Some of us would be first in line to admit that we are anything but normal. We would readily accept the suggestion that we are somehow broken or malfunctioning. In doing so we might struggle emotionally with internal conflict. Many of us, however, have no such struggle. We feel most alive when we are doing what feels right. Who is to say if there is a right or a wrong in this world, after all, and life is short. The pursuit of happiness and pleasure certainly makes the top of the list of life’s priorities, doesn’t it? In contrast, living a life incongruent with our values can dampen any other joys we might have. To those of us, there could be no better example of the the all important mantra: be true to yourself.
If it is a struggle for some of us to accept that we are attracted to different species, imagine my difficulty in realizing that I don’t even identify as human. You’ve heard of gender dysphoria. I would like to introduce the term species dysphoria. What I am saying is that I am not person, but a canine.
What at first seemed like an unnatural proposition to assume, made more sense when I realized that all physical features of dogs drew my attention in the same way that human bodies do for humans. But it is not just appearances. The sounds and smells of dogs light up my brain primally. A bark abruptly tells me there is action that I must attend to. A growl is a clear message to me that I must observe the possible threat of another of my kind and reckon with the possibility that I am a beta by comparison. When I hear a dog pant, it sounds just like what I imagine myself sounding like
The smells bring me home the most. Many humans will be quick to tell you that a dog’s coat may smell funky, either when dirty or when wet. I smell the parallel of human pheromones. We dog smell might as well be a tanned Puerto Rican gym goer ripe with sweat from exercise, balanced by a Calvin Cline cologne. The smell of dog breath is just breath. If the mate is right, when I see their open mouth, I see an invitation to love making.
I recognize and prefer superior physical features as I would a human male, a muscly body, with good curves, and a tail lifted high is just a natural accessory to muscular haunches. If I stop there, I’m not too different from your typical zoophile, but I learned to turn off my human consciousness in pursuit of my natural self. I learned I belong on the ground, eye level with my fellow species and I have forsaken except when practically necessary the advantages of having a human body, not just bipedalism but the use of opposable thumbs and even tools.
Rarely do I ever prepare and eat meals like humans. All my food is kept on the lower shelves in my house. I’ll swat off the shelf what I need and rip apart the boxes or bags to the best of my ability both with my fingertips or my teeth. Often, I’ll use my mate for help, nudging across the floor a bag of food with my nose, presenting as a gift to him for his help opening it. I’ll move to eat first unless I am growled at, in which case I’ll wait my turn. Licking crumbs out of the corner in the kitchen is a common occurrence.
One of the most striking things behaviors I’ve adopted is bathroom habits. By that I mean I don’t have any. If I have to pee and can’t make it out the door in time, I may accidentally urinate on the floor. I will occasionally fail to defecate in the appropriate place too, though very rarely as I have learned the importance of not shitting where I eat and sleep. Some might be shocked to read this, but to be what I am naturally I cannot too regularly adopt the qualities of being human. That’s not who I am, yet in all areas of practical importance, I will occasionally assume a human consciousness in support of both keeping good house and having guests over. I have friends after all. When this happens, I find myself feeling as though I actually own two pets, my dog Alf, and my alter ego Rusty who is the prime reason for my house being so messy.
I’ll be honest too. Having Rusty in my life is hugely inconvenient. The willingness to give myself to him means I can’t enjoy a clean house. It often means living in filth which my senses haven’t all together accepted. Not even a dog wants to be near his own waste. This has done damage to the property I own as well. The living room floors should I ever want to sell my home will need to be totally replaced and half the house reeks of urine. This will often, though not always, pull me out of my other self.
There is so much to say about my physical relationship with my mate Alf that demonstrates other areas of interspecies identification. In addition to the things I already described, I don’t usually experience typical reactions to other sense experiences. I will find myself giving Alf a tongue bath and am unbothered by the dirt and fur that ends up in my mouth. Sometimes when he’s shedding, I’ll have a mouth full of hair. What separates me from most others in my position is that the negative sensation of this is fully subjugated in favor of recognizing the behavior of my real species.
One of my favorite activities taking in the scent of Alf from his behind. I believe I am unique in this too. The conceptions of dirtiness or odor that would prohibit one man from going down on another uncovered man is absence. Alf doesn’t need to wash after he relieves himself each morning. If I’m feeling aroused, all the smells and tastes are still appreciated. In a way, taking in his scent and taste after a morning walk is a rite of passage. In the beginning I forced myself to endure and later enjoy this so that I could say no to human perception.
This is just a small part of my experience of being a dog. It’s nice to take a break and write about it.
*This is a semi-autobiographical piece, but partly fiction as well. I hope you enjoyed. I apologize for any typos that I didn't correct.
If it is a struggle for some of us to accept that we are attracted to different species, imagine my difficulty in realizing that I don’t even identify as human. You’ve heard of gender dysphoria. I would like to introduce the term species dysphoria. What I am saying is that I am not person, but a canine.
What at first seemed like an unnatural proposition to assume, made more sense when I realized that all physical features of dogs drew my attention in the same way that human bodies do for humans. But it is not just appearances. The sounds and smells of dogs light up my brain primally. A bark abruptly tells me there is action that I must attend to. A growl is a clear message to me that I must observe the possible threat of another of my kind and reckon with the possibility that I am a beta by comparison. When I hear a dog pant, it sounds just like what I imagine myself sounding like
The smells bring me home the most. Many humans will be quick to tell you that a dog’s coat may smell funky, either when dirty or when wet. I smell the parallel of human pheromones. We dog smell might as well be a tanned Puerto Rican gym goer ripe with sweat from exercise, balanced by a Calvin Cline cologne. The smell of dog breath is just breath. If the mate is right, when I see their open mouth, I see an invitation to love making.
I recognize and prefer superior physical features as I would a human male, a muscly body, with good curves, and a tail lifted high is just a natural accessory to muscular haunches. If I stop there, I’m not too different from your typical zoophile, but I learned to turn off my human consciousness in pursuit of my natural self. I learned I belong on the ground, eye level with my fellow species and I have forsaken except when practically necessary the advantages of having a human body, not just bipedalism but the use of opposable thumbs and even tools.
Rarely do I ever prepare and eat meals like humans. All my food is kept on the lower shelves in my house. I’ll swat off the shelf what I need and rip apart the boxes or bags to the best of my ability both with my fingertips or my teeth. Often, I’ll use my mate for help, nudging across the floor a bag of food with my nose, presenting as a gift to him for his help opening it. I’ll move to eat first unless I am growled at, in which case I’ll wait my turn. Licking crumbs out of the corner in the kitchen is a common occurrence.
One of the most striking things behaviors I’ve adopted is bathroom habits. By that I mean I don’t have any. If I have to pee and can’t make it out the door in time, I may accidentally urinate on the floor. I will occasionally fail to defecate in the appropriate place too, though very rarely as I have learned the importance of not shitting where I eat and sleep. Some might be shocked to read this, but to be what I am naturally I cannot too regularly adopt the qualities of being human. That’s not who I am, yet in all areas of practical importance, I will occasionally assume a human consciousness in support of both keeping good house and having guests over. I have friends after all. When this happens, I find myself feeling as though I actually own two pets, my dog Alf, and my alter ego Rusty who is the prime reason for my house being so messy.
I’ll be honest too. Having Rusty in my life is hugely inconvenient. The willingness to give myself to him means I can’t enjoy a clean house. It often means living in filth which my senses haven’t all together accepted. Not even a dog wants to be near his own waste. This has done damage to the property I own as well. The living room floors should I ever want to sell my home will need to be totally replaced and half the house reeks of urine. This will often, though not always, pull me out of my other self.
There is so much to say about my physical relationship with my mate Alf that demonstrates other areas of interspecies identification. In addition to the things I already described, I don’t usually experience typical reactions to other sense experiences. I will find myself giving Alf a tongue bath and am unbothered by the dirt and fur that ends up in my mouth. Sometimes when he’s shedding, I’ll have a mouth full of hair. What separates me from most others in my position is that the negative sensation of this is fully subjugated in favor of recognizing the behavior of my real species.
One of my favorite activities taking in the scent of Alf from his behind. I believe I am unique in this too. The conceptions of dirtiness or odor that would prohibit one man from going down on another uncovered man is absence. Alf doesn’t need to wash after he relieves himself each morning. If I’m feeling aroused, all the smells and tastes are still appreciated. In a way, taking in his scent and taste after a morning walk is a rite of passage. In the beginning I forced myself to endure and later enjoy this so that I could say no to human perception.
This is just a small part of my experience of being a dog. It’s nice to take a break and write about it.
*This is a semi-autobiographical piece, but partly fiction as well. I hope you enjoyed. I apologize for any typos that I didn't correct.