You suspect there are a lot more layers to that sentence than you're getting, and you're entirely okay with that. The thought occurs to you that Pancho is your double now. Except she can gestate. And your puppies with Bel would be beautiful and perfect and not at all too big. Would they? Maybe they would be. You're extremely glad you don't communicate your every passing notion the way Bel does, for all that he's sort of smirking at you now. You put your ears back and run along, very determinedly not thinking about midwinter or spring or anything. You're going to go to Alaska and it will be great. Eventually you smell rust and plastic on the breeze and awhile after that the coyote pulls up short. "Here!" she says proudly, refreshing her scentmark on the thing. "Look at all the parts this one has. And it's got some trees. How do you dig the cache out?"
Your sigh is so big it causes your whole body to fall over. "Coneflower, this is a dead car. This is an ex-car. It has joined the choir invisible. You talk about cars so much I thought you'd at least know what they smell like."
Coneflower turns belligerently defensive. "Fuck you! I'm smart! I know things! You said buildings were cars but off the road, look how far this one is off the road! It's even got a tree on!"
"Erskin said like cars but bigger," you remind her tiredly. "Well, there's no food in it, but it's a sheltered place for a nap. The afternoon's wearing on and you know we'll want to run around like dorks once the moon's up." That last bit is for Erskin. You dig snow away from the partly-opened door until you can squeeze inside, where you find there's plenty of room to trample a nest in the ruins of seat cushions.
"Fuck, you guys don't know anything, do you," the coyote says accusatively. "You just say stuff to act smarter than me. But you aren't even!" She turns and flounces off a ways across the plane, looking back every so often to see if you're sad about her leaving. You burrow into the dead car instead. "We can find her again after our nap, if you want to," you grumble, and claim a choice bit of nest. The car reeks of rust and rotten pleather, but it's already warming up.
"Eh, it's up to her if she wants to come along anyway. When we start searching again, though, I'm thinking we should take the lead, so we don't end up visiting every abandoned outhouse and rusted-out tractor in North Dakota." You wrap your tail over his paws and set your chin on his nose, inviting him to burrow into your ruff for warmth. You haven't been cold once yet, with all this fluff, it's pretty great.
You snuffle and cozy up. You've gone north so quickly with the change of season that your coat hasn't quite kept up, and on a nippy day like this it's nice to have such an effective space heater. Eventually, though, it's dark, and you're too awake to keep lazing around in the warm enclosure. You go outside, stretch, shake yourself, and zip around and over the car a few times to get your blood up. When Bel pokes his head out of the car you pounce on him from above. "Take that!"
His weight buries your face in the snow. Your attempt to free yourself leads to both of you rolling ass over teakettle until you're both whitewashed; by the end of it you're laughing. "Happy moon, Erskin!" you greet him.
"Ha! So it's a holiday, eh?" you box at his face happily. "I didn't think to get you anything, I'm a monster!"
"You got me a monster!" you conclude, boxing him back. There is pouncing and rassling and joyous yipping. Snow flies. It's fantastic.
After awhile of tearing around and whapping each other, you're aware that Coneflower has come back and is watching the two of you from atop the car. "Yes, what?" you ask, from underneath Bel's big fluffy butt. "If you promise not to keep making things up to sound important, I'll go along with you for awhile more," Coneflower says. "You're welcome." "Fuck you!" "Fuck you!" she retorts. "Truck, keep sitting on his head."
"Hm, no, I think it's your turn to be sat on!" you laugh, and take a sailing leap to knock her off the car -- careful not to actually land square on her, since you outweigh her more than two-to-one.
(she weighs 40lb, bel, you outweigh her more than four-to-one) Coneflower goes into a frenzy of yipping and thrashes between Bel's clydesdale paws like a furry snake, to the tune of "How dare you!" and "I'm too beautiful for this!" and "I'll bite your head off and see how you like it!" and gets in a fairly respectable chomp to Bel's snout. You go "Ha!" because, well, it's pretty entertaining.
"Oh crap she bit my head off!" you yell. "Bro my head is missing! Find my head and stick it back on!" You wobble in circles as if Coneflower is totally defeating you.
"You're own your own, there's an absolute tornado of a coyote ripping you to bits!" you call back. "I'm not risking it!" "Ha!" goes the coyote, and savages Bel's ears. "I'll teach you to mess with me!"
Coneflower gives a frustrated howl and then starts attempting to seriously bite him, swearing creatively all the while. This is excellent to watch, on account of Bel is at least four inches of hair all around, and she's not getting anywhere.
"Nup. Not moving. Not even breathing, just full of bugs. I'm so gross Coneflower what are you doing underneath a gross corpse, why are you under there, it's so unsanitary." This is tremendously fun.
