Max sparked a flame from his Zippo and lit the joint, inhaling the first toke of the evening.
He, Brad and Maile were relaxing on Gus's porch, taking a breather from a wild rehearsal session. Hand-made with beads and yogurt-cups, a string of lamps hung wrapped around a large overhanging porch awning, smothered with ivy and dry moss. Max, Brad & Maile's eyes illuminated with numerous colorful lights. The night was calm, collected and mellow. A light breeze swept briefly against Maile's ruffled skirt, Brad's long shaggy fur and Max's dreads, untied, dangling freely. Max held ganja smoke in for as long as he was capable, then exhaled from his nostrils, expelling twin smoke fumes in separate directions. He held the joint at eye-level and coughed madly, cupping his mouth with a clenched fist. His ringed tail smacked against the chair he sat in. Brad and Maile smiled, exchanging humorous glances. The shep-coon breathed in deep, inhaling the warm summer air, teeming with a crisp scent of pine and cedar, then hawked and spat a large luger into the endless darkness of nightfall. 
"Have at that, Maile. You won't regret a moment of it, I guarantee you." Max said, voice croupy and low. Maile reached out and grasped the small rolled-up ganja-stick between her finger-paws delicately.
"Thank you." She said, proceeding to take a toke. One led to two, consecutively inhaled. She held the roach up to her face, watching tiny embers glowing a fierce orange, similar to the color of her fur. She smiled and looked at Brad, nodding approvingly. "Yeah, dude. This is the stuff, alright." 
Brad chuckled, clapping his hand-paws victoriously. "See? I told you my supplier delivers only the best product around!"
Max hung his head down, waving his arms freely. "You sure we won't, like, totally freak the fuck out or anything, man?" Max asked, even though his tone held no hint of immediate panic or worry. He commented jokingly, as if he'd said the funniest thing.
"No, man. We're going to experience a completely mellow high… for now, at least. Don't worry though. You won't try to hug any trees or mate with mountain lions or anything." Brad said, pinching the joint between his slender finger-paws and inhaling another deep toke. Max and Maile stared in perplexed wonder as their fellow hybrid and guitarist burnt the joint right down to less than a centimeter of spent roach. He put the tiny nub in a glass pipe's bowl and handed it to Max, who finished it off with his Zippo. Then Bradley blinked rapidly and realized he'd been hallucinating a bit, still holding the roach between his finger-paws, now extinguished of all smoke. 
"Holy fuck-nuts!" Max said, cracking up with robust laughter. "Damn dude, we should've brought a roach-clip for your bitch-ass!" 
Maile held a large pair of clamping tweezers up, winking at Max. "Way ahead of you, shep-coon." Max laughed, nodding, swinging his arms through the air in semi-circular motions at Maile. She knew her way around the pothead's formality, no doubt!
Brad expelled smoke through his mouth, teeth clenched and fully exposed, reaching out to grasp at the medical utensil. He nodded his thanks to Maile and pulled the clip open, propping the small roach against its fine-tipped tongs and clipped a firm grip against a tiny rippled edge of rolling paper. Brad sat back in his seat and crossed his legs, letting his free arm fall to his side as he held the tweezers up to his lips. Maile's eyes glowed and she snapped her fingers, causing a tiny flame to burst free sporadically in front of Brad, illuminating the joint. Brad gasped, laughed and smoked down the last of the roach. 
"So what did y'all think of tonight's rehearsal session? I enjoyed it, for one. Max, you've got a good thing going with that new rhythm. Very smooth. Funky, even. I think it's quite experimental, even by grunge standards. Let's follow through with that, play it by ear and see where it leads us."
"I think your face looks more experimental than my bass-riff, but thanks for that anyways." Max said, stifling laughter. Maile's eyes widened and glowed green as she stared behind Max, face painted with avid shock and awe. Max cocked his head at her, blatantly confused. "Mai-Mai, what are you fuckin' looking at, chica?"
Maile stared, silent and as still as a gargoyle, for what seemed like a large chunk of minutes. She then shook her head and reached up to adjust her hair behind her ram-horns. "Nothing. I thought I saw somebody behind you, that's all."
Max flinched and looked back behind him, causing Maile to laugh aloud, hand-paws pressed against her belly, hooves flung out from beneath her chair, jaw hinged open in a wide-lipped smile.
"Girl, don't say that! Seriously… I get so paranoid when I smoke… this shit… hey, Maile, when did you dye your hair?" Max said, squinting.
Brad rolled his eyes, scoffing aloud while pinching at his nose. "She didn't, dumb-ass. It’s the reflection from these lights. Do you really think she'd dye her hair… in a rain… bow…" Brad stared wide-eyed at Max's eyepatch. It appeared to be… alive. Brad saw a tiny eyeball protruding from its surface, staring right back at him, casting a deviant grin from the folds of its orange cloth. Brad shook his head, looked once more and saw nothing. 
"You guys are so dumb. Jeez, it doesn't take long for you to get super-stoned, does it? Hey Max! Open your eye as wide as you can!" Maile said, pointing to the shep-coon. Max honored her request and barely got his eye open half-way, corneas muddled down with a thick yellowish hue, jaundiced. Maile laughed, patting her knee. "Just as I thought."
~
All at once, things began to get weird.
Maxwell looked up at the stars, the vast expanse of galaxies layered upon stars in the millions. A shooting star passed by and he flinched, eye wide with wonder. He felt his head capsizing upon itself and his heart sped up faster with each passing moment, rendering his body into sweet bitter entropy. His limbs felt nonexistent. The night echoed with the crying rills of crickets by the hundreds. Somewhere near a swampy pond, a group of bull toads croaked and ribbited out loud, piercing the soft silence of the evening. Max imagined a large toad with three eyes and five legs hopping across the sky, leaving its own burning effulgence behind its large stubby legs, a green trail of slime and pond-scum, scented with the aroma of vanilla and ylang ylang. He giggled at the thought, which caused Brad to look at him, pondering what could possibly be so funny. Brad pondered in his mind, but heard himself as crisp and clear as could be. Brad wondered what Max would look like if he suddenly sprouted ram-horns from his head, similar to Maile. A shep-goat-coon hybrid, anyone? Brad also wondered how Max might have looked as a young cub, buck-toothed and as lanky as a beanpole. Brad rolled another joint, keeping the herb tucked tightly in a line within Zig-Zag paper, wondering what would've happened if he had been born into Max's family and Max born into Brad's family, how radically different their circumstances would've been up to now, wondering if they would've ever met Gus or Maile or Sammy or Sin or-
"WOAH!!!" Max yelled aloud, standing up from his chair with violent aggressiveness, knocking it down onto its back. Brad flinched and reeled back from the shep-coon, ravaging in a delirious fit of… what? Insanity? Self-expression? A drug high? Sleep deprivation? Maile laughed her ass off, falling off her chair, laying on her side. The smooth polished wood of the porch rubbed against her fur as Maile grasped for breath, still laughing obnoxiously at Max's psycho-trip. Not even five seconds later, Maile felt dead weight press against her back. She looked back furtively and saw her pet GSD Sammy. He was attempting to mount the panda-hybrid. Maile had fallen down and landed in a position that her dog had deemed sexually vulnerable. The idea that Maile would let her dog fuck her raw in front of a spastic outburst from Max and Brad's horrified reaction caused the panda-girl to cackle hysterically. As she rolled on the ground braying aloud, most likely inhaling dust aplenty but caring less, she was shocked to feel her mouth filled with a warm fleshy phallic rod of some sort. Her gag reflex reacted and she moaned, trying to cough, to no avail. Sammy was in a deep rut and he saw an ideal opportunity for swift release in the form of his master's dog-dick-loving-whore maw. 
~
Gus opened up the fridge, removed an O'Douls, twisted the cap free from the bottle and took a long healthy swig, downing half the brewsky. He lowered the bottle, caught a breath, licked his lips and belched aloud, giggling to himself at the decibel levels of that one, hot damn! He adjusted his shirt collar and rubbed his ginger-scruffy cheek and balding head as he slid open a glass door leading to the back porch, intent on relaxing alongside his musicians and dearest friends - adopted children, even. Instead he was treated to Maxwell moshing with absolutely nobody else but himself, Bradley dancing like a mad gypsy around a lit candle and Maile half-naked, down on her knees, gasping for air and moaning, getting pounded quite rough by Sammy. 
Clearing his throat, rolling his eyes and returning back into the house, Gus slid the glass door shut. As the outside world was cut off from the inside world, so too were the sounds. Gus smirked, dimmed the blinds and left his pseudo-children to their own fucked-up vices. Hippie waltzing? Interspecies erotica? Some random fucked-up kung fu practice? Gus doubted they'd remember anything come the following morning. Marijuana is a hell of a drug, after all, especially when laced with Moxxy and LSA. Brad had his beautiful girlfriend to thank for that tiny little addition to an already good thing. Later, the fennec-collie hybrid would have an in-depth discussion (and maybe a nookie session or two) with Callie, his Saluki mate.