“Did you pray, Adahy?”  The infirmed coyote asked her son as he sat by her side, kneeling in a chair to sit and hold her hand.  

The sickening scent of ammonia, bleach, window cleaner, feces, rot, and death combined in his sensitive-albeit-runny nose as he sniffled.  “Y-yes mama.”  She’d been in the God-awful place for what felt like forever to the young man, a few weeks’ worth without breakfast, without his lunch packed, without dinner at home took their toll on the boy.  

It wasn’t about meals, of course.  Bill had kept him fed well enough; tv dinners and pizza, but they didn’t come from mama.  She cooked his breakfast because she loved him, when he went through his lunch in the middle of every day it was a reminder of that.  He’d come home and do his chores straight away so she could have all the time she needed to do the other things that Bill and him needed and perhaps couldn’t do themselves, and while she cooked he would do his homework at the kitchen table and tell her about his day while they waited for Bill to get home from work.

Without her, home there was a loneliness that soaked through every day as he was left to care for himself.  His sister, a rail-thin coydog with light brown hair and more ‘yote in her features than anything else, was trying her best to fill their mom’s shoes for the time being.  She was miserable at it, unable to cook, operate the washing machine, or even wash dishes on her own.  The longer things went on and she didn’t manage to pick it up, the more frustrated Bill became.  

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One night in late February he came home later than usual.  Doug sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, watching an old rerun of The Andy Griffith show.  He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but the wholesome Americana was the kind of thing that his mother preferred him to watch.  Besides, there was nothing else on.  Amanda had taken her shower and gone to bed a long time ago, but Doug stayed up, waiting on their father and the small vestige of security that even Bill could bring to his son.  

The screen door swung open loudly, the rusted springs and hinges screaming in their disrepaired agony.  Bill stepped in, one strap of his overalls jungling against his back as his heavy bootfalls shook the thin floors.  The linoleum at the door showed how the rotten wood beneath sunk in with his every stumbling step.  He didn’t even bother kicking his boots off before walking to the living room where Doug was, barely shooting his son a glance before stepping over him to get to his chair.  

Doug turned back, watching his father fall into the worn and stained outline in the cushions from years of use.  The muck on his boots was almost ankle-high and dripping, the smell almost powerful enough to mask the sour radiation of body odor from him.  The filthy dog stared at the television for what seemed like a long while, his eyes red and dull, almost like he was sleeping but not.  He took a deep breath, the first time Doug had noticed him breath at all since he came in, before releasing a deep, whiskey-scented sigh.  

“Dad let’s ya go huntin’ when ya stay upit his place, don’t he?”  Bill said in an almost accusatory tone, shifting his weight in his seat uncomfortably.  

“Y-yeah…”  Doug replied, turning back to face the television.  

“He ever let you go by yourself?”  His boots thudded against the floor as he finally kicked them off, showing his plantigrade paws.  

“Once or twice.  I don’t go far off though.”  Doug said defensively, not knowing if he was in trouble or not.  

“Ever go at night?”  Doug hesitated to answer this time. 

Granpa had let him go once, but together.  He used a flashlight, but Doug didn’t really need it.  The stars were out and the moon was full, and if he let his eyes adjust just a little bit, it was almost bright as daytime.  Even if it had’ve been that dark, he could always follow his own tracks home by the trail of his own scent that followed him.  Granpa had said that his eyes and nose were young and sharp, and someday he’d need a flashlight too.  But he didn’t now.  “Yeah.  Granpa won’t let me go by myself yet, though.  And not without a flashlight.”  

“Well that’s just silly.”  Bill chuckled a strange, sick chuckle as he drunkenly feigned whatever emotion he thought was appropriate at the time. “You’ve got your Ma’s eyes.  How’d you like to go out now?”

Doug’s ears perked up.  He’d tried to talk his parents into buying him a rifle for the last three years, ever since the first time Granpa had taken him squirrel hunting.  Since they’d never had one before now, and his dad wanted to go hunting, that meant… He jumped up and tackled his dad, bouncing on his chest.  “Does this mean you finally got me a rifle daddy?!  Is it a Marlin like Granpa’s?

Bill put a hand on his back and gave him a few pats, a paltry substitute for a hug.  “Nah, nah.  I ain’t got you one of those things yet.  But…”  He pushed the pup off of his chest, to his feet on the floor.  “Go outside and have a look in the passenger seat of your dad’s truck.  And don’t come back till you’ve got yourself somethin’ for breakfast, got it?”  He smiled down at his son and patted the back of his head a little rougher than he meant to.  

That didn’t matter though.  Doug was ecstatic, his tail whipping behind him and his ears at full-mast.   “Okay!”  He ran outside, bare digi paws  hitting the gravel as he ran around to the passenger side of his dad’s truck.  He had to do some climbing to get to the door handle on his own, but he finally did, and once inside he found the shiny plastic card shrink-wrapped around something else he’d had his eye on for a long time.  

The stainless steel arms, the shiny black plastic, the folding wrist brace for added stability… this was his slingshot!  And in the seat beside it was a bag of what had to be a hundred extra ball bearings that were really shiny, so they had to be stainless steel.  His young mind was too excited to think anything was strange about this, and as he shoved the bag of metal balls into his pants pocket and hopped down out of the truck, all he had on his mind was what he could find out at night.  

He roamed the darkness of the woods for what felt like hours.  He always felt safe being on his own out there in the daytime.  He could smell almost everything before it came up on him, letting him get closer to deer, wild pigs, and even feral coyotes than he probably ever should have been.  He’d even managed to sneak up on his grandad a few times, which earnestly impressed the old war dog.  He felt at home with his feet buried in mud, with branches and leaves caressing him and thorns grabbing his fur as all manners of nits, chiggers, and begger lice hitched rides in his coat and on his clothes.  The air that filled his lungs seemed fuller than it ever as at school or in town.  He felt fleeter and lighter on his feet; faster and stronger.  His mother said it was just confidence of a young man, his father said he had too much wild in him, whatever that meant.  Granpa said it was somewhere in the middle, that he was made for the woods and that made him a little too uppity sometimes.  

Now, at night, he felt like he owned the woods.  He could see fairly well, but not as well as nocturnal animals.  That didn’t matter, though, because his nose led him wherever he wanted to go.  He was able to find a couple of hutches, a gopher hole, and a thicket of a few dozen trees that seemed to have a drey in each one, but everything was asleep.  At best he could hope to find a feral pig, but as overconfident as he was he still wasn’t dumb enough to go hog-hunting with a slingshot.   He headed home, much slower than he went out.  His trail was somewhat faint, but even without his own trail he could scent his way home by the unnatural smell of the treated lumber his dad liked to bring home from work for firewood.   

When he emerged from the treeline the sun was barely starting to peek over the hills and through the trees.  A faint orange glow filled the sky, and he giggled as he noticed the mist from his breath for the first time in the new light.  He bounded across the yard, his fluffed tail bouncing behind him.  Bill’s truck was gone, so he must have been gone longer than he’d thought.  He opened the door slowly, hoping to be quiet, but it only stretched out the groan of dry metal on dry rusty metal, making him shiver.  He let the door just shut on its own behind him, giving up on the sneaky route.  If Amanda was going to wake up she was awake by now.  

The pup yawned and stowed his slingshot in his back pocket as he made his way across the house and down the hall.  Before he made it to his room though, he passed by his sister’s room, door ajar and bed empty.  He heard the shower running and guessed she was inside, but as he walked by he saw that that door was ajar as well.  He smirked, and nudged the door open, not about to turn down a situation to get one over on his big sister, especially since she had such a habit of using her size to wrestle him down and tickle him into submission.  

He poked his head into the bathroom, peeking around the door to see if she was watching or not.  She was sitting, somewhat hunched in the shower.  Her Disney Rapunzel beach towel was draped over her completely, and steam rose from all around her.  She always liked to take baths and do weird things to her hair. He pushed the door open and tiptoed in, being sure to step on the fuzzy mat to keep his claws from clacking on the floor.  He reached his hand out as he got nearer, his fingers wiggling as he neared arm’s reach, and finally with one last stretch, he grabbed the towel and ripped it from her head.  

Her wet hair flew everywhere in heavy, wet locks, falling across her face and down her shoulders.  She turned to face him in an instant, her left eye swollen shut and bleeding, her right puffy and bloodshot.  Her lip was cut wide, and she had claw marks all over her thin body.  She screamed, the loudest most bloodcurdling scream he’d ever heard, twisting her body in the tub and putting a heel across his chin.  

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July 12, 2013

Doug sat up like a bolt, yelping as his jaw stung with phantom pain.  Francine chitted loudly and swerved into the left lane, and over-corrected nearly putting them into a ditch before finally getting back in the road.  When she finally steadied her coydog companion was hunched over in the seat, his claws digging into the dashboard and his head between his legs.  His hackles were raised, the fur on his back and shoulders bristling through the thin, worn fabric of his shirt.  

“Baby?  Are you okay?”  She said as she glanced over between him and the road.  

“Y-yeah…”  He shook his head and sat back, rolling his shoulders as he stretched his neck out.  “How long have I been asleep, Frankie?”

“Um… three or four hours.. why?”  She asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye. 

“You should pull over and let me have a turn.  Take a leak, get some food, gas, let you rest up some before we meet the family.”  He popped his knuckles, then his neck, and leaned out the window, letting the air cool his face and dry away the cold sweat.  

“Yeah…”  She trailed off, feeling fairly safe watching him as they were alone on the dark highway, with no obstacles or other motorists in their way.  He hung halfway out the window, both arms resting on the window frame and his tail pinned beneath him.  

Francine pulled off at the nearest stop, a fairly large but isolated truck stop. Before she could shift into park Doug was out the window like Bo Duke.  She shook her head slightly and sighed as she turned the beast off and grabbed her purse to head in.  

Doug loped across the parking lot and into the built-in pancake house, slowing to a bouncy jog as he ran through and into the market section, to the back corner with the bathrooms.  The public restrooms were a simple one-room setup, no stalls or urinals, just a locking door with a single toilet and a sink.  He slung the door shut behind him, not bothering to lock it, and slapped the cold handle on the sink.  He shoved his head in the deep stainless steel sink, letting the cold water rush over his face, chilling him and giving him a painful rush.  He shivered and stood up, shaking his head dry violently as he gripped the edges of the sink tightly.  He stopped and looked himself in the mirror, his eyes red, tears pouring down his cheeks as he panted for breath, desperately choking sobs.  He bit his lip and released his grip on the sink, a whining growl sneaking out with every panting breath, he balled his fists, claws digging into his pads, but never breaking eye contact with himself.  

Francine sat in a window booth, her purse at her side as she picked at her breakfast: cheesecake pancakes, chorizo omelette, chicken fried steak, hash browns, and a glass of whole milk.  On the other side of the table was a grilled chicken ceasar and a glass of orange juice, for the man watching his figure.  She giggled a little looking at their meals.  She felt a little mean for eating like she did in front of him, but she had a figure to maintain too, after all.  

When Doug finally walked into the little diner portion he looked positively haggard.  She shook her head at him and sighed, glancing at the canned margarita in his hand, already open.  “You’re not gonna drive after drinking that…”  

He flopped down in the seat in front of her, hunching over his salad with a defeated look on his face.  “It’s got like… half a percent of alcohol in it… I’ll be fine.”  He fumbled for his fork, still looking a little asleep and still shaken.  

“Even without it, you don’t look fine.  Are you sure you’ll be up to driving?”  She shot him a worried look as she took another bite of her pancakes.  

“It was just a cruddy dream…”  He speared a forkful of his salad and took it into his maw.  “I’ll be okay once I get some coffee in me and get woke up.”  

“You’ve been having a lot of those cruddy dreams lately, babe…”  She stroked the inside of his leg with her footpaw, taking the last bite of her pancakes.  

“Yeah... well…  I guess getting settled and comfortable has let my head kinda start thinkin’ on old stuff…”  He took another swig of his faux-margarita to wash down his salad.  

“I understand.  When I was running around on my own I didn’t have much time to think about anything either.  But when the Wongs took me in, everything started coming into focus…”  She kicked her flip flops into the seat beside him and put her feet in his lap.  “It was really hard.  Just kind of… you keep going and you don’t know why, just… blind hope that things are gonna get better?  You push and you push, I mean, the stripper working her way through college thing…”  She laughed and leaned back in the bench, reclining as she started to eat her omelette.  “But things got better… I have family now.  Not just the Wongs, either, like, we’re going to Marblecliff to meet my real family!  How awesome is that?”  

Doug nodded and ate some more.  “That’s awesome, Frankie…”  His ears lowered a bit.  

“What?”  Her ears flickered and she started rubbing his belly with her paws, her nimble toes stroking his muscled stomach softly.  

“Just… I have the guys at the gym… and  you… and that’s it.  My mom’s family wouldn’t take me… my sister is in the wind… just… I want you to know how important you are to me, Francine.”  His hands wandered down to rub her paws as he stared into his salad.  Francine just smiled and ate her breakfast, letting herself get full.  He looked up into her eyes, and seeing her smile and the look on her face, she didn’t need to say it back.  He smiled and relaxed finally, taking one hand from her paws to continue eating. In six hours they’d be in Marblecliff, meeting her blood for the first time in more than a decade, and as a couple.  He was proud to get to be there for her for something so important.  He was proud that she was willing to bring him with her.  More than anything, he was just proud to be hers.  

THE END;
To Be Continued in Marblecliff

Andy Griffith Show belongs to CBS.  
Marlin firearms belongs to whoever the fuck they belong to, probably the Freedom Group
Bo Duke belongs to CBS