"It's true, you are tragically hideous," you agree. "I want the cake hatn. Adorn me." The second hat gets put on over the first. You balance carefully while you are stacked with a further variety of colorful accessories. "Well, I certainly won't get cold now. Finding my way out of the store might be more of a problem, however."
Once you're done goofing around, all the hats go back on the shelves except the two chullos -- birthday cake for erskin and brown-and-blue for you -- and the leather stetson, which Dad cannot be talked out of. "Terry Pratchett wore one, you know," he points out. "Yes, and brilliant writer though he was, he dressed like someone who hangs around comic conventions to creep on teenage cosplayers." He throws his hands up. "I'm your father, embarrassing you is my job. Have you managed any shopping at all yet?" "Er... yeah, we ditched the cart. We should probably go get it before sales staff start putting our stuff back where we got it."
Eventually you are freed from the store and back in the car. "Dog park," you say. "Or food. Or food and dog park." You get food and dog park. Alex buys you an entire sub sandwich with extra mustard. Bel has not done this yet and gets summarily relegated to your second favorite. "I'm going to marry your dad," you say, sprawled across the back seat and diligently licking every bit of mustard off the paper. "Just you wait. It will be beautiful. He'll buy me a wedding cake and let me eat it, too."
"Fine, you should let Aunt Dina plan it. She has impeccable taste." Your dad squints at you. "What did he just say?" "Nope, you're just going to have to learn Wolf." You smugly cram your mouth full of tuna melt.
You belly-flop awkwardly across the divider between the front seats to put your chin in Bel's lap. "You can be Best Man if you give me tuna," you tell him.
"You jilt me and then ask for tuna? You're too much. Here: tuna." You swipe a dab of mayo on the back of his neck where he can't reach it. "Bel," Dad scolds, "no food fights in my car, especially not with something as stinky as tuna."
"You're only making me more attractive, you fool," you tell him, and retreat to the backseat to lick your sandwich paper for the rest of the trip. The dog park is busy! It's a weekday but very sunny, and something like a dozen dogs are galloping about in the big dog section. You don't like the parks that mix everyone of every size together, some poor little chap is always getting bowled over and pissing themself. You scramble eagerly out of the car and then look back over your shoulder at Alex and Bel. "Are you going to change...?" you ask uncertainly.
"I didn't bring my collar," you say regretfully. You want to go with him, not because playing with strange dogs looks great, but because watching Erskin do it does. "Borrow Erskin's scarf," Dad suggests. "Then no one will notice." "Right. I'm not getting naked in human form, someone would be sure to notice, so you'll have to help me out of my clothes after, there isn't really room for it. Oh, and my dog name is Sirius." That said, you sink into fur. It seems to get easier every day.
You are delighted, and Bel bears up under your impromptu Hooray Friend Dance pretty well, to his credit, before pushing you over with one big clydesdale hoof and gnawing your ruff. "Alright, alright, I'm calm," you protest, wagging your tail placatingly between your legs. "I'm the picture of dignity, let me up." You're allowed to rise and lead the way into the sort of pen... field... area. Nice grass. Some places are miserably scraped bare and shit-poisoned. The smell of dog, never subtle, hits you like a wave, and two labs and a malamute trot over to say hello. "Hi there!" you greet them, circling and sniffing. You're the easier target, being a slightly more reasonable size than than Skyscraper von Hellhound standing stiffly just inside the gate, and a good deal more amenable to flapping your tail about like the grand master of a clown parade. An incredibly rude german shepherd runs up and mounts you. You whirl and clout him right across the face. "NO," you say. "FUCK OFF, I WILL EAT YOU." He cringes away, confused and upset, then goes to try and hump a pitbull, who just stands there in upset confusion until its master comes to rescue it. "Some people's children, eh?" you call back to Bel. You trade some introductory sniffs with a significantly more polite labrador mix.
You venture cautiously farther from the gate, feeling tense and unsure. This is a social milieu where you really don't understand the rules even a little bit, and while they're just dogs, and therefore unlikely to say hurtful things or pass you over for promotion, you don't want to get into any fights. You don't know what would happen if you bit a dog, but you don't think it would be good. "Erskin, how do...?" you begin, and then that damn german shepherd approaches you from behind. You look over your shoulder and show him your teeth, growling deep. "Try it and I'll drag you, fuckchop," you snap. The shepherd whimpers and flops over. Several other dogs are suddenly much farther from you. You give Erskin a helpless look. "I think I made a bad impression."
"No, Romeo over here makes a bad impression," you grumble, glaring at the fluffy bastard until he sulks off to go sexually harass some other corner of the park. You trot over and spend awhile washing Bel's face, which reassures most of the rest of the observers that Bel isn't about to go on a spontaneous killing spree. "Bel, just wag your tail and come play. You're not here to stand on ceremony. If someone pisses you off, swat them or lean on their shoulders, it saves everyone a trip to the vet." "You're not dogs..." a wary hound mix mutters, sidling stiff-legged towards you, her head down. "HA HA OF COURSE WE ARE!" you go, heartily waving your tail at her and going down on your elbows. After some persuasive frisking about, the hound mix relaxes, trades sniffs, suffers a lick to the chops, and then plays a few minutes of tag. She's fast as hell, you approve. "You're not a dog but you're alright," she decrees, and goes off to pester her human for a ball. You go loping back to Bel and nip his tail. "Chase me! Come on, slow poke. Chase me chase me. Bet you're too slow." You jump and get his tail again even when he whirls around.
You've no interest in slobbery tennis balls and not much in strange dogs, but this, you can get into. "What's the bet, high roller?" you laugh as you dodge his next nip. "Because I'm gonna win it. I've got legs til Saturday and you're a Pokemon." This provocation, as you'd hoped, gets him laughing and running, and you chase him joyously through the barking crowd.
You zig-zag, shouldering aside trios and foursomes of wrestlers, and after a few laps of the pen Bel's been joined by a decently sized ad hoc pack, all baying eagerly for the hunt— you run with your tail up in a bright pennant. It's the first hound from before that brings you down, yanking your back leg out from under you and clamping on with surprisingly vicious strength. "Wild thing!" she bays. "I'll kill you!" You yip with startled pain and fright, and wriggle clear of her snapping in time to see Bel barreling down on both of you, looking like hound steaks are on the menu for the night. "SHE'S IT!" you yell at the rest of the pack, and bully the hound back into motion. She only has time to look back at you, confused that you're chasing her now, then the momentum catches you all up again, and she's entirely distracted by the blind, stupid delight of running, and having a reason to run very very fast. After she's tagged by a remarkably fit golden retriever you all chase that fellow. Eventually Bel's it and no one can catch him for long enough the chase starts to break up, the breathless unfit dogs peeling away for more stationary entertainments.
You're not too distracted by the game to admire how Erskin made peace out of what could've been a bad moment. Once tag breaks down, you ignore the last few runners in favor of jumping at Erskin and gently worrying his ears. One dalmation doesn't realize the game's over, and nips your tail. "You're it!" she crows proudly, having gotten things precisely backwards, but nevertheless glowingly proud of herself. "I just wanna play with my bro now, sorry." "He's it?" Her tail droops. "Oh god, I made Princess Specklepants sad, I'm a monster."
"You're it," you announce, making a fangy snap for the woeful dalmatian, and she squeals with glee and gallops off, before tripping over and then getting completely distracted by a rope tug. "And you're a monster," you tell Bel, who's still got your hindquarters pinned. You drum briskly on his face to rattle him, then hop crosswise on to his back when he recoils. After that it's mostly a blur of trying not to get mashed flat into the grass, and pulling on his ears whenever you get a chance.
You sing him a little song when you've got the breath for it: "Wild thing! You make my heart sing! You make everything... groovy!" He's clearly not getting the reference. "I thought that hound decided you're okay, why'd she suddenly go all pitchfork mob on you?"
"She's a working girl," you say breathlessly, and go limp. "Most of the softies here haven't been anywhere near anywhere wolves would be, but she's probably been out hunting, knows what wolf smells like, even if she's been lucky enough never to encounter any close up. Knowing we weren't dogs and seeing me run like that got her all fired up to kill."
"Huh. You handled it really well. I was seeing red for a second there. I have a protective streak, sorry." You give his ears a good licking in apology, or admiration, or something.
"I noticed, it's very attractive and makes me feel safe," you assure him, and nibble him back with deep affection. "But really, conflict de-escalation—" and this is a much more succinct term than in english, "—is something you might want to work on. It's much a better survival strategy to just make friends than to have to fight to the death somewhere over some silly misunderstanding." You bite his ear. "Of course, it's not the answer for everything. I do want to fight you to death right now. I want to fight you super hard and I want to win. You'll have to call your dad in to save you!" You bite his other ear.
"You want to fight Knife Wolf to the death? You are either very brave or very foolish, young warrior!" Now you've both caught your breath, so it's on. You're pretty sure you have the advantage because grass stains don't show on you.
