on me when I’m a lieutenant. Because I think by that time, I can say I’ve earned the right to have this on me.”
“Sure.” Bear broke out into a wide grin. “I’m actually opening up my own shop in a little bit down by the pier. Signed the lease today, so when you’re ready, or if you want to get any tattoo, come find me at 415 Ink. I’ll be looking for you.”
Hair of the Dog
This serialized series is dedicated to anyone
who has grabbed one of my books and fallen in love with Dude.
Okay, it’s for everyone who has ever gotten one of my books.
Because you are the reason for all of this.
I treasure that.
Beyond measure.
So thank you.
One
“HELLO, DEFENDER of the Concrete Squirrel.”
It was a silly name, but the bulldog took it on with a great seriousness. Apparently the people he called his considered the squirrel an important part of their lives, so he in turn honored them by defending it. It was better than the human-name given to him. Roscoe. A noise at best, and a harsh one. It probably meant something in human language, but I didn’t know what. They rarely discussed their language with us, and mostly it centered around food or toys.
And beatings. Some humans liked to chase away the Pack’s members, as if they had dominion over the ground they squatted on.
It is one thing to be territorial but quite another to be cruel.
Much like the name Roscoe.
“Hello, Chinatown Gypsy Walker.” Defender snuffled a greeting through the chain link fence surrounding his property. Another silly human thing, running a line of tall metal around an area as if they can keep it safe from anything outside coming in. It would be an easy enough fence to scale, or if I were something other than Pack, fly or crawl under, but that would be disrespectful to the bulldog, so I stayed on my side of the silly webbing. “Where are you going today?”
“I am heading down to the end path there. I have found a human I like. I’ll be staying there for my life.” His shock flavored the air, and I sniffed at it, wondering what was such a surprise. I cocked my head at him, pulling my ears forward. “Why the strangeness? Did you think I will give up my roaming? The one I’ve found needs a roamer. He stays inside too much. He’ll need me to bring the outside in.”
“Does he like you?” The bulldog furrowed its brow and I wondered if he’d spent too much time with his humans, as he looks more like one of them when he speaks. But then, thinking back on all the bulldogs I have known, most of the breed were like that. A mass of wrinkles, worry, and defending odd things.
“He feeds me. And when he does walk outside, he goes to the food place on the corner and buys me a sandwich. Just for me.” I catch the scent of a cat on the wind. It is nearby but not one I know. If I hadn’t been on my way to home, I would seek it out, but there are things to do. I had to find my newly claimed human and mark him as mine—an easy task since I’d avoided at least three rains since I’d last seen him so I reeked of my scent. “So, you will see me with him. I thought I should tell you I would be in the area and hope to be good Pack to you.”
“Wait, I know that one. He looks like he owns a cat.”
“He is a cat,” I assert. “But I can work with that. Wish me luck. It will be a hard thing with him, but I am determined.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Defender asks as I turn away.
“Because he is sad inside,” I reply, elated the bulldog did not draw a line of aggression between us. It would be difficult to live near him if he had. “And because, Defender, he deserves to live better than the death he’s chosen for himself.”
Two
THE DEAD squirrel was the final straw.
Okay, stepping in it had been the final straw, but that counted as finding it, especially when the thing squeaked and spurted when Miki’s foot came down on its slightly depressed corpse.
“Fuck! Shit.” His howl echoed through the empty half of the garage, and Miki hopped off the squirrel, shaking his foot. Turning, he banged his elbow on the garage door, rattling its slats and