"Hmp! Another beauty mark for my handsome profile," you snort, angling your stinging ear into his ministrations. It's just a scratch, it turns out. You'll keep the ear for another while. When you're about done with the fussing you put your teeth gently over the side of his snout— thanks, but no thanks— then run away, tail waving, and jump on to the climbing structure again. These things rank up with sandwiches in terms of excellent inventions.
Once you've romped all over the play structure and gone down the slide about six million times, you feel truly satisfied in a weird way, and also really hungry. You flop down in a patch of clover and wait for Erskin to be done. "Oh my god, someone's cooking bacon," you say when he next comes near. "I smell bacon, Erskin, I'm dying. Let's go eat."
You snuff around, already drooling. "Yes," you agree, and head off to find whoever it is and charm them out of at least one piece. You have a cute scarf. You are unstoppable.
You spring up to head back to your clothes, then stop in confusion when he heads off in the wrong direction. "Erskin. Buddy. Where are you going. No shirt no shoes no service, remember?"
You look back over your shoulder, likewise confused. "Someone's cooking bacon," you repeat. "We're going to go ask nicely for some bacon. And then, eat the bacon."
What is he going to do, ring the doorbell with his nose? "Orrrr we could run back to my clothes, motel, etcetera, go to a restaurant, order some bacon, and have as much as we want. My friend, I think you might need human lessons as bad as I need wolf lessons."
"Well, no time like the present to start, if it involves all the bacon I want," you agree easily, and about-face to trot after him.
As the two of you jog back, you muse, "You know, between the two of us, we could kind of have the best of both worlds. Stuff like... say... deer season's coming up. Regular wolves can't solo a deer, but I bet you can, right? But you'd waste a whole lot of meat, you can't eat a whole one before it goes bad. Suppose I pick up a hunting license, take my truck, we can pack the extra meat out and freeze it. Or like... go winter camping, take some gear on a sled; romp in the snow fur style, but sleep in a tent, warm and dry. Uh, not that I'm assuming you'd want to hang out with me that long. I'm just throwing out ideas."
"When I'm tired of you, I'll let you know," you say, amused. "And yes, that sort of thing is— mm, generally why families get themselves together. Solitary chaps face their own particular set of challenges. One of which is no, a regular werewolf can't solo a deer either, that is some Call Of The Wild nonsense and if you strut around thinking you've got super powers along with all that extra hair you're going to get your face kicked in. I saw one new fellow tear right off the moment he thought he'd a handle on things and pick a fight with a bear. There wasn't enough left of him afterwards for the crows to nibble."
"Pretty sure I could take a bear in human form," you point out modestly. "But. You know. I have a special hat. It's green." After a bit more thought, you add, "Not a deer, though, they're too fast. I'd need a weapon or a snare. But that's sort of the point, isn't it -- humans are tool-using animals. Little adaptation, little cooperation, you can get the benefit of that without giving up your off-grid lifestyle."
"The benefit of dragging around some pompous bear-fighting pain in the ass!" you grin, sprinting forward to snap at his tailtip. He looks so delightfully affronted at that that you have to keep sprinting, frisking your tail in his face and whooping with mad, mocking, coyote laughter as you make him work his way back up to full speed.
Balanced between annoyance and laughter, you chase him until it's just about the chase, offense mostly forgotten, and you don't slow down until you reach your clothes. "I'm such a pain in the ass, you're free to go back and beg for bacon," you point out with a grin as you dig the clothes out of the leaves. "Scratch at the screen door, maybe they'll feed you instead of calling animal control. Meanwhile here's me with a Denver omelette and four sausages, pompously eating as much as I want." You shift, and put your hand to your ear as if listening for his response -- which, of course, you can't hear, if he's making one. "Thought so." You get dressed.
You wait until he's lacing his boots up— then cough politely, for attention, and raise your leg with menacing deliberation over his discarded sweater. He'll still chase you on two legs, it turns out, but he's a lot slower.
You keep just ahead of him all the way back to his motel room, then— rendered perhaps a little too excited by the chase— leap on to the bed, pounce on a pillow, and savage it happily while bouncing.
The future unfolds before you while the stuffing flies: a series of very awkward explanations no one believes. You can't lie worth a damn; you had Murphy for that, until someone fucking ate him. Or you could just... You grab your phone and snap a picture. "Look adorable for my dad!"
When you hear the electronic kk-chk of a cellphone camera going off, long experience takes over: paws braced forward, tail up and curled over your back, ears straight forward, head tilted winsomly to the side. Who, me? Cute enough to go on a christmas card.
You get that picture, and then get on the bed yourself and take a picture of the two of you together. "There. Good job, El Destructo, I'm gonna have to pay the pet deposit after all. Since it's on my dad's card, he's gonna ask -- he's the type who reads the itemized charges every time. So -- you're a foster, that'll explain why he's not getting charged for shots and adoption, I'm taking his advice and trying out a service animal for my PTSD. And if you end up not sticking around long, I'll just tell him it didn't work out and I returned you to the foster organization. Hm, need a dog name for you."
You get a pic of that too, and then decide, "Rusty. Kay?" Erskin doesn't seem to mind, so you go ahead and send the pics to your dad, reading out the email as you type it so Erskin knows what's being said about him: "The bad news is, you're going to get some extra charges on the travel card, because apparently pillows are a worthy foe. The good news is, I'm trying out your advice and fostering a service dog. This is Rusty. We're getting along pretty well so far. Heading out to Devil's Lake tomorrow to see how he handles travel, camping, etc. Hope all's well with you."
