of Constance, and from her to the unaccustomed evening shoes of the young lady. Obviously her Sister had shamed her into wearing a proper dress and proper shoes for once! My Lady was kind enough to ensure that I was offered water to keep my mouth from drying up. I eagerly anticipated the appearance of Her slim and elegant feet, and when the first shoe was put on the grill below my waiting mouth I began to work on it with religious devotion. I licked it and its mate with loving care, anxious that I didn't moisten them too much (for they were the cream coloured shoes she had prevented me from licking before) for I feared to permanantly darken their colour. As usual, I was ultra-careful not to allow my saliva to contact Her skin through the sheer stockings She wore when I cleaned the tops of Her shoes above Her shapely ankles. To finish, of Her's alone did I lick the soles; no dirt of any kind should remain on Ms Howard's shoes!

She spoke to me.

"On your release clean and deodorise yourself, then go to your usual station and wait for my call. You will wear your muzzle."

I heard them leave, then was alone for some considerable time, as it seemed to me - I couldn't tell the passing time from the fading evening light for it was, of course, always pitch dark in my cage. But I endured it philosphically; perhaps my Lady had temporarily forgotten me, or had found a more important task than to release an animal she had no immediate use for.

Finally She raised the door by remote control. I wriggled out, stretched, then went at once to the shower. Ten minutes later, clean and muzzled, I knelt on the kitchen doorstep in the warm darkness.

It seemed they were to dine al fresco on the patio, for it was there that my Lady summoned me. She instructed me to set the table, and watched critically as I did so, with sparkling silver and glassware, and gleaming napery. She gave me Her orders.

"You shall stand by the side of my chair on my right and wait upon us this evening. You shall wear these." She proffered a pair of spotless cotton gloves. "Now take up your position."

I did as She commanded, standing patiently with my hands behind my back. She turned and left, to return shortly with the rest of the party. They took their seats, my Lady at the table's head, Constance on Her right and Flora on Her left; Her sister facing Her. My Lady laid before Her a short ivory handled whip; no more than a toy, it looked, a bare eighteen inches long. Its purpose soon became apparent, for She picked it up and flicked me negligently upon the thigh. "Wine!" She said.

I went at once to the side table where all was set out in readiness and, by the greatest of good fortune, and aided by the sudden realisation that the meal was to be a cold repast and that the first course was to be gazpacho, I opened a bottle of Red wine and brought it to the table. I poured a little into my Lady's glass, and awaited Her approval of the vintage. She smelled it, sipped delicately, then nodded her approval, at which I filled Her glass and those of Her neighbours before returning to Her side. Even the young lady took a glass of the Chateau LaFitte '97 - though I fear her taste in these things remained uninstructed, for she wrinkled her nose at the bouquet.

"Barbarian child!" said my Lady fondly. "But you shall have a decent meal with a good wine for once instead of that wretched junk food and Coca-Cola you subsist upon for once!"

I saw the young lady grin at my Mistress in cheeky affection before Ms Howard flicked me once more with Her whip. I construed this to mean I was to serve the soup, which I did, bringing with it a basket of crusty bread rolls and the butter dish. I was correct, for my Lady made no comment; merely patted my thigh with the handle of Her whip in approval when I came back to stand by Her chair.

I stood there patiently as they ate, keeping an attentive eye on the level in their glasses in order to replenish them at need.

I cleared away the used plates and served the second course; a sea-food platter with a delicate lemon sauce. With this they drank a soft white wine. I served Vouvray with their dessert, a crisp and creamy confection based on meringues and Kirsch. Then I cleared the table and placed a decanter of Port and baskets of fruit and nuts before them before going to the kitchen to scrape the remains of the meal into the swill bucket and place the dirty utensils, cutlery and dishes in the dishwasher. That done, I returned to find they had removed to the broad wicker chairs further down the patio where they sat conversing in a pool of soft light. It was there I brought them coffee and liquors; even the young lady partaking of them to my Lady's teasing delight.

No duties being assigned me, on an impulse I went down at my Goddess's feet and rubbed my head against Her ankles.

I sensed Her glance down at me with approval.

"Good boy!" She said. "Now lie down so I can rest my feet on you!"

I obeyed with enthusiasm, and seconds later heard the silken whisper of Her clothing, and smelt Her fragrance as She lifted Her long, slim legs and placed Her feet upon my flank. I shuddered in ecstacy at the feel of the hard soles of Her shoes and the sharp stabs of Her narrow heels as She found a position comfortable to Her.

"Ah! That's so much better!" She sighed peacefully.

Her two friends were both impressed and envious.

"You've done an excellent job of training him, Cardew," Constance said. "But why do you keep him muzzled all the time?"

"Why? Partly so he can't eat anything I don't know about, but mostly because, if he wasn't muzzled, he'd be pestering me to let him lick my shoes!"

"I wish you'd sell him to me, Cardew," said Flora wistfully. "I'd love to have him lying at MY feet!"

"I won't sell him - at least, not yet!" laughed my Lady. "But you shall at least have the pleasure of him at your feet."......Boy! Go to Mistress Flora! Obey her!"

She lifted Her feet from my body and flicked me sharply on my lank with her whip. I rose to all fours at once and scrambled across to that lady.

"Boy! Lie down! Roll over!" Flora commanded me.

Obediently I did as she said, whereupon she slipped off her shoes and placed her large, heavy feet upon me and began to massage my belly with her toes, sighing with satisfaction as she did so.

I heard the affectionate laughter of the other Women before Constance spoke up, a trace of envy in her voice.

"You're so lucky, Cardew! I've been advertising on the Net for a slave for ages; and all I get are time-wasters and psychos. How on earth did you get this one so quickly?"

"My problem too!" Flora contributed.

"Elementary, my dear Watson's! You forget that I command the services of a top flight Human Resources Department with more Doctorates in Psychology than you can shake a stick at. Boy answered my advertisement; he completed the simple written task I set him on their recommendation; I sent the results to them, and they informed me he fitted the profile by more than 99%! Q.E.D!"

The other two digested this thoughtfully.

"Yes........I suppose we could hire these people." reflected Flora.

"Or you could buy a slave at the auction on Thursday!" my Lady said teasingly.

Constance exploded.

"Oh, come on, Cardew!" she said in disgust. "You know very well there aren't ten genuine slaves in the whole State! Who on Earth is going to sell one to me? And there only one slave for sale at the auction and she's fifteen years old and female!"

"Jean will be there with Puss," remarked Flora, joining in the game of teasing her friend. "She may entertain an offer for him!"

"Fat chance!" snorted Constance. "Jean dotes on that young rogue!"

At this, Ms Cardew's sister, who had been listening to these exchanges with avid and puzzled interest, broke in.

"What did you mean by 'genuine slaves,' Constance? And how can one sell a slave these days? Isn't that illegal? And if they're so scarce, why should anyone want to sell them? And who's Puss?"

Ms Howard and Her friends chuckled. Constance was the first to reply to her.

"There are a great many people in this State who would describe themselves as slaves, dear; they may even live with their Masters or Mistresses on a permanent basis. But they're not true slaves. In reality they can walk out at any time, secure in the law's protection."

"Yes, dear!" my Lady interjected. "They even have signed contracts."

Her sister wrinkled her brow prettily.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," she admitted.

"Well, dear.........by definition a slave can have no legal rights against its Owner. For instance, Boy here has no contract with me. He's just property, like a car or a horse. When I'd selected him, I informed him he was my slave, and that was that. I owned him from that moment; he wasn't asked or consulted about my decision."

Thus my Lady's explanation.

"But if he'd refused?" persisted the younger Woman.

"He just can't refuse a command from me, dear; anymore than he can refuse to obey the Law of Gravity - his psychological profile tells me so. You must have seen enough evidence of that by now, surely?"

(I listened to this converation entirely without rancour, lying on my side with Mistress Flora's thick ankles resting on my still sore ribs).

"Yes; I suppose I have," admitted the other. "But what about buying and selling slaves? That's illegal, surely!"

"Ah!" said Constance mysteriously. "But only when the Law is made aware that someone is a slave; or when the slave knows there is any legal redress!"

The young lady raised her eyebrows quizzically at this statement.

"Take the slave who's going to be auctioned on Thursday," went on Constance. "At present she's owned by a Woman called Zenobia. As I remember, the slave's called 'Moth'; she's fifteen or sixteen years old, and should fetch around $250,000."

"Wow!" exclaimed the impressed young lady. "But where did this Zenobia get her from? And why does she want to sell her?"

"Zenobia raises, trains, and sell slaves as a side line to her main business of selling pedigree Labrador puppies, dear." Explained Flora. "She buys a child from slum parents in Brazil, or the Philipines, or India, of about fifteen months old, takes them to her ranch, and brings them up as slaves."

"But surely.....?"

"She ensures their complete seclusion; she even has their vocal cords cut and their ear-drums pierced so that they never learn to talk," broke in Constance. "Kept in those conditions, they grow up with no idea that being a slave is in any way abnormal. She communicates with them in a sign language she invented. They can understand and carry out simple commands quite adequately."

"And their training?" queried my Lady's sister.

"Traditional. Rewards and punishment."

"And then she sells them? To anyone?"

"Oh no!" said Flora. "Never to males; and only to buyers who are very carefully vetted in advance. She won't sell to anyone who might treat them cruelly. She sells one about every fifteen months - 90% of them females because Third World parents don't value their girl children very much. She sold Puss, one of her rare male slaves, to Jean about two years ago."

"Puss?" enquired the young lady.

"Dear Zenobia names her slaves when she acquires them; they soon learn to answer to them. Puss was about sixteen at the time, I think. Zenobia had him 'cut' first, of course; she wouldn't sell a male slave otherwise. And Jean has come to dote on him: she never lets him out of her sight!"

Flora chose this moment to withdraw to the bathroom, allowing me to escape to my Lady's feet. She showed Her approval of this manoeuvre by gently tracing the path of my spine with Her toe. Flora returned shortly: if she was aware I'd gone she made no comment; merely went on with a long explanation of the unique way the Lady Jean treated her young slave.

I expect I'd fallen half asleep with the comforting weight of my Goddess's feet upon me, for I felt through my trance a sharp jab in my ribs from her toe.

"Almost time for bed, ladies!" She remarked. "Does anyone want a nightcap?"

The young lady declined with a yawn and, rubbing her eyes sleepily, made her excuses to the gathering and left for her bed.

Constance asked for Bourbon, and Flora for Scotch; my Lady, with Her usual exquisite taste preferred Armagnac. I was sent to fetch their drinks, of course, and took up my position kneeling by my Mistress's side while She sipped her brandy.

At last, when my eyelids were drooping with fatigue, they went to bed, my Mistress last as befitted Her duty as Hostess. But before She went She quizzed me on my understanding of my early morning duties. Satisfied with my answers, She bade me take the swill bucket and empty it into my trough in my cage, then to enter the cage myself, eat, and sleep. I need not, She said with Her customary kindness to me, replace my muzzle until I was remotely released in the morning.

In the dimly lit garage I found the cage door already raised. After emptying the swill into my trough I scrambled in. Seconds later the door was lowered and the light went off, leaving me to gulp down the mixture of scraps and leftovers in the warm, muggy darkness.