Work Text:
The dog whistle in my brain has turned it against me.
I can no longer resist the urge to sit and stay, roll over, or play dead for the ones I refuse to call my masters.
I've grown accustomed to its sound, pretend you're the one beckoning me to your call, speak when you've asked me to, and fetch a ball for you, but their calls are always louder.
The primal impulse to dig up wherever it's been buried in my brain then dig into you to bury it once more
will never consume me, not when you won't let it.
I return to you and you alone yet you will never ever accept the gift I've dug up in a million years.
You would treat me like a person, never let me walk on fours, use my hands as paws, or grant me the pleasure of such a degrading role.
Degrading as it may be, I've known nothing else.
I am incapable of evolving to be anything more than a man's best friend, your beloved gege.
A leash for a lifeline, I belong to no one but you.
Please, oh please, just take it already.
Please grant me the pleasure of spitting out this dirty dog whistle into your hands.