(Untitled)

[le_traiteur]

I can't claim to have ever considered myself much of a dog person. Seems like you gotta be one or the other -- Dog or cat person -- and I guess I would have chosen cat had it to come to it. We had dogs at home the way everybody had dogs, but cats are more self-sufficient. They need less. When you're a teenage boy pretendin' at bein' the man of

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[remnantofjoseph]

When a familiar, high bark precedes an equally familiar body bounding into his good leg like a fucking squirrel just ran up it, Joe just stares down at his dog, wondering how the hell she got this far from the house and how long she's been out. Though he eventually leans over to meet her halfway down the limb, smoothing down the curls of her ears, he doesn't really relax until he sees Gene catching up. "Thought she'd taken after her ma, for a minute," appraising him with an upward glance, standing after a moment and trying to shake Dee off his foot without falling over.

[le_traiteur]

"Gotta feelin' it's comin'," I admit, archin' a brow at Dee's wrigglin' behind. She's in that in-between stage where she's not really a baby anymore, but still plenty awkward, feet and ears way too big for her.

"You goin' somewhere?" I ask Joe, and reach out to pluck a stray leaf from his shoulder.

[remnantofjoseph]

"Nowhere fast," he quips with a low snort, catching Gene's hand before he can retrieve it, fingers tangled by something like habit. It's taken time, but he's getting easier with this--thinks about it less, gives less of a shit what anyone might think. "Home, though it doesn't look like anybody's there."

"Why," he asks, glancing down at Dee, who can't look happier to be between them, "Need some help keeping her in line?"

[le_traiteur]

"Just idle curiosity," I answer with a shrug, lettin' Joe take my hand and do whatever with it he will. "She minds just fine, surprisingly enough. We can head back, though, if that's where you're goin'."

[whats_insideyou]

Dogs have not been a prominent fixture in little Matthieu's young life. Not for any real reason, aside from Sarah's firm position as a cat person. The Hamlet was, in fact, full of the beasts, but now that he was ambulatory and in his mother's soul care, seeing one up close and personal was a very new and startling event.

He wasn't a skilled walker, but he's toddler a few feet ahead of his mother, and was now standing frozen and gaping, staring at the fuzzy thing making its way toward him.

The dog was bug-eyed and dome-headed and floppy eared. All it needed was a bow around it's neck and a little girl with ringlets to carry it in her arms. Sarah's lips twitched into a smirk. "Are you not even the least bit embarrassed?"

[le_traiteur]

"Dee," I call, warning creeping into my tone. She's never been around babies before, I want her on her very best behavior. Thankfully, she doesn't do anything more offensive than give Matthieu an enthusiastic lick to the face, her back end fit to wag right off.

"Embarrassed by what?" I ask when I'm finally close enough to stop, although I've got a good enough idea of what Sarah means.

[whats_insideyou]

She arched a brow and let the question hang, feeling it needed no answer. Matthieu let out a startled squeak, his chubby face scrunching up and his arms flailing as he dropped down onto his bottom. Sarah dropped into a crouch, brushing a hand over her son's black hair, soothing him before he could start to cry.

"At least she is not wearing a bow."

[le_traiteur]

"If she was, she'd look beautiful in it," I insist with a smirk, and then address the puppy, who's still enamored of the baby. "Isn't that right, cher?" Dee looks up at me, head dropped back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. "You're a real piece of work."

[ladybuggger]

Jen's been quilting most of the day, something she's been doing more of since the school term ended, and she's been enjoying it even more than she thought she would. It's intricate work, and takes patience, but she likes being able to work to that finished product, that quilt that someone's going to hopefully have on their bed.

She's just come from putting her quilting stuff back at the hut when she sees Gene and Dee headed in her direction and smiles. "She's getting big," she says, noticing how well-behaved the dog is; Gene doesn't even have a leash on her.

[le_traiteur]

"She really is," I agree with a smile. "Hasn't grown into herself yet, though. She still trips over those giant paws sometimes, drags her ears in her water dish. Typical awkward preteen, I guess." I afford Dee an appraisin' glance, but she's bein' good. It's easy enough to see that she's excited, but she hasn't jumped up on Jen yet.

"How've you been?" I ask Jen as I reach down to give Dee a soothing stroke over her head.

[ladybuggger]

"Yeah, I guess so. She's gotta get through that awkward phase," Jen agrees with a nod and a little laugh. "I'm good, thanks. How about you, Gene?" Dee's tail is wagging and Jen crouches down with a smile. "Is it okay if I pet her?"

[le_traiteur]

"Should be, yeah," I answer with a nod. "She's won't bite. Might cover you in spit, though." Almost on cue, Dee arches up to meet Jen as she crouches down and gives her face a lick.

"I'm doin' pretty good. Can't complain. What about you? You look good," I add, because she does. There's a certain air of satisfaction about her today.