He said we were going to a party. Somewhere in an old industrial complex. That was pretty much all the information I got. I expected music. Maybe dancing. A drink or two.

You know… a normal party. 

Then he handed me this. I had several questions. Why is it made of rubber? Why does it have paws? Why is there a chain hanging from my harness? And why did he look way too pleased with himself when he told me I looked like a “good boy”? Yes? Of course I‘m good? I have a perfect attendance rate at sunday school – oh, golly, he’s talking about dogs. When I saw the hood, it made sense. But he looked at me with such euphoria, I couldn‘t say no and put it all on.

Apparently, all of this will make perfect sense once we get inside. I’m beginning to suspect he and I have very different definitions of the word “party.”

Anyway. He promised me it’ll be fun. And I trust him.

…I probably should have asked more questions.

Apparently, we need pictures first.

I can already hear the club music. I thought we were supposed to be going inside, but he stopped me and said I looked far too good not to take a few photos first.

Which is… flattering. Also slightly embarrassing. I’m really not good at posing. I never know what I’m supposed to do with my hands, where I’m supposed to look, or how people manage to look natural while someone is pointing a camera at them. He told me to relax. 

“Show me the paws.” 

So I did.

Apparently that was exactly the right thing to do, because he immediately calls me a good boy again. I’m still not entirely sure why these gloves have paw pads, but he seems ridiculously happy about them. Then he wants another picture. And another. Like he‘s trying to sell a product.

Every time I get embarrassed, he tells me how cute I look. Every time I try something new, he gets even more excited.

So… I keep going. I probably look a little silly. Maybe wearing this strange outfit for one night isn’t so bad after all. Besides, we’re just taking a few pictures before a party. I try to do some poses. Instinctively, I put my paws together like I’m praying. He praises me for begging like a cute pupper. Maybe I should howl at the moon? No, that would be too much, I guess.
How weird could the rest of the night possibly get?

Okay. This is starting to feel suspiciously official.

We finally went inside. The music inside is loud with a fast beat. But my dog mask muffles it a bit, so I can stand it. I thought we were going to the party. Instead, some people I had never met before took me aside and put me in front of… this. 

A height chart. Like the ones they use for mugshots. Now they start taking measurements and apparently taking notes. Nobody really explained why.

I look at my partner. Ha, ‘look’, I’m basically blind. Dependent on the people around me to guide me and tell me what‘s happening right now.

He just tells me to stand still and be a good boy. So I do.

But I would like to make something very clear: I have never been arrested. I’ve never stolen anything. I don’t get into fights. I pay for my train tickets. I return shopping carts. I don’t even cross the street when the light is red. I genuinely cannot think of a single thing I could possibly be in trouble for.

They measure my height. My shoulders. My waist. My arms. My legs. One of them writes everything down. Seemingly, my physique is something important here. I ask my partner if this is normal. 

“For tonight? Absolutely.” That did not answer my question.

Then somebody tells me to face forward and hold still for a picture. So now I apparently have a mugshot. In a rubber puppy suit. With paws. I’m beginning to think this might not be the kind of party I had in mind. Still… my partner seems very proud of me.

And I haven’t broken any rules…right?

They wanted some close-ups next. Apparently the paws are important. I’m getting better at this, I think.

“Paws together.”
“Look this way.”
“Hold still.”

Easy enough. While they were taking the pictures, I heard someone asking my partner for the bag I’d brought with me. I assumed they were putting it somewhere safe.

In fact, they were actually going through it.

Wallet. Keys. Phone. Papers.

I wanted to ask what they were doing, but the photographer told me to keep looking at the camera. So I did, following the sound of his voice.

Now I hear someone behind me say: 

“We’ll need these replaced.”

Another voice answers.

“That shouldn’t take long. The new documents can be issued quickly.”

…

New documents?

I turn around, but they immediately scold me.

“Bad puppy! Eyes forward!”

My partner is still there. So I put my paws back together and try to behave. Maybe it’s some kind of registration for the party? Maybe they need to check everyone’s ID? Maybe “new documents” means wristbands or membership cards or something? There is definitely a perfectly normal explanation for this. There has to be. Because they wouldn’t actually need to replace my real documents.

…

Would they?

Okay. I don’t think this is part of the photos anymore.

They led me into a cage. An actual cage. I hesitated. My partner told me it was okay and led me inside, even making sure I didn‘t stumble over the bar on the ground. The door closed behind me. He stayed outside with the people who had taken my measurements and gone through my things. They were talking about something, but I couldn’t really understand them anymore. The mask muffled everything. Their voices sounded distant. Just fragments here and there. Numbers, maybe. Instructions. Something about me.

And now I‘m stuck in this cage.

I realise there are other voices too. More and more of them. People are gathering around the cage. Watching me. The Rubber Dog. I suddenly feel very aware of the bars between us.
My head starts feeling… strange. Warm. Heavy. A little fuzzy. I haven’t taken anything. I wouldn’t take anything. So it must be the outfit. Maybe I’m getting too hot inside all this rubber. Maybe it’s too tight. Maybe it’s the smell. It’s so strong in here now that I’ve been wearing it for this long.

Or maybe it’s the mask. It presses so closely against my face. My breathing sounds different inside it. Even my own heartbeat sounds strangely loud. I try asking my partner what is happening. I’m not sure he heard me. Or maybe I wasn’t as loud as I thought. Did I even say anything at all?

Everything feels a little further away now. The voices outside. The people watching. Even my thoughts seem to take just a little longer to reach me. I keep telling myself there’s an explanation. My partner is right there. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me…so why do I suddenly wish he would open the cage and end this?

Something is definitely wrong.

My legs won‘t stay steady anymore. I tried. I really did. But standing suddenly feels like such a strange thing to do. Two legs. Upright. Why? The thought seems almost silly now. So I sank down onto my knees. That feels better. More natural.

My head is so fuzzy. There are people all around the cage now. I can hear them talking, laughing, whispering to each other. About me, I think. I should probably be embarrassed. Or scared. I am scared. Or … am I not?

My paws came up all by themselves. I don’t remember deciding to do that. I just found myself sitting there with them raised in front of me.

Then I hear him. My partner. I turn toward his voice immediately. He talks to me, but I can’t understand the words anymore. Something about being glad? About effort being worth it? Something about money? What money? I try so hard to concentrate. He just laughs. 

Then his hand reaches through the bars. He takes one of my paws. And squeezes it. I squeeze back. For a moment, everything feels okay again. He is still here. I‘m not alone. I want to ask him what is happening. I want to ask him to open the door. I want to tell him I don‘t feel right. I open my mouth – and all that comes out is a little whine. Like a dog.

He laughs again. Then he lets go of my paw, pats my head and takes a step away. Then I hear his footsteps move away from me. Thoughts started running. Is he leaving?

Wait.

I move to the bars and press my paws against them. The people outside keep talking. Watching. Waiting. I still don’t understand what any of this is. I don’t understand why thinking is getting so difficult. I don’t understand why being on my knees feels more natural than standing. And I really don’t understand why I can’t seem to call after him. I just want him to come back.

Because if he really walked away… if that was goodbye… then that means – I feel the bars in front of me. The locked door that keeps me inside. I listen to the muffled voices of all those people on the other side.

Am I actually trapped in here?

I think I’ve been here for a while.

I don’t know how long. Thirty minutes? Three hours? Did I spend the night here? It’s hard to tell.

People keep passing by the cage. Some of them stop. They look at me. Talk to each other. More people come. More voices. Then they leave again. And others come.

It almost feels like an exhibition. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe I’m… art?

That’s a funny thought. Me, in a gallery. Something people came here to see. They seem to like me. I think they do. That makes me feel… good. Really good. My head feels so warm now. Thinking is hard. I’m panting. I don’t remember when I started doing that. There’s something wet running from the mouth of the mask. I can feel it dripping onto the rubber on my chest.

Drool. I should probably be embarrassed about that.

…

Why?
Puppies drool.
Puppies pant.
Good puppies sit nicely when people want to look at them.
Maybe someone will give me a treat.
Treat.

…

Treat.
That sounds nice.
I try to think about what I’m supposed to be doing.
Whole sentences are difficult now.
Single words are easier.
Good.
Boy.
Good boy.
Waiting.
For Master.
Good boy.
Obedient.
Sit.
Stay.
Obey.
Show off.
Good boy.
Yes.
That feels right.
More right than…
than before.
What was before?
I had something else to do once.
I think.
A job?
A home?
A…
Name.
I had a name.

…

What was it?
…

Doesn’t matter.
Master knows.
Master will come back.
Good boy waits.
Good boy sits.
Good boy lets everyone look.
Good boy is happy.

The door opens.
Door. Open. Someone’s coming. Master?
MASTER?

I try to get up. I don’t know why. My legs just … no. They wouldn’t.

I push myself up, and for one second I think I can stand, but my legs fold underneath me, and I drop straight back onto my knees. I try again. Nothing. They don’t remember how. I don’t think I can stand anymore. Maybe I’ll never stand again.

…

Silly. Why would I? Dogs don’t walk on two legs. Dogs stay down here. Of course.
Good boy.
Stay.

So I stay. A man comes into the cage. Not Master. Someone else. Young. Human. He walks behind me. I think he’s posing. Maybe. Hard to understand. Thinking feels so slow. Who is he? Does Master know him? A friend? Maybe… Master’s partner?

…

Partner. I know that word. Was I…?
…

No. No, that doesn’t make sense. I’m a dog. Dogs aren’t partners. Humans have partners. Dogs have Masters.
Yes. Better. Good boy knows that.
Puppy doesn’t know who he is. Maybe Master sent him. Maybe he’s here for puppy. A trainer?
Dog trainer.
My tail would be wagging if I had one. I want a tail.
Trainer.
Teach.
Sit.
Stay.
Heel.
Obey.
Good manners.
Good boy.

My breathing gets faster again. I’m panting. Happy. Excited. Maybe he can teach me. Maybe I don’t know how to be a proper dog yet. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Training. Learning.

Becoming better. Better for Master.

I want that. I really, really want that. Want praise. Want pats. Want treats. Want Master proud.

No more standing. No more pretending. Just listen. Just obey.

Sit.
Stay.
Learn.
Good boy.
Please.
Teach me how to be Master’s good boy.

The door closes. Click. Locked. The man is still here.
So… we’re both trapped?
Why? Who is he? What is…?

…

Too hard. Doesn’t matter. Thinking hurts. Too many words. Words are hard. Dogs don’t need words. I don’t need words. I just need …

…

Master.
Good.
Boy.
Voices.
Blurred.
People.
Lots of people.
Looking.
Watching me.
Happy sounds.
They like me.
They like the pup.
Me.
Pup.
Rubber Pup.
Good.
Warm.
Shiny.
Rubber smell.
Metal smell.
People smell.
Heat.
Cage.
Panting.
Hah… hah… hah…
Happy.
No sentences now.
No questions.
No responsibilities.
Just pictures.
Master smiling.
A hand on my head.
Treat.
Praise.
People watching.
Cameras.
Good pup.
Pretty pup.
Obedient pup.
Show them.
Sit.
Stay.
Pant.
Good.
GOOD BOY.
More people.
Yes.
Look.
Look at me.
See me.
See what a good Rubber Pup I am.

…

No.
Too many words again.
Hah… hah… hah…
Lights.
Smells.
Voices.
Warm.
Happy.
Master.
Pup.
Good.
Something deep inside me remembers that I used to be something else.

…

Gone.
Doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters except …
GOOD BOY.
And suddenly it feels wonderful.
Not frightening.
Not strange.
Not something I have to tolerate.
Not something I have to accept.
This is what I want.
No.
Want is too complicated.
This is what I am.
Pup.
Master’s pup.
Everybody watching.
Everybody seeing.
Good Rubber Pup.
Hah… hah… hah…
Happy.
Happy.
HAPPY.
GOOD BOY.

The door opens. Footsteps. I know those footsteps. That smell. That voice.

MASTER!
I scramble forward so quickly my paws slip. He came back! I try to stand. Two legs. No. My body doesn’t work that way anymore. Silly. Dogs walk on four paws. He crouches and grabs my harness. “Easy, boy.” His hand lands on my head. Pat. Scratch.

Oh. YES.

Something behind me moves. Wag. Wag wag wag. Tail.

I HAVE A TAIL.

I twist around. Black. Shiny. Rubber. Like my paws. My legs. My chest. Everything. There isn’t skin underneath anymore. No costume to take off. Just rubber. Me. His Rubber Pup. „Look at you. You really are a proper dog now.” Proper dog. Good dog? Please. I sit immediately. He smiles.

“Good boy.”

GOOD BOY.

He clips the chain onto my harness. Click. Walk! I drop onto all fours beside him. Heel. Stay close. No pulling. Good boy. Then something stirs inside my head. Partner. I know that word.

He was my …

I look up at him. Partner. Not Master. Partner. We went to a party. He dressed me in rubber. Called me his good boy. I trusted him. I was human. My mouth opens. Say his name. Say anything. Nothing. Dogs don’t speak. He crouches and looks into my artificial, mask-like face.

“What’s wrong, pup?”

Pup. No. I was his partner. His equal. His …

“Good boy.”

My legs soften.

“There’s my pup.”

His hand scratches behind my pointed rubber ear. Tail wags. Stop.

STOP WAGGING.

Partner. Master. Partner? Master! “Good boy.”

Warm. Happy. Thoughts slipping away. I press my rubber muzzle against his hand. He smiles and tugs gently on my leash. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Home. 
Master. 
Good. 

I follow on four paws. I don’t need a name anymore. No identity. Not even a brain. I don’t need to be his partner. I just need to heel. Sit. Stay. Obey. And be Master’s…

“GOOD BOY”