“How about a new collar, hm?” Cassandra coos, dragging silken gloved fingers along the knobs of your spine; the ticklish sensation making your tail involuntarily wag.

Her free hand slide under your chin, thumb smoothing over the torn and worn nylon that encircles your neck. The poor thing has clearly been through hell and back, been with you since you were just a young pup.

Clearly overdue for an upgrade.

“What about it, my dear? I think you’d look lovely in leather.”