City Dogs

"C'mon, Papa, hurry! We have to get the biggest pile of leaves before the others get them!"

"I know, August, but slow down. You're going to trip," Papa chuckled, reaching down to ruffle my hair. "Those leaves aren't going anywhere."

"Yeah, but I still want to get the best pile before the other pups," I huffed, tugging my father's hand and pushing him out the door.

Papa let out an annoyed sigh, but his warm brown eyes twinkled with amusement. "Let's practice shifting, then," he suggested, closing the door and leading me back into the house. "Arms up, pup."

I stilled my jittering body and lifted my arms above my head, letting Papa easily take off my shirt. He then attacked my sides with tickles, and I squealed with giggles, trying to escape his grasp. I reached up to wiggle my own fingers on his stomach, and he feigned weakness, falling to the ground, where he lay, twitching.

I was about to shout out my victory when I remembered my original goal. "Come on, Papa, hurry! The leaves!" I reminded him sternly, tugging at his shirt.

He sighed once more, ridding himself of his clothes before helping me. "Alright. Just how I showed you last time, okay? Nice and easy, that's it..."

Papa's coaching walked me through the painful steps of my shift, his calm tone soothing my fear of getting stuck in mid-shift. Hair follicles opened up, bones rearranging and breaking to form the lean structure of a wolf. Papa said I was brave and strong and how he was so proud of me, his voice not letting up until I was completely wolf.

When I opened my eyes, the world around me looked different. My vision was heightened, although it was a bit difficult to get used to the new angle as I was human most of the time. I shuffled my paws, taking my time getting familiar with the feeling of having four limbs on the ground.

I turned to Papa, who was already shifted, his sleek fur a beautiful white and gray mix. He nuzzled my neck and started for the door, leading us through the small flap that abled wolves to come and go as they please.

The crisp autumn air hit me in full blast, a refreshing feeling after being cooped up in the warm pack house. My nose twitched, taking in the overwhelming scents of the pack grounds. I felt my wolf nudge their way to the front of my mind, and I welcomed them, reaching out shyly to brush against their fur.

I didn't know what type my wolf was. Papa said that when I turn eighteen I can finally meet my wolf. But I could hardly wait- eighteen was so far away! Papa said that I just had to wait thirteen more years, and then I can talk to my wolf.

I was sorta sad about that. I just wanted to know their name.

<Race you to the tree line.>

Papa's voice cut into my mind through the pack link, his tone taunting and competitive. He knew me too well; I could never give up a challenge, especially one that included racing. I took off, kicking up clumps of dirt, relishing the feeling of cool fall wind against my pelt. Papa caught up swiftly, his long legs experienced and elegant as he overtook me, but not by too much.

He always says something about "wanting to preserve my confidence and pride." Whatever that meant.

We ran across the grassy field together, passing pack members enjoying themselves in the last good weather of the harvest season. Trees were either bare or bore vibrant colored foliage, fiery reds and bright golds covering up the pale blue sky as we entered the forest. My wolf hummed, happy to be back in their natural environment.

When we arrived at the leaf deposit, I was disappointed to see only one large pile instead of multiple ones scattered throughout the clearing. Papa chuckled through the link, and I had a feeling he knew about this all along. I was about to snap at him when he rolled me into the leaves.

The satisfying crunch and musky scent of degrading vegetation pulled my attention away from Papa. I dug deeper into the pile, tossing around and growling at any pup who got too close to my territory. I made sure to coat myself with fine layers of earthy smells and leaves before I was pleased with myself.

I stalked out of the pile, having as much dignity as a clumsy pup could.

<Look at you, all covered in dirt. I am definitely going to scrub you hard in the bathtub tonight!>

Papa dropped on his front paws, signaling a play attack was coming. I launched my tiny body at his head, managing to land a bite on his ear before I was tossed off. Papa nipped softly at my neck, and I growled before swiping at his muzzle.

He simply dodged my blundering attempt, thrusting his nose at my underbelly until I was flipped over on my back, paws waving uselessly in the air.

<Cheater!> I accused, shaking my pelt free of leaves as I regained my composure.

<All's fair in the game of love, pup.>

<But we were fighting!>

<Yes, but I still love you.> Papa nudged my neck, giving my check a quick lick. <Let's head home now, shall we? I have some pizza calling my name.>

<No! That pizza's calling my name, Papa!>

<Whatever you say, August.> Papa sighed as he gently pushed me in the right direction.

I laughed and raised my tail high, knowing that I had just won an argument.

~~ Eleven Years Later ~~

Papa was dying.

His frail frame seemed to sink into the bed, his pallid skin gray against snow white sheets. I sat next to him holding his hand, bouncing my leg as I did so. Sitting for a long time was never my thing, but if it ensured Papa wouldn't be lonely, I would sit here in this uncomfortable chair for the rest of my life.

"August."

Papa's soft voice shook me out of my thoughts. His bony hand squeezed mine weakly, doing nothing to reassure me.

"Yes?" I answered, leaning forward to hear him better.

His brown eyes held nothing but love and warmth as he gazed up at me. "You've grown so much," he said. "Soon you'll meet your own wolf and be all on your own."

I shook my head, bringing his hand up to my cheek. "I'll always be your little pup."

"That you will be," he smiled, and for a moment his face was full of youth; how he looked before he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

The doctors said that if they had noticed the cancer sooner, Papa would've had an increased chance of survival. But, they didn't. The illness was too far along to be treated when they found it, and his death was now inevitable.

"Two more years," Papa said, breaking the silence again.

"What?" I was confused; the doctors had said that he didn't even have one year left, let alone two.

"Two more years until you meet your wolf."

Ah. So it wasn't about his death. I pushed that thought away and sighed, adjusting his pillows into a more comfortable position. "I forgot about that, between the new Alpha and you. . . your. . ."

"August, you can say it. Not talking about it isn't going to make me live longer," Papa chuckled, tugging me onto his chest and pulling me into a

hug.

I buried my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. The smell of kin acted as a relaxer, and I melted in his arms, trying to get closer to my father by nuzzling his skin. Papa rubbed slow circles along my back, getting out the tense knots caused by sitting for so long. At some point I must've fell asleep, because the next thing I knew it was pitch black, and Papa's breathing was long and slow.

*

Papa died seven months later holding my hand. I sat there, unmoving, for three hours before alerting a nurse passing by.

One hour later I was signing paperwork, numbly moving my hand across the paper in a messy signature, trying to imitate Papa's neat, swirly cursive. Tears fought their way out when I couldn't copy it exactly. I shoved the stack of papers at the nurse, thanking them in a hoarse whisper, and exited the office.

It hurt.

I had been expecting this for months now, imagining how it would feel when Papa wasn't in my life anymore.

So why did it hurt so bad?

A ragged sob escaped me, my attempts of concealing emotions broken at the image of Papa's lifeless form lying on the bed, his face content, his lips holding a ghost of a smile.

Memories of the past flashed in my mind: cuddling with Papa, stealing his food and laughing about it later, his reassuring voice as I struggled to shift.

I would hear no more of his words, feel no more of his warmth, and it killed me.

I ran, away from the concerned pack members, away from everyone, away from everything.

Away from Papa.

My wolf whimpered in my head, mourning in short howls, trying to comfort me at the same time by pressing their pelt against the nonexistence walls of my mind. I did the same, knowing that we shared the same father even if we haven't even spoken to one another yet.

My breathing was unsteady; whether that was from crying or running was left to mystery. I crashed through the tree line, low branches snapping at my face, leaving stinging marks which were quickly numbed by the winter chill.

My foot caught on a root, and my stomach hit the forest floor, knocking the air out of my. I gasped, trying to refill my aching lungs to no avail. My wolf was frantic, running in stressed circles, their high-pitched whining the only thing I heard.

Then the world went black, and I welcomed the abyss with open arms.