Where Woofs (18+)

"No, more like, we drive a thousand miles, and then we do however much wandering around Calgary we want to, and the truck's kind of in the middle of it and we can stop back at it for supplies or whatever in between explorations. Even just going to the Boundary Waters first, okay, yes, it's a huge park, and it's a maze of waterways and lakes, which makes it even bigger functionally for someone on foot. But it's also like three hundred miles from here? Why waste our time -- and risk our lives -- walking through the damn suburbs and crossing a squillion boring cornfields and christmas tree farms, when we could be playing in the park?"

 

You blink at him. "Oh. Hmm. I think I understand. I suppose to me it's all about the same level of interesting, just in different ways. Monoculture territories can be difficult to hunt in, so the task of getting enough to eat keeps you too busy to care that the scenery's boring. Parks are fun, but so easy, so— soft? safe?— that you get bored even though there's lakes and rocks and whatever. Suburbs are dangerous so they're tremendous fun for covert operations, you know? Even passing as a dog you might have to dodge Animal Control, plus what little prey there is gets snapped up by foxes and coywolves, so it's a real challenge. Inner cities have their own, their own— centers. Magic...al environment? That's where you run the real risks of getting eaten, cities, gobbled up by the kinds of things that want to eat werewolves, but they're such fun."

You stir your tail against the blankets. "It's all— all the traveling is interesting to me, it's the traveling that's interesting to me, and nearly everything to do along the way is its own sort of game. I don't suppose you and I have the same entertainment requirements."

 

"No," you say softly, "I think I've had enough danger for a while. I think I'd rather avoid it if it's all the same to you. I just want to see beautiful places."

 

You have to scoot back over to his side in order to lick his face.

"Yes, of course," you tell him. "It'll all still be waiting in a year, or five. Just remind me when I forget, would you?"

 

"Okay. Thanks." You tilt your head to his licking with a contented sigh. "You're a good friend. I'm glad I met you."

 

"I'm glad you met me too," you tell him honestly. "Go to sleep." You nose at him until he at least closes his eyes and relaxes. Then you lie there with your chin on the blankets and think how much you really do like him, and want to look out for him, and want him to be happy. You suppose you planned out such a big family for his post-traveling-along-with-you future because the thought of losing your own, the way he did in his war, is so horrifying, and he seems so sad. You can't be anyone's family all on your own like this, you wouldn't know how, you don't think, anyway.

But he's nice. You can worry about whatever there is to worry about later. Or never. You close your eyes too.

 

You wake up to delicious meat and cheese smells, which are soon— somewhat disappointingly— transmuted to sizzly cooking smells. Bel stuffs his nose further under his tail and grumbles when you poke him, so you venture forth on a solo expedition.

Mr Kadros is fussing around in the kitchen, and you click your nails noisily off the tile flooring as you approach, so as not to be sneaking up. You've taken enough hot spatulas to the snout to go around startling people at their stoves.

When he looks back at you you wag at him. Good morning!

 

Amused, you get your front paws on the table's edge and snuffle through the tea tin. After a brief sneezing spell you nip out a mint teabag and bring it over to him, then sit and thump your tail while he fixes it up. he's even thoughtful enough to put it in a wide mug, with a saucer.

You give the stovetop an exaggerated once-over. What's for breakfast? you enquire, settling down with the tea between your forelegs. It's too hot to drink quite yet, but the steam's lovely to sniff.

 

You may drool on the floor a little, but you lick your chops hastily and then commit yourself to chewing your toes clean like a polite young man who certainly has no designs to nick anything off the counter. Best behavior!

Isn't Alex supposed to be at work, though? You weren't aware that it was the weekend again already. When he's look at you you pose the question—point your nose at the front door, at the kitchen clock, look at him, cock your head curiously. He might be a quicker study than his son.

 

Distracted by the overwhelming cognitive load that is bacon existing in front of you, it takes you a moment to remember english. You pat the floor in front of your teacup saucer with your paw, then give his neck a fervent amount of thank-you-for-food licks when he kneels down to put it in front of you. Humans tend not to like those on the mouth.

Maybe you should go wake up Bel....? You hesitate, looking back over your shoulder to the upstairs. Maybe if Bel doesn't wake up you can eat his portion. Moral qualms completely silenced, you dig in joyously.

It is delicious.

 

Hello there, how does he know your dad? You were under the impression that military services tended to be rather big places. Pulling your nose out of your tea, you give Alex a big nod, then tilt your head questioningly.

 

"I've got to go remind them I'm retired," is what your dad would say before heading out of the territory, when you were a pup. Once, after you'd made your escape but were still pretty much a nipper, he'd managed to get in touch with you and invited you along— it had been damn good fun. You got a smart blue police-dog vest and a big clickety chain lead, and a muzzle that made you look absolutely rabid, and got to run down and tackle a man wearing a lot of explosives. Your dad bought you so much steak you slept for two days, called you a good man, and thoughtfully dropped you off in the rat-infested cargo hold of a ship headed to Brazil.

Mostly he took your mother or aunt, when they wanted a bit of a vacation. Once when you were very small he went out with your maman, and come home with another cardboard box to put down in the basement by the first one. He was sad for a long time after that trip.

Still, 1988 was a good deal before you were whelped, and before the second box, even. He'd probably have brought along your aunt in particular, she likes meeting other Americans, even human ones.

You wag your tail at Alex encouragingly, and go to drop your licked-clear plate in the sink.

 

You laugh, tongue lolling out between your teeth. You have to take a flying leap to manage some of the tougher members of the alphabet, you're not up to wrangling codes any time soon. If ever.

"We'd better get Bel if you want a conversation," you say, with a significant nod at the upstairs.

You add jokingly, "Or we could just turn you," with a wide, slow pantomime of a bite to his ankle. It shows off every tooth but the fabric of his trousers is hardly dented, and you make loud gnawawaw noises.