The Joy of Becoming a Dog

As someone who adores role play, I’ve often had submissive boys — and one girl so far — play as my pet dogs.
But last week, at a workshop on Humiliation and Shame by Saara Rei, something new happened for the first time: I became a dog.

My kink journey began in ageplay, as a babygirl held and cherished by someone I trusted.
Even though I’ve since grown into a sadistic mistress — after graduating from that babygirl psyche —
I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of being a pet. So fascinated that I even bought a latex dog mask this summer.

At the workshop, my partner wasn’t interested in playing the pet, so we decided I would become one.
We could choose different animals, but of course — I naturally chose to be a dog.
And the moment I surrendered, something inside me opened.

The joy of being a dog for someone I trust and admire was overwhelming.
My eyes burned with warmth instantly, once I got a rope leash on my neck.
Submission came instantly; this partner is usually my rope bunny, but because I’m a switch in my personal life,
and because our friendship has deepened, slipping into dog-space felt natural.

As their dog, I felt simple, instinctive happiness in being called, touched, and guided.
They were steady, dominant but very sweet at the same time.
My human thoughts disappeared.
My animal thoughts surfaced on their own.

I looked up with devotion.
I got distracted by humans and by other “animals.”
And when someone asked my owner if I had eaten, I suddenly felt hungry — not conceptually, but physically.
As a human I would think, I should get food later, but as a dog I simply hoped to be fed.

The most fascinating moment was shame.
No humiliation — absolutely none — only shame.
When my owner asked me to do a trick I didn’t fully understand, I felt like a bad dog.
Not enough as a person, not enough as an animal. Caught in that strange in-between.

But they were patient — guiding me gently.
When I finally succeeded, they gave me an imaginary treat, and I felt ridiculously proud.
I flopped over and showed my belly, melting beneath their touch.

Later, they made me wait from afar. Two other animal-role couples stood between us, and I kept getting distracted, curious, pulled by instinct.
But I remembered: my owner is waiting. When permission finally came, I ran to them on all fours, jumpy with joy.

When the leash came off and I shifted back into human form, I really needed to rest my head on their lap for a while.
It was a different kind of exhaustion — a new side of myself waking up.

It was only five to ten minutes of demonstration, but it felt like an entire afternoon.
I still feel joy when I think about how the world looked from my place as their dog.

Only a tender kind of shame: wanting to be good enough.
Wanting to be loyal, thoughtful, playful.
Wanting to be a dog who makes their owner proud.

I wish every dog — or submissive — were this thoughtful and devoted.

The workshop itself nourished me. I learned how differently humiliation and shame move through my body,
and how differently others feel them too. It made me curious to explore these themes again when I return to Japan around the new year.

I left feeling reassured: creating a world between players, seeing someone else’s vulnerability, and offering my own —
that is where my power and my love meet.

My nerdy side can’t help thinking of Stephen King’s Cujo. His dog-perspective is incredibly vivid.
Whenever I read his work, I’m struck by his empathy —
and by the skill with which he inhabits the point of view of characters of any age, gender, or stage of life.
For a moment in the workshop, I understood the world of Cujo from the inside.