Free Spirit Dog Shock Collar Novels & Stories

"Good day, everyone. I'm Jessica Lane from Happy Pets Veterinary Clinic. Today, I'm complying with the court order to formally apologize to Ms. Sierra Goldman from Selome Hospital." I kept my tone steady, even polite. "I'm sorry, Ms. Goldman. I shouldn't have revealed your real name and workplace on the internet, even though you abused my dog for years by forcing him to wear a shock collar on the highest setting, leaving him traumatized. He even developed a severe stress response because of it. "You also clearly knew Zachary had a fiance, yet you still insisted on being involved with him for three whole years. Then there's the multiple times you slandered and harassed me online…"

But he's no gonzo inventor–he's Maurice Hart, head of Research and Development for Neuroworks, a trillion-dollar tech titan. Now this human is sitting in front of me, claiming he’s invented a collar–a fucking collar–that will stop a wolf from shifting. It allegedly works by disrupting electrical impulses in the brain. He’s explaining all this to me very excitedly, so pleased with himself. Maurice hands me the silver collar. It doesn’t look like a totally janky piece of shit, unfortunately. It’s smooth and cold and looks legit. “Let’s take it for a test drive,” I say.

Ethel halted him just as he was about to exercise his lungs. “You will not shout like a lunatic in my house!” She snatched another vial from the rack and muttered, "Quiet down." Before opening the stopper, she shook the blue liquid inside. Sparkles was startled awake by the ruckus and raised her head to see a man chained to a chair in front of her. Sparkles began growling at the man, occasionally barking, as she remembered the kick he gave her. She wasn't fully matured and was a Border Collie. Cecily rubbed her palm across Sparkles' back to soothe her down, and it appeared to work.

“Isn’t that a dog collar? How are we to keep track of her with a dog collar on? Is she going to be on a leash? I don’t see any trackers.” “I got it from Emily’s toy box a while ago. It has a GPS tracking system, it’s just super small, and the collar is not so easy to remove,” he clarifies, attempting to make his case. “You mean its click-on buckle is really that difficult to remove? I guess since a dog can’t remove it, Luna Barbara here won’t be able to remove it either. She does seem like a bitch. I’m waiting for a hidden camera crew to jump out and yell, ‘Cut, you’ve just been pranked.’” I don’t bother to mask the sarcasm in my voice.

“Do you not know how the collars work? Are you sure you should be purchasing a wolf if you don’t even know how to control one?” “You really think a simple shock will control one of those four?” Jackson blinked at the man. He was completely thrown off by how this conversation was going. “Do… Uh, I hate to use this phrase, but do you not know who I am? I mean you said my name when you approached so I assumed you knew who you were talking to. Jackson Carmillan. Of Carmillan Collars. I think I have a better understanding of how the collars work than you do.”

I bark at Kirkland, my voice rough with barely contained fury. Without hesitation, Kirkland snaps the collar, his own hands sizzling from the silver’s touch, but he doesn’t flinch. The collar clatters to the ground, and as it falls away, we see it—a mate mark, hidden beneath the collar’s cruel grip. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. It’s against all pack laws to enslave a mated wolf. This isn’t just an atrocity; it’s a blatant violation of every code we live by.

I arrived home to an empty house. I dashed into my brother Edmund's room. There was his storm jacket, hanging up with the dust cover still on. I checked for the tell-tale signs the salesperson had shown me. The label was raised. The fabric was stiff, windproof, and smelled faintly of new clothes. The price tag was still on it, with the store's security strip stuck to it. It was the real deal. It was brand-new and the real deal. It even looked a little different from mine.

Ben whispered something to his mates and backed away into the corner of the kitchen looking terrified while Ste sat there with a dumb, shocked look on his face. The mongrel—a staff cross—wasn’t much more than a puppy. It cowered by Ste who had clearly been misusing a shock collar. He’d always known Ste was sick but hadn’t ever caught him doing anything like this before. He wouldn’t have been his mate for so many years if he knew he treated animals this way. Adam liked his dogs better than he liked most people. “Come here boy,” Adam called the dog. After petting the animal, he removed the collar and loomed over Ste. He kicked the chair out from underneath him and then stomped him as he lay sp

Instead, a stranger was standing in front of her. He wears the entire Met team uniform. An orange-green bottle cap was worn backwards on his head, where some of the tightly locked blond locks had escaped. He wears a Met shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He kept an orange leash on his arm, and then she saw the Old Yeller sitting right next to him with a rather serious expression that showed he wasn't some stupid hybrid. The dog wore a colorful Met scarf around its neck. One of its ears folded down where it had been damaged. Its tail is still not wagging. But his eyes no longer contained the haunting look she used to see in her traumatized dog. Leaning in front of the dog's legs was a cardboard box

“Give it back! Give my head back!” “How about I give you a piece of my f*cking mind instead, you lil b*tch?!” Javier snarled as he whacked the dog with the stick. He had been lulled into believing that this con-dog had been stopped from terrorizing others, but holy hell, this was no dog! This dog was straight-up magic! It cosplayed a ghost at night for a living! Who the f*ck in their right mind would believe this if they did not see it!