Chapter Three
It’s rather dismaying for a man of my ilk to find that a girl like Sandy can be so readily restrained. No pageantry, no symbolic leather straps, no clinking of metal, snaps of locks.
No, for Sandy I must merely secure the end of the leash where I want her to stay. I do, however, take the precaution of covering the hooks on her iron mittens with thick duct tape. She has learned to function, somehow dressing and undressing herself and opening cans wearing Daddy’s bizarre coverings. Thus I am wary of her ability to open the snap hook of the common dog leash.
“Please no, Dr. Samuels,” Sandy becoming tearful as I terminate her only manner of functioning.
I heartlessly ignore and produce a basin, used often when one of my tempting morsels must relieve herself, and push it betwe
