Canine Obedience Society – Prologue

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The prologue of COS. 600 words, no porn here.


The magistrate sat in his office with his eyes locked on the double wooden doors, twisting in his chair back and forth. A damp chill hung in the air. The nonstop rain drumming the windows didn’t help, not one bit. He rustled through the stack of papers and then pushed them aside. He checked the time on his phone. His tail twitched. He sipped his coffee. Black and cold. When he’d had enough of the waiting, he reached for the intercom, but before he could pick it up, the courier was already knocking at the door.

“Come in,” the magistrate said. His black-tipped ears pointed high and narrow.

The door swept open. A fat raccoon in a dark blue uniform was dripping rainwater onto the old courtroom floors. The magistrate scowled. At the sight of the serval’s face, the raccoon shook his fur violently and shut the door behind him.

“Shit, I’m sorry, judge. It’s wetter than the underside of a sloth’s ballsack out there.”

“Just tell me. How many did we get?”


“Only one?”

“There’s a couple of obvious scammers, but I didn’t think you needed to worry about them.”

“Alright,” the serval said. He scratched his whiskers. He unfurled his claws and tapped a finger on the dimpled surface of the desk. “Show me.”

The raccoon courier reached into his coat jacket and retrieved a brown envelope and laid it on the magistrate’s desk. The serval opened the envelope and read the three sheets of paper. He read it again. Then he returned the papers to the envelope and handed it back to the courier, who folded the envelope in half before placing it in his pocket.

“Good looking wolf. What was the offer they started with?”

“Thirty-five thousand.”

“That low, huh. Wow. They think I was born yesterday.”

The raccoon grinned.

“Arrange it for tonight.”


The courier turned to leave. Before he reached the door, the serval tapped his claw on the desk again. “One more thing, Wayne,” he said. “What’s the name of the freewolf that runs the obedience training business? The one with the ads.”

The raccoon shrugged. “Jimmy something. Want me to put you in touch?”

“No.” The serval bared his teeth. “You know how much I hate freewolves.”

The raccoon laughed. “Wouldn’t have guessed, judge.”

“Book him for Sunday.”

“And if he asks for the slave’s papers?”

“Tell him the truth.” 

“You think that’s a good idea, judge?”

“He won’t care. They’re all in it for the money anyway. The whole mangy lot.”

The raccoon shrugged reluctantly.

The serval shook his head and sighed. “Come on, imagine the headlines: Federation diplomat’s son caught training illegal slave of his own kind. Don’t you think that’s kinda funny, Wayne? I think it’s funny.”

“Funny, yeah,” the raccoon said. Now he was smiling. “If you don’t mind me asking, judge, what are you gonna do with him?”

“With Jimmy?”

“No, with the spy.”

“Break him. Wipe his mind. Sell him.” The serval grinned. “Then I’m gonna break his friends when they come looking for him.”

About: Five years ago, Vakili, a dystopian slavewolf society, committed to phasing out canine slavery. Today, while many canines are still enslaved, the trading of slaves is no longer permitted except by judicial writ. At least, that’s what the law says on paper.

Meet a magistrate judge who abuses his power to profit from the illegal slave trade. Meet a cocky freewolf who uses his diplomatic privileges to make lots of money training his own kind. Meet a resistance spy who is fighting to bring the system down by exposing the corruption within.

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