Certified Canine Crap-coaxer Surviving on Short Notice chapter 6 by deleted_user

By Sneakyk*

The barks, snores, and growls of canines were a near constant presence in the courtyard as Peg gripped the crude, animated figurine in her clutches. For a moment, her mind briefly pondered to the missing persons case, feeling a mix of pity, concern, and suspicion for the chap who had gotten lost. Maybe he died in a car wreck. Maybe he was hiding to avoid a financial obligation. Maybe he was kidnapped. Truth be told, a lot of men had gone missing of late. Those concerns soon began to fade, however, as she shifted her focus to the task at hand: figuring out what to do with the newly designated dogtoy in her clutches. Her lips, once in a somber frown from the thought of the missing person, curled up into a slight grin as she gazed at the perverse, yet oddly fascinating toy. "What to do, what to do, what to do with you~" She muttered to herself. The thought of turning the turning this vulgar object into something that could actually benefit society.

Her smile broke into a toothy grin as the tiny naked thing squeaked and squirmed. Subconscious feelings of empowerment washed over her as she examined it. "is this thing even strong enough to be a dog toy?" She mused, before bringing a finger over and administering a gentle flick against it, her fingernail striking the toy with a satisfying smack. The plaything seemed to recoil from the impact. "Pfft.... ahahaa... Technology these days! What on earth they think up next? " She chuckled, musing to herself. Well. It was durable, alright... but truthfully, it was too small to really offer a satisfying chew. She looked around the courtyard, considering her options. The Labrador , who happened to possess an almost fetishistic interest in feeling things crunch and pop under her paws, would likely get some enjoyment out of it. But that would be a waste. Then, she turned her attention towards the bulldog's kennel. "Ohhhhhhh... I know juuuuuuust what to do~"

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"What to do, what to do, what to with you~". The K9 unit's handler booms from above, her voice carrying with a hint of mischief that may even border on murderous curiosity. "Are you crazy? Hey! Hello! I'm not a toy. I'm the person you're looking for!" For a brief, split-second moment she seems to consider your words, only to break into thunderous laughter, her fingers tightening around your chest as she gazes at you with her pearly white teeth clamped together, as if she were preparing to bite you in half. You grit your own little teeth and struggle fiercely against her clutches.

""is this thing even strong enough to be a dog toy?" her casual words echo around you, and you cannot help but respond with a moan of dismay. Your heart rate accelerates as you realize the woman really is sizing you up as nothing but a toy for a dog to destroy. You consider for a moment that perhaps a teeny-tiny part of her might be open to the possibility that you might be a living, breathing being. Your consideration wavers as the woman brings a curled up finger towards your body, in a clear flicking posture. Your blood runs cold. She's going to stress-test you!

Once more you try to communicate with the oblivious giants. You let loose a vicious string of curses, your harsh words really just an urgent plea for her to notice you. You're a person. You're the very missing person they're looking for. You can move and scream. You're too realistic to be a toy. You're...

A shar pain floods through your body as the woman's fingernail smashes into you with the force of a speeding minivan. A loud ringing noise floods your ears, and your upper body throbs in agony. The woman's otherworldly laughter cuts through the ringing. "Pfft.... ahahaa... Technology these days! What on earth they think up next? "

You're nothing but a dog supply. Probably legally, too. What is it called.... 'civil asset forfeiture?' Your prior owner did indeed deposit an indecent toy in public. The police had every right to claim you as property. Inch tall people do not exist. Therefore, you must be a toy, and clearly the officers aren't going to have much of a use for you, so you might as well belong to a police dog. You let out a faint, groggy sigh and contemplate the twisted logic of your subjugation. You lie there in Peg's clutches as she surveys the courtyard, looking to find the best use for you.


Eventually the world fades into a maddening blur. You hear the sounds of snoring growing louder. The near-constant low rumble of the snores begins to build, until it drowns out the various barks and growls of the other dogs. The fact that the dog you're being brought to is asleep does little to calm your concerns. Soon enough, a piercing whistle tears through the air, courtesy of your giant handler. You can be sure that the dog won't be snoring for long. In fact, you already hear those snores transitioning into groggy grunts. "Wakey Wakey Bartholomew. Mommy has something special for you." Her voice carries with it the saccharine maternal tone that so many pet-owners use...typically when they offer their pet a treat. Your heart pounds. You may have come to terms with the fact that you're going to be a dog toy, but you aren't at all enthused about it.

Soon you are brought down before the muzzle of an enormous English bulldog, who is still clearly groggy. As you are held before the dog, you can see the woman reaching for his posterior with her spare hand. The canine lets loose a mighty yawn, sending a torrent of rancid air laced with droplets of slobber directly towards you. The dog shifts about and lazily sinks his teeth into his enormous beef-bone as he observes you. In a series of three casual chomps he manage to tear loose a flake of bone that's about as big as your entire body. He then lifts his muzzle up and brings that same enormous muzzle towards you. You nearly void yourself as the dog brings his massive tongue towards your tiny form, ready to slide you in.

"Now now!" The handler's voice rings. She pulls you back from the dog, thankfully far enough to prevent him from sweeping you into his maw. Unfortunately, not enough to prevent him from slapping his tongue against you and coating your entire body in rank doggy slobber! "This is not for eating. ." The dog hardly seems bothered by this. He returns to his bone , likely finding its flavor to be superior. You breathe a sigh of relief. It looks like you won't be getting fed to a dog after all. But what could she be planning.

Soon the woman whisks you away from the dog's maw in a blur of motion. She sets you down a dark green cloth surface, one that appears to be stained every so slightly brown. "This..." Looking to the left and right, you see what appear to be the dog's hind legs...and looking forward, you see his dangling girth. The air smells thick of dog, of meat, and of something ripe and sour. For a brief window of time, you have a chance to run. But you do not take it. You see no immediate danger in your surroundings. Perhaps Peg's intentions for you are not so bad after all. Soon, you feel a rush of motion. You find yourself getting brought upwards. Right towards the dog's bottom. "This is for pooping!"

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Peg strode over to Bartholomew's kennel, the tiny trinket held firmly in her clutches, confident in her plan. She wouldn't allow the toy to go to waste by feeding it to a dog. No, she had a use that could product actual, tangible results. Bartholomew, being a dog somewhat past his prime, is largely used as part of PR event. However, his control over his bowels is somewhat diminishing. And given the hefty sizes of his average dumps...well. His last visit to a gradeschool required three janitors and a formal apology to school staff to deal with. But the K9 unit would rather not have to clothe the dog in a diaper for any public appearance. It's simply...undignified.

Re-training, she thought, could fix this. And this is where the fascinating little figurine would come in. Unlike most toys, it possessed the ability to move, even if its AI was clearly not advanced enough for complex thoughts. If she slipped it into Bartholomew's diaper, its motions may be able to coax him to go to the restroom. With enough training and incentivization, she could help ensure that the dog only passes his bioweapon grade dumps when he is in the comfort of a doggy diaper. Yes. This was the best use for the toy. She would have to bravely fish it out of his poops with every diaper change, but this was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

She let out a whistle as she approached the dog, and soon went into a kneel before him. "Wakey Wakey Bartholomew. Mommy has something special for you." She adjusted Bartholomew's doggy diaper as she spoke to the sleepy canine. Needing to offer some context to the canine for what was about to transpire, she held the toy before his muzzle. With surprising swiftness the dog went in for a lick that could well evolve into a 'kiss.' Peg pulled back just in the nick of time. "Now now. This isn't for eating." She said, gently chiding the dog. With a simple motion she managed to undo the diaper, and she lay it down at the dog's paws. She carefully set the toy down onto the diaper, resting it over a skid mark, doing her best to ensure it would be directly below the dog's anus, or as close to it as she could.

"This... is for pooping." And with that, she lifted the diaper back up, trapping the toy inside. She adjusted it as best she could, to ensure the moving toy wouldn't accidentally fall out.

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As you find yourself imprisoned within the dark, nightmarish world of the bulldog's doggy diaper, you wonder if maybe you should have tried to flee rather than lie there and take it. The smell is overwhelming...near enough to make you pass out. And the worst part is... this is how bad the doggy diaper smells when it's nearly clean...you shudder to think at the horrors that might await.