Komondor

He’s a mop-haired giant, both relaxedly floppy and alertly strong.

He’s protective.  Energetic.  Good-natured.  Inquisitive.  Obedient.

He’s everything a well-trained dog should be.

And he’s all mine.

But sometimes, particularly when I’m travelling, I can’t take care of him all by myself.  And soon, travelling will be on my agenda.

Which is why tonight, in preparation for my upcoming trip, we are waiting for my friend Elizabeth, who will be watching over my scruffy Komondor while I’m away.  When she arrives my pup will be making her acquaintance for the first time.

It must be carefully done, these introductions.  True to his breed, he is nervous of newcomers.  Tonight’s meeting between my friend and my pet has been planned well in advance, and the expectations clearly defined.  She knows how she is to approach him; he knows he will be rewarded – or not – depending on how he responds.

Sitting at my feet, he raises his shaggy head from its resting place in my lap at the sound of approaching footsteps outside the front door.  I smile and rise, leading the way to the foyer with him heeling alongside, and open the door just as she’s about to ring the bell.

Elizabeth is a dog person.  She’s trained many a puppy in her lifetime, and she knows it must be made absolutely clear who is boss in this scenario.  She hugs me in greeting, then holds eye contact to establish her acknowledgement of me as alpha before turning her gaze.  At my nod, she breaks eye contact with me to look down into the eyes of my seated mopdog, who acknowledges his place in the pack order by dropping his melted chocolate eyes momentarily, then looking up – first at me, then at her – with an open-mouthed smile.

Order established.

Alpha
Beta
Komondor

“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaims, obviously delighted by my pet.  “He’s everything I expected and more!”

I grin, reaching down to pet him on his cream-white dreadlocked-fur head, then curling my fingers into his tousled mop with a tug, pulling him to standing position.  “Oh, he’s a  very good boy,” I say – more to him than to her – and lead the way into the recesses of my living space.  Looking over my shoulder at him, I add pointedly, “Aren’t you, Komo?”

“Yes, ma’am,” my pet replies with blush.

Remembering our turn-taking at rough-romp back-to-front penetrative play earlier in the day —

rough-soft fuzz on the front or his thighs tickling the backs of mine

hands gripping hips – his on mine, then mine on his – in slow-pull pleasure-stretch seduction

teeth grazing shoulders buried against bedsheets muffling whimper cum-cries

— I lower my voice and tilt my head, adding – for Elizabeth’s ear’s only –  “He’s a very very good boy.  And if you choose to use him for your pleasure while you’re pet-sitting…

.

.

.

…he’ll give you a whole new appreciation for ‘doing it doggy style’.”