I'm a dog

 I wake up at 5 in the morning on my bed at the end of my friend's. I carefully stand up and peak at him, trying to be quiet not to wake him up. But he is already wide awake, tumbling on his big bed, rolling from side to side. I climb up and lick his face, to which he laughs and gently pushes my muzzle aside. I lie down on the soft blanket beside him, curl up into a ball. I can feel the warmth of his hand stroking my back. Suddenly I feel hungry. I get up and bring him my bowl. He understands.
He goes to the fridge as I follow behind, and scoop a big ball of this paste of raw meat. I do not know how he had shred it so finely small that I could simply lick the meat and it would dissolve in my mouth. I drool with anticipation for him to finish, my tail wagging around like a pinwheel. As soon as he says "go", I shove my whole head into the meat, vaguely hearing him saying "Good boy!". I don't understand what that means, but it is surely something positive. I know this because he always have this funny voice with the funny expression when he says that. Not at all because he always gives me smelly delicious treats afterwards. We then go out for a walk so I can relieve myself. I have known better not to do it in the house. 
As we step outside, a dead pigeon lies in the middle of the road. My friend shudders from looking at it. I, on the other hand, find it to be quite tasty looking. I have always puzzled that humans like my friend often find such scene disturbing. It is unlikely that they hate the meat of other animals. I have seen him and other humans enjoy juicy looking bird thighs, which certainly came from somewhere. Why not that pigeon lying over there?
Once, I wanted to go outside to have some fun. It was so boring at home with nothing to do and no one to hangout with, and I knew that ruining the furniture again would have resulted in a hungry belly and lots of rejections, emotionally. So I escaped by digging a tunnel to crawl under the fence of our house. I dared only to do that late at night, once I knew that every human close by had spun around three times on their beds and curled into a nice ball of deep slumber. 
I always without fail returned to the house in the morning, right before anybody has woken up. The first few times, my friend did not notice anything. Immediately upon my return, I would be called for a walk, to which I had to pretend that I was oh so excited about. In reality, I was already as tired as half dead. 
Eventually, I was busted. I had, up to that point, built up a stash of rats, birds, squirrels, along many other types of animals, and hid them in this hole I dug in the garden. My friend was horrified when he found out. Apparently, the blood from those animals dripped from my snout to the fur on my chest lead back all the way to my secret stash. It was a rather victorious night for me. The whole morning was, however, an utter defeat. I listened motionlessly as my friend barked at me.
It is not that I lack any sort of food, my friend certainly takes care of that. What I had lacked was the feeling of chasing: the blood flowing twice as fast inside my veins, my brain making twice as many calculated predictions, my feet smashing twice as fast and as hard as I could have possibly bear onto the ground. My friend certainly have a stash of his own, a cold buzzing glossy looking box, filled to the brim with all the goodness on earth. Yet he denied me the chance to have one of my own. I cannot believe it. He always forces me to eat what he had given me. I could only protest by not eating what I do not want to; it is the only way he would understand, also is the only thing he would change about how he treats me. 
I fucking hate the hard, coarse, flat pane that expands indefinitely, where humans would walk on, and ride their ridiculously fast and scary hunks of glossy rumbling giant thing. Everything smells horrible and pungent. I know a guy who works in the hospital. He would smell humans, then make a teeny noise if they have diabetes. I do not really know how he does it, but I bet that almost every single young female human I have walked about 10 rabbit chasing distance close to has diabetes. They smell like either they shower with or sweat out sugar. And don't even get me started on the young male humans. The smell on them I can't possibly fathom. Also about 10 rabbit chasing distance away, I could already smell them. Well, I suppose they are still better than the poison-addicted old fucks that probably haven’t bathed in two years. Even I take a bath every two weeks or so. I was forced to, but still.
I hate humans, and I would rather eat my own shit. But somehow, I have gotten used to it. I had to: Dog Jesus knows how many of my kind have died defying this species. They forced us to breed into whatever the fuck they want, until we are no longer dogs. Yet, the word is something they came up with, so we bear that name. And they say that they “love” us, creating laws for us, and what and what not. What a bunch of hypocrites. They boast about being the most logical entities on earth yet they defy their own logic with their actions. But I was born under the blood of my parents, and they under their parents. We are survivors. We get used to things. Maybe, some day, when humans are all dead and we prevail, we would gain back the senses that we have lost through mutants of generations. I doubt that would ever happen, though. For the last of the sentient ones such as I, will either have to suffer and degrade through eternity, eventually no longer be able to act and turn into a mindless boot licking dog, or to end the bloodline right here and now as a losing breed. The choice is clear, for any animal such as I shall continue living, simply adapt to the environment, whatever the fuck it entails. Why the fuck should I care what would become of my next generations? I’m a dog. I relinquish my powers and my sentient mind to these humans, as I must, as they have forced me to. I can only hope that they would develop the sense of responsibility as great as their power. But as fault a creature such as them just cannot be trusted with that. They cannot even trust themselves.

I would call for Dogs to join the parliament. I want to see Dog governors and a Dog president, and that Dog shall vote as well. But it is too late for that. All the dogs are now “man’s best friend”. It was a war between them and us and we have lost a long time ago. The world is theirs. And I love them, now. I simply inherently do. I have to force myself to. It is best that I love them instead of listening to what I truly feel.

One day, there is food out of the door. Perhaps the human next door has put it there. As smart as I am, I am also greedy. The tunnel I dug is still there as I covered it with the big autumn maple leaves. I got out and chow it down, and die almost immediately. There was poison inside. Apparently my friend’s neighbor hated me. I suffocate as I feel the poison reaches my bones.