You wriggle forward enough to poke your nose out. "No, but it's a stoplight, so we're probably getting close." As you're saying it, the truck starts to move again; you have to scramble for footing for a moment. The next time the truck slows down, there's a quiet 'ticka-ticka' noise that you feel through your paws more than hear -- turn signal! -- and your ride turns onto a narrower, slower road. THUNK -- the hopper opens, and fan-shaped scatters of dry sand begin pattering onto the road. "This is us," you conclude, gather yourself, and leap over the sand spray. You're on a charming small-town residential street, and someone, somewhere, is frying chicken.
You mistime your jump and plunge right through the sand spray, and have to trot after Bel with a lot of pauses to shake off and scratch at one of your ears. "Smells good," you comment, sniffing after the chicken. It hasn't been long at all since you ate a maximum amount of deer, but it's winter. It never hurts to put on some extra padding. That being the case, there's still the issue of how you're two large canines with no collars or anything, wandering around a residential neighborhood in broad daylight. You raise your head and tail very high and put an extra bounce into your gait as you move along. Who's a skulking, suspicious wild animal? Certainly not you! You're a good dog. "Act a little less like you're thinking about eating someone's cat," you admonish Bel.
"Cats are scratchy. I'm thinking about eating someone's Sunday roast." But you flag your tail and perform 'dog' as well as you can. Realistically, you'll probably end up raiding someone's garbage, but the point is that you're near phones and cars when you become able to turn human again.
You wander through a few blocks, sniffing at mailbox posts and hedges, enjoying yourself more than you thought you would. On the outskirts of a town, you might get shot, but this far in the worst you have to fear is an attack dog or an animal control truck. "Oh, I think we're being followed," you note. A woman had been smoking out on her front stoop, and when the two of you trotted past she seems to have decided to take a closer look. You trot a little bit faster, your ears going back despite your best effort at cheery confidence. Being stalked by anyone can make a fellow skittish, even if it's just a fat woman in a christmas sweater.
"Erskin, wait. Aren't we being dogs?" Dogs don't scoot away from nice old ladies like skittish wild animals. Dogs trot right up with waggy tails in case there are treats. So you do that.
You whine, shuffle your paws a little, then brace yourself and trot after him. You've been doing pretty well with humans lately but this time of the month it's hard not to just want to avoid them entirely. It's hard work, figuring out what they want and how to charm them and managing your own impulse for flight. You'd rather have just eaten someone's garbage and left. "Hello, aren't we cute?" you ask the lady, sitting down just outside of arm's reach and thumping your tail enthusiastically. Bel is already sniffing her hand. "Aren't you two cute!" The lady says, gratifyingly. She scratches behind one of Bel's ears. "Yes you are! What handsome boys! Where'd you come from, handsome boys?" She gives you her hand. She smells like cigarette, cat, chicken nuggets, living alone, and books. That's pretty alright. You lick her hand and then thump your tail more while she scratches invasively behind your ear, though you're very relieved when she switches back to lavishing praise and affection on the much more enthusiastic Bel. "Did you get out somewhere? You're much too nice to be wild. Yes you are. Such nice boys. Yes. But where's your collars? Do you wanna come with me? Do you want to come to Sharon's house? Yes you do! You want to come home with Auntie Sharon while she figures out where you came from!" You look at Bel, smiling despite yourself. "Do we?" you ask.
"Might as well. It's not like she can keep us in if we want to leave." You frisk around Sharon in an extremely doglike manner; you're pretty proud of your acting skills. "We can sleep indoors and she'll give us clean water, and if she tries to send us to the pound, we can bail."
This seems like a reasonable plan, though you've both got quite enough fluff to sleep anywhere you like. Still, you can't help asking, a little plaintively, "You're sure we'll be able to leave?" as you follow him back down the sidewalk. "I don't want to be in a cage again."
"I've seen you open doors with paws before, Erskin. What's she going to do, tranq us? At the worst we can bust through a window. But really, she doesn't smell devious." Apparently that's the kind of thing you can smell. "I think she just really likes fluffy animals. Do your adorable hungry act and I bet she'll feed you until you're spherical." You scoot around in front of Sharon to sniff her socks, which makes her laugh. "Her cat smells healthy. I think she's nice."
"Alright, alright, I do think so too." You follow them up the walkway, through the porch, and— with a bit more urging from Auntie Sharon wherin you are assured that you are indeed a good boy, yes you are— into her house. "That's definitely a cat," you say, sniffing curiously around at the furniture. She lives alone but has plenty of friends and family, it seems like— the air doesn't smell like other people, but the cushions do. You find the cat under an end table. "Be nice to Potato," Sharon says. The cat gives you an or else sort of glare. She's a big brown manx tabby with a missing eye. "She's a good person," you report to Bel. "Look at that cat. That is not a status object sort of pet." Sharon has gone into the kitchen, which suddenly smells a lot more like chicken nuggets.
"You can talk to anything, but if you get your nose clawed off don't come crying to me." Behind you as you head towards the kitchen you can hear an ominous mrrr that you don't need to be magic to translate. In the kitchen, when you put your head around the door, Sharon is shaking nuggets off a baking tray. "They're still hot, little man," she tells you, and you sit down and whine at her sadly. You have to whine for at least two minutes before she's put all the nuggets on a plate, then the tray in the sink, then checked that the oven was turned off, then eaten several nuggets herself, then held one up for you. You definitely remember this trick: you lean back on your haunches and sit up straight, your front paws pressed together against your chest. You wag very hopefully. All humans like this trick. She likes the trick. She goes, "Huh," and tosses you the nugget. You snap it out of the air and then have to do a pleased victory dance because it is delicious. "Bel, she's giving out treats," you call. "Eat the cat later!"
"I wasn't eating the cat, I was trying to communicate with it!" you retort indignantly. You're running to join him as you say it, though. "Oh my god, those smell amazing." You join his victory dance just because chicken nuggets.
"Whoah, whoah, settle down, boys, this kitchen isn't that big— settle— SIT!" Sharon says. You slide off Bel's shoulders and go sit. She gives you another nugget. Your ensuing victory dance is much more restrained. "You're well trained," she remarks. "I bet someone really misses you two sweethearts."
You indicate with your nose that you have not had a nugget yet. She holds it up like she expects you to do something, but you don't want to jump for it because you might knock her over. You try making a polite 'boof' sound.
He gets the nugget. You go "Really?" because it was not that impressive a performance, and sit up again to beg. You get a nugget, as well you should. "I guess I should be a little more systematic," Sharon says. "Hm... Okay, sit." She points. After you go sit where she points, she runs you through come, go, beg, speak, and shake. When she asks you to roll over you refuse. You have your dignity. "Now you, big boy," she says to Bel.
You perform the same series of tasks, including refusing to roll over. She makes a little circling motion with the nugget. You do a backflip.
"Oh my god," you say. "Oh my god," Sharon says. She does the circling motion again, then laughs delightedly. "You two are circus dogs or something, aren't you! My goodness. Here, you earned this." She gives him several nuggets at a time. You put your ears back in indignation. You can't do a backflip, but Sharon can't either! Most people can't do backflips. This is completely unfair. "Alright, that's enough, I'm still hungry," she says, and pulls her plate back. "Good boys. Go on, now. Shoo. Go. That's right. We'll figure out what to do with you after lunch." You return to the livingroom and the somewhat intimidating company of Potato. You make sure Bel, in all his ridiculous backflipping glory, is between you and the cat.
You roll on your back and laugh at him with your paws flopped in the air. "I got more nuggets than you," you tease.
