Birth of a hunting dog Part 3

I finally found myself giving in. The man always had a bowl that included human food. The first time I was hungry enough, I wasn't fast enough to reach that bowl. Another dog in the pen got to it first.
I tried not to let it happen again, but ate regular dog food otherwise. It tore up my bowels some, but I began to acquire somewhat of a taste for it, especially since we were fed only one meal a day.
I found the man actually to be quite kind to his dogs. The other dogs loved him. He also proved kind to me when I began to comply and began to act like the dog he wanted me to be. He rubbed my belly, scratched behind my ears. I began to lick his face, his hands and even his feet.
He taught me to develop my own barks and whelps. He taught me the same commands as he did his other dogs. Rule No. 1 was that Duke was the dog in charge. When he entered our pen, we were all expected to sniff his ass. We all followed his lead.
One day the man led me out and placed a blindfold around my eyes. He had just gotten back from a hunt. He placed several animals he killed in front of my nose.
He figured I didn't have the keen sense of smell or hearing the other dogs did. He thought the blindfold would enhance my senses, which it did. Soon I could identify rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, quail, ducks, turkeys, wild boars and deer by their scent, including their piss or shit.
He would carry me blindfolded out to a field where I could track. The only time he let me on two legs was during the hunts so I could halfway keep up with the other dogs. But if I were tracking, I stayed on all fours, with my nose to the ground.
"You're turning into quite a hunter," he told me once when I flushed out a covy of quail.
I proved to be a better duck hunting dog. He took me out on a boat and put a life jacket on me. Once he shot a bird, he pushed me out of the boat. I would swim and retrieve the bird with my mouth and return to the boat, never once getting on two legs. I proved to be very dog like during duck hunting season.
He had a couple of friends who were aware of his special kind of dog. One of them tried to buy me, but my master refused. The man wanted to "breed" me with one of his dogs. That was where my master drew the line.
I was glad. Once the police came looking for me. But my master was prepared. He locked me in the doghouse, muzzled, when he found out they were coming.
While part of me yearned for freedom, another part of me was glad they didn't find me.
I adjusted. You don't know how hard it is to be naked in the worst of conditions, including snow, but after a while, I never even noticed.
The dogs, they became my companions. I respected the leaders and even helped a couple of pups, almost playing the role of their mother since he got them right after they were weened.
I was surprised the day the man led me to his house during early spring and handed me some clothes and money. He apologized for what he had done, said he found religion.
"You can tell the police if you like," he said. "You've proven to be a loyal, obedient dog. But I'm giving you your freedom. I'm sure I'll be severely punished for what I've done to you."
I told him I wouldn't turn him in, and thanked him for letting me go. Part of me wanted to stay, but he gave me a ride into town.
He bought me a bus ticket. I was able to explain my absence by saying I'd found work on a farm, which to some degree was the truth. I just didn't say my job was a hunting dog.