"I love you too, you goofball," you sputter-laugh, unhesitating because it's a wolf love-you you're responding to. "Hold still a second." You remember your dad's listening and amend it: "Rusty, sit. Good boy." Having cleaned the blood off his face (and your neck) you say, "Okay! Go play!" You can't very well explain your idea for the day's entertainment to your 'dog' the way you would to your friend, but you can bounce it off your dad where he can hear. He even conveniently left the porch door open. "After I'm done brining the goose, I want to try Rusty out on some games that don't involve dead animals. Frisbees and stuff. Where'd you put my sports junk?" "Plastic bin in the front closet," he replies. "Am I invited?" "Hell yes you're invited!"
You nearly go to investigate the sports junk yourself, only to pull up in front of the screen door and remember you're not supposed to have understood those directions— it's a lot harder to remember to stick to dog behaviors when Bel's around to associate with. You change your aborted trip into another hello! tail-wave to Bel's dad, then trot off to do a few exploratory laps around the house. It's a beautiful crisp bright day, if chilly. The wind from the north is cold and smells just like snow and pines. You chase a squirrel, mark a few spots, look at a particularly nice yellow leaf, scratch under a bush to find an impressively large dead bug, and come back around. Then you steal a big, fluffy white downy feather from the discarded goose outsides and frisk it invitingly around just outside Bel's arms' reach.
"Oh, it's gonna be like that, is it?" you laugh, and make a grab for the feather because you know he wants you to. You can't think of a better way to spend an autumn Sunday than playing keepaway and chase with Erskin all over your backyard. The goose is dry-brining in a rub of kosher salt, cracked black pepper, caraway, and celery seed, and you'll have to remember to transfer it to the crock pot around noon to slow-cook on a bed of onions and potatoes. Wild goose is much leaner than farmed, cookbook recipes will ruin it, you have to basically steam it to keep it juicy, Dad taught you that. You can't wait to show him what you've learned. Shortly, Dad comes out dressed in casual kicking-around clothes and calls, "Heads up!" then flicks a white glow-in-the-dark frisbee at you.
THAT IS YOUR FRISBEE. You charge across the lawn, leap, and drop to your paws just in front of Bel, securely in possession of the artificial hoverprey. Then, just to be really insulting, you kick his knee with a back paw, and dash off around the corner of the house.
You lead him in a silly zig-zag chase around the house, then gallop up to his dad and hide behind him, looking as innocent as possible. Without relinquishing the frisbee.
"Why don't you just call him?" Dad says. "He seems obedient enough." "Yeah but that's not the game," you say as you dodge around him and try to grab the frisbee. "We're playing keep-away." "I can't keep up with you guys. The thing is, if you wanted to play frisbee..." He produces a blue one from inside his Air Force hoodie with a proud little grin. Snickering with anticipation of Erskin's face when he has to decide which frisbee he wants, you say, "You're on!" and jog away so he can throw to you.
Determinedly, you chase it across the lawn, just miss it before Bel grabs it and sends it back, but you catch up midway back to his father, jump, and batter it out of the air with your paws. Then you sit on it, first frisbee still clamped in your jaws, and look at Bel with smug triumph.
"The game is now tackle frisbee," you announce solemnly, before piling on Erskin and rolling him over so your dad can grab the one he was sitting on.
You catch a few of the next frisbees thrown and release them politely, then, just when Bel's starting to relax and assume you're cooperative, you dart off right before his fingers can close on the latest one. When he tackles you, you wail nooooooo! and then fake a broken leg. He backs off, amusement starting to fade to concern, and you grab the frisbee again and take off for another lap of the house. This mix of catching and keep-away continues for awhile, though he doesn't fall for the leg trick a second time. Eventually his father starts to fade out, rubbing at his shoulder, and you give the frisbee to Bel in order to trot over and flop at the older man's feet. "Wow!" you say loudly. "I sure am tired! So very tired!!"
Dad plops down on the lawn with a sigh, petting Erskin like he means to go on indefinitely. "How about you go get us some drinks?" he proposes. "Beer for me." "On it," you agree easily; you're a bit thirsty yourself, and they're cute. You jog off to fetch beer for Dad, pop for you, and water for Erskin.
When Bel sits down next to you, you arc around and close your teeth teasingly on his can. You don't want it, or even to get up and wrestle for it, but you love the indignant bad dog! noises he makes at you. When he's won the can back you curl up against his dad's side and surrender to the pettings. You give a big sigh. Life is very nice right now. You can definitely see some of the perks of going domestic.
After a while, Dad prompts, "Wisconsin, huh?" and you take the cue to tell him a few stories from your travels. You don't mention that you climbed the spire above Devil's Lake without safety equipment; that habit upsets him, so you let him pretend you use ropes and wear a helmet. Taking 'Rusty' fishing gets a lot of laughs from him, what with eating the bait worms and then capsizing the canoe.
The rest of the day is more of the same— it must be a weekend, or something, because Bel's dad doesn't go anywhere. He does things with papers, Bel reads, they take breaks to play with you, you and Bel run off to the cafe again, there's lunch. More paper business. A lot of sitting about in various rooms. Occasional sandwiches. When it's getting dark Bel goes and fusses around in the kitchen, and something like an hour later there's goose. You get a big chunk and a number of soft plant items and enjoy yourself immensely, then go lie under the table and chew on Bel's socks while he and his dad finish up.
You're feeling more and more relaxed by the hour. It's a different kind of relaxed from how you feel when traveling; you know you'll get claustrophobic in another few days, but for now it's a haven. Erskin seems to be enjoying the rest too. And Dad is obviously really glad (and relieved) to see you smiling and laughing. Connecting with someone, even if it's just a dog as far as he knows. You guess you don't blame him. You're only now starting to realize, in hindsight, just how fucked up you were when you first came home. After supper, he builds a fire again, and you settle down in the lounge, Dad with a book of math puzzles, you with your tablet. "Where were we?" you muse. "Oh yes. The Forbidden Forest." "Hm?" Dad looks up from his puzzles. "Talking to Rusty. I'm reading Harry Potter to him. It's a modern classic and everyone should have a passing familiarity with it," you add sternly to Erskin. "Okay," Dad chuckles, bemused.
You jump up to stretch out between his legs and put your chin on his hip, then enjoy the absent-minded ruff-scratching that results. The story is getting entertaining in that virtually everyone wants to kill Harry Potter, which probably serves him right, but you keep forgetting you're not supposed to be listening, since Bel's dad is in the room, and so you keep thumping your tail approvingly when particularly murderous bits happen. You enjoy the entire existence of Draco Malfoy. He's a reprehensible little shit. You bet he would drive Bel bonkers in ten minutes flat.
"He sure likes the suspenseful parts," your dad points out curiously after a while. "Must be because I like them," you say easily. "He can tell I'm happy." This seems to suffice. "So I'm guessing you're going to keep him." "Eh?" "You said he's a foster. You going to adopt him?" "Already did." "I didn't get a bill." "No, I used my own money. He's not a travel expense." You give him a wry grin. "Veteran's benefits aren't much, but you've been paying everything else, I have a bit to spare. Now shoosh, Rusty wants to know what happens next."
You certainly do not want to know what happens next! You lick the screen in spiteful protest. Bel just scruffles your ears, wipes off the screen, and keeps going. "I want a dragon," you mumble sleepily. "Alligator girls aren't the same. They're mean. I want a dragon and I'll train it to set everyone on fire, so there." You do not receive a dragon but you do get more ear scruffling. You sigh deeply and resign yourself to Harry Potter yet again not getting murdered by anyone, even Snape.
Dad bids you goodnight at ten; he has work in the morning. You go on reading even though Erskin is dozing. The fire is warm, the couch is cozy, and he's a comforting weight on you; before you know it, you're trailing off into mumbles, tablet hand drooping.
You wake up to Bel twitching and growling softly in his sleep, his teeth gone just a little sharp, his sweat stinking of fear. You lick his jaw methodically until he jolts awake, then lean against him while he folds his arms around you and shivers. "Here, can you change?" you ask him, doing your best to wash the fear-smell off his neck and shoulders. "Come on, change over. Can't be too hard, can it? Change over for me."
