by Rhys Ford
“Um, no?” It took him a bit to realize she was still waiting for him to answer her question. Odd since she’d not paused for more than a second as she chirruped and sang her way through the living room and across the couch where he’d shoved himself to hide from her assault.
First thing he was going to do was get very thick doors for the room he’d plopped his bed in. Really thick doors. That locked. Maybe even bolted from the inside with a heavy wooden bar like he was expecting an orc raid or perhaps Smaug. Eyeing her frightful mop of red curls as it bobbed and wove about her heart-shaped face, Miki wasn’t so sure even those types of doors would hold her back.
“You need to come home with us,” Brigid declared, pronouncing a death sentence on him in her cheery Lucky-Charms accent. “Quinn can come get us. I’ll go pack up some of your clothes—”
“Shit, no!” Miki was up off the couch before he realized he still had a plate of food in his lap. The cabbage thing he’d been picking at hit the carpet by Dude’s nose. Gleefully, the terrier snapped it up in a single gulp, quickly rising up to hoover his way through the remains of Miki’s dinner.
No carried absolutely no weight. Hell, even the dog didn’t look up from his food slurping when Miki shouted. Although, he frowned down at the terrier, the grilled sprouts were probably going to revisit them all later. Miki was still reeling from the gaseous cloud of death the dog emitted after he’d gotten a mouthful of kimchee.
“Shit, kimchee’s cabbage. Everything on that damned plate’s cabbage. Is she trying to make sure I fart off the bed? Kane’s going to love—shit, where did she go?” Miki looked around, shocked to find himself alone in the living room with what was obviously going to be a furry ticking time bomb of mustard gas in a few hours. A fluff of red hair near his unmade bed stuttered his heart to a dead stop, and Miki knew he’d die of cardiac arrest long before the dog’s sulfurous ass got him.
Especially when Brigid held up the half-empty bottle of lube he’d hastily shoved under his pillow and asked, “Should I pack only this one? Or do you think you boys are going to need more?”
Five and a Half
THERE IS someone new in the house.
I, as the Dude, am responsible for checking out the intrusion. The duties of the name Dude are loosely defined. Unlike my other names—like the most recently obtained Cat Squat Sand Scrounger—Dude is not so much a description of my status among the others in the global Pack but rather my Miki-given status as I share his life and den.
Dude—such a short noise—but it comes with tremendous responsibilities.
I take these responsibilities very seriously. My first and foremost responsibility is to Miki, my human.
When I first moved into our home, he was hurt someplace too deep inside of himself for me to lick clean.
That is the problem with humans.
They get hurt too deep inside of themselves, and sometimes their souls bleed out of wounds they can’t see.
When I first found my human, I knew he’d been bleeding out for a while. I just didn’t know he was hemorrhaging—the wounds went that deep.
Kane helped. More than helped. Kane was a staunch on his wounds—those ones I couldn’t reach. Together we scraped and pushed our human until he moved about. Miki ate the food Kane brought him. I could ask for no better hunter than Kane. Miki no longer smelled of salt and chemicals, and his eyes weren’t dead anymore.
That is what worried me the most. One’s body—human or dog—could be flopping about fine in the grass, but once the eyes go dead, the time for their soul to leave is near, and not even the body can keep it contained.
I was very concerned about that. I didn’t want Miki to leave me. Humans should not burn as brightly and as quickly as Pack. They live longer because they see so little, live so little. They need more time to fully become themselves, and oftentimes, they don’t make it—even when they are given ten Pack lives to live.
It is a sad thing to be human. The world must be a drenched, watery place with no smells, and their eyesight—it would have been better for them if they were born blind so their other senses could develop better. Instead, they are milky shadows in the world, sliding around hoping to suck up anything they can and call it living.
Of course, I also get the feeling they believe they are in domination of the world. Which is silly, because how can a living thing own a rock? A rock will be here long after the living thing becomes dust again.
Miki is not like that. Kane is a little bit like that with the collars and baths and noise names, but I humor him. He did after all help me fix Miki.
But this new one—in the house. Smelling of things that are familiar yet are not. He is bigger than Kane. They smell alike, but this one is more seasoned. Gruffer in some ways, but when I ask him for food, he gives me finely minced steak, and once, even cow bones covered in fat and gristle.
It’s a good human who knows gristle is the way to a dog’s heart.
This one knows.
“Con, I’m fine. I don’t need you to check up on me just because Kane’s at work.” Miki speaks to the one who’s come. They have already spoken at the door, and for a moment, I thought I would have to bite the One-That-Is-Not-Kane, because he was insisting on coming into the house and Miki wasn’t happy about it.
Never bite a human that gives you food, was my dam’s second lesson to me. It is a good lesson. One I follow strictly because people like smiling, happy dogs. I like a full belly, so it works out. I didn’t want to bite… Con, his name is Con—but I would if I had to. Anything for Miki.
Sometimes rules are meant to be broken. And I knew Miki would protect me from harm if I had to defend him.
For a catlike human, Miki is quite loyal.
“He loves you, y’git,” Con rumbles, his voice as deep as the Dane’s down the street. “K asked me to come by because he’s worried about you. Wanted to make sure you ate and got some sleep.”
“A phone call wouldn’t have done that?” Miki growls. He pushes back, shoving his personality at the other man. He was good at that. Shoving and skipping away. “Besides, I’ve got Dude.”
I wagged my tail. They like it when a dog wags their tail upon hearing the noise they’ve given him. I’m not sure why. There’s rarely any play attached to the sound, but oftentimes it means food, so tail-wagging I go.
In this case, Miki pets my head as I jump up onto the couch so I could put my paws on the back cushions and look up at Con without hurting my neck. He is llama-tall, and I nearly choke off my breath looking up at him all the time. Kane too. Both of them are much too tall for the average dog to look up at. And unlike Q, they don’t squat to talk to me.
He’s left the door open, probably to shove Con out of it when he’s done. Outside, the giant black car Con drives is chugging away, one of its doors left open and its lights splashing up against the outside of the house. I like Kane’s machine better. We go riding in it, and I get my own window to lean out of. It is nice.
“Dude isn’t going to get you fed,” Con points out.
I beg to differ. I get hungry and Miki eats too, sometimes. In a way, I feed him the best I can. It’s not my fault he eats things crows wouldn’t touch.
“So you’re here to what? Cook me dinner?” Miki replies. He does sarcasm well. I can smell its strong odor on his words.
“No, I am here to take you for Mexican food.” Con jerks his head back to the open door. “Come on, jump in and I can tell K I’ve done my brotherly duty. Or would you rather he send our mum the next time?”
Miki eyes him, disgusted at something. Petting my head, he replies slowly, “Only if Dude can come with. And he gets a taco.”
He has said a magic word. I am off the couch and up into the huge car before I can hear Con’s response. It doesn’t matter because Miki is following me and my stomach is twisting up in anticipation.
“You know most dogs know sit and stay,” Con says when he gets up into the elephant he calls a car. “Your dog knows taco.”
“H
e also knows mac and cheese,” Miki says with a grin, pulling himself up. “But if you want me to eat, you’ve got to feed my dog too. That’s the deal. Even Kane knows that one.”
My dog. I puff up at the description. Miki’s Dog. Dude’s human. Those are lovely names. And Miki knows them both.
I shall have to add Eater of Tacos to my names, but honestly, Dude is all I really need. Because it holds so damned much—and all in a single noise.
Six
THE HOUSE was—as the young woman who’d just finished scratching my belly put it—awesome sauce.
I wasn’t sure what kind of sauce would be awesome sauce, but I imagined it would probably be like the yummy goodness of steak gravy over bacon.
Mostly because there’d just been bacon, and despite Miki’s disgust at my perfectly natural body expulsions, there’d been belly rubs galore.
Also… cats. Because the Pack knew I love cats. They are like small grumpy cousins who really need to be teased out of their unhappiness. Sunbeams are all well and good, but really, the world would be a better place for all of us if they’d just realize sometimes it’s the tail wag and baring teeth in that odd way humans do that gets the treat at the end of the day.
Cats think differently. They’re still harping about how they were once gods. No good reminding them about the whole witch’s familiar thing or how they could steal a baby’s breath myth. It was all about the time when humans got together, lit some candles, and chanted over their fat furry asses.
My human was definitely rubbing off on me.
The house had a definite Pack leader. He was bigger than the others, older, and barked deeper when he spoke. Not that he spoke through most of the high-pitched jumping squees the young belly-rubber did near my Miki, but he certainly provided a good wall for Miki when my human took a few steps back. Donal, the dam called him. More noises, and they probably meant something too, but really, what does it all mean? Names are so fluid, and humans seemed very attached to only a few sounds when they spoke to each other. Even their Pack names were short grunts. Dad. Mom. Who communicated that way?
What chaos it has to be when a human stands in a crowd and shouts Mom or Dad. How many humans turn around because that’s the noise someone makes for them?
Silliness. Silliness everywhere.
“So, ye’re Duke, eh? Ye don’t look much like a Duke to me. But that’s what Brae says yer name is.”
I wanted to tell him, no—that’s not the noise for me, but well—I wasn’t made for talking.
Ah, the pater’s shadow crossed over me as he sat down on the squat soft couch thing next to me. If I were superstitious like a fool cat, I’d have to wait a turn of time, then race around the house to get the shadow’s dirt off of me—preferably as quickly and as erratically as possible so it couldn’t find me again, but… I am not a cat.
Besides, he’d brought more bacon with him.
“The family’s going to be making ye as fat as a cow if they keep feeding ye the way they are.” He helped a bit with the cow transformation by snipping a piece of bacon off and holding it up for me to nibble. I licked his hand in thanks. Also, to encourage him to cough up the rest of it. He obliged, a little bit at a time.
“Yer Miki’s looked a little shell-shocked, but no worries, we’ll be taking care of him too.” Another bacon nibble and he scratched at the spot between my back and neck I could only reach when I rubbed up against the stiff chair in Miki’s den.
The bacon was too much. I’d already had the meat from a bone—a lot of meat too—as well as those cabbage things Miki dropped, more smaller cabbage things, a fluffy biscuit or maybe three from the plate Kane made for himself but forgot on the table long enough for me to get something off of it, and a few ham slices from the first belly scratcher I’d met. The bacon definitely was way too much for my stomach to handle and I belched, tasting the fried yumminess on my breath.
The thump Donal gave me on the side of my ribs didn’t help either, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t hold it back. One of the snootier cats pawed at me from her perch on a table, and I turned my head her way, not wanting to foul my relationship with a man who clearly knew well enough to bring me bacon when he had some.
The cat said something—probably about my mother, because cats aren’t inventive in their insults—and slashed at me again. This time, however, she connected and scraped my nose with her claw. Her smug look lasted nearly as long as the bacon did, because I cocked my head up—and threw up all over her.
Seven
“WHAT TIME is it?” Kane fumbled to reach his phone. It was going off—an alarm of some kind. Musical but soft. “Fucking Connor probably changed my ringer again. What the hell is that?”
The bed smelled—familiar. Good familiar, but the sheets were cold. So were his toes. And his shoulders. His ass wasn’t much warmer, and there was a significant breeze hitting said ass and other bared parts of his body. One appendage he was quite fond of complained mightily of the chilly San Francisco air hitting it, and it curled up in on itself, refusing to bear the cold evening outside of the warm hollow between his thighs.
“Yer a coward, ye are,” Kane informed his dick as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from a nearby chair. Thankfully, they were his and not Miki’s, snugging up against his relieved cock. “Happy now? Shit, why the hell is it so cold in here? And—fuck, wind?”
He swallowed the panic choking his throat. Blinking, Kane snapped his mind around to where they’d spent the night. Miki’d been driven out of the warehouse like a sheep being led to the slaughter, and Kane’s own mother was the border collie nipping at his heels until he went through the gate.
“God, he’s going to kill me if she doesn’t let him go.” Kane threw his eyes up to the heavens to beseech any listening guardian angel without anything to do. “If yer listening, God, please let me mother understand he’s not one to be cuddled. I don’t want to be pulling him off the ceiling whenever she comes near him, because that’s surely what I’ll be doing if she doesn’t stop.”
“You talk like your dad when you’re sleepy.” The music stopped as Miki’s voice rasped out of a shadowy corner of the room. “More… Irish. Like you’re selling me soap or cereal.”
“Hey, there ye are.” He rubbed at his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the soft ambient light coming from the street. The loft-style apartment his father’d built behind the garage was a good enough size to hold the odd piece of furniture, and definitely large enough for shadows to cluster in its corners. Miki’d found one of those darker spots and peered out from its safety, cradling a now silent acoustic guitar. “Door open for a reason? Yer too hot?”
“Nah, dog had to piss. Then he came in, but I lost track of time. Fuck, it’s freezing in here.” Miki set the guitar down gently against the wall. Its strings hummed when his fingers slid over them one final time, a faint goodbye until they were reunited. He limped as he made his way back to the bed, his knee stiff and unresponsive. Kane caught him before he stumbled over his own feet, and Miki blistered the air with a hot curse. “Damn it.”
“Why don’t you get back into bed?” Kane kissed the top of Miki’s head. “I’ll close the door.”
“And hell, now you’re really awake.” Miki practically launched himself at the mattress, burrowing down into the cooled-off sheets. “Hell, these are cold too. What’s the use of a boyfriend if he doesn’t keep the sheets warm?”
“Is that what I am, then? A boyfriend?” He said it teasingly, but as Kane closed the door, he found himself waiting for Miki’s answer. The anticipation was sharp, a razor poised over his heart, waiting to plunge into him.
“Yeah? Shit, I don’t know. What do guys call each other?” With the door closed, Kane turned to watch Miki tugging and fighting with the bed linens. There was no momentous moment dangling in front of them for the singer. No, he was more concerned with staving off the cold than breaking Kane’s heart. “Didn’t we talk about this already?”
“Not really, no. Some. A bit,” Ka
ne admitted softly as he approached the bed. “But not in so many words.”
“So that’s a no-yes-maybe?” Miki yawned and yelped when Dude jumped up onto the bed. “Dog, watch the nose. That fucking thing is colder than… hell, whatever cold thing I can’t think of right now. And yeah, pretty sure we’d said something or—hell. Look, K, you and I both know I suck at this. Can’t we just cut through all the bullshit emo-feelings thing and just call it so I can go back to sleep? Do I use boyfriend or not?”
“Yeah,” Kane replied, getting onto his hands and knees to crawl over Miki’s slender body. “Boyfriend it is, then, Mick. But let’s not go back to sleep just yet. From the way you shiver under me, feels like you could use some more warming up. Here, let your boyfriend be helping you with that.”
Eight
I’D BEEN on the fence—a good phrase borrowed from the cats—about Kane’s dam. She was excitable, much like a Jack Russell I knew, and like that particular terrier, her bite was far worse than her bark. And by all that is smelly and ripe, they both could bark.
Any fence sitting I was on was over. She’d somehow taken offense to my morning frolic and trapped me into yet another cold, bright room that stunk of flowers, cleansers, and fresh linens. These weren’t the linens on a soft, fluffy bed. No, these were thirsty, raspy things that, while fragrant, signaled only one thing to a dog.
A human was going to scrub off every damned calling card, scent, and trace of a dog’s existence from his fur and skin.
So no, I wasn’t too thrilled about Kane’s dam.
Especially since she’d lured me in with bacon, then shut the door behind me.
A dog is used to betrayal. It happens every day. People leave—sometimes forever. People die before we’re ready for them to go. And sometimes they do mean things like pretend to throw a toy to be fetched only to hold on to it and laugh while we go looking for it.