After a long hiatus, I'm back to update my stories! And hopefully finish this one ASAP. This wasn't meant to be a big project, but I'm still looking forward to this little journey.

Thank you so much for the reviews, Guest, Trajectory of Simplicity, Accidentally The Whole Fanfic, and DesertRoseSparty! I can't make any promises, but I really hope you'll like this story until it ends. Thank you for your help and support, and I'll do my absolute best not to disappoint!

And as a side note, I'm glad you like the southernisms! I found I really liked giving my characters an accent writing Kathy, and I'll need a helluva lot of practice for the future since I have a protagonist coming up who's more country than biscuits and gravy. I hope it's just cheesy enough, and I'll be happy to get help improving it as I go along! :D

I Built a Home for You

If it wasn't already painfully obvious from the size of Tony's biceps, he didn't build the farm up from nothing himself. In fact, when it came to carpentry, he was more likely to walk away in bandages than with results. It wasn't his skill, but it did so happen that it was his grandfather's. Everything from the hollow barn to the cozy coop to his own rickety house was hand-crafted by his late Pappy. Including the pin-hole ridden, wood-rotten dog house by the well.

The stray watched Tony from a safe, comfortable distance out in the field. Now that they were acquaintances, he wasn't so skittish, but the farmer's mannerisms were still unfamiliar to him. He was a quiet dog who was more prone to observe. And watching as the young man dropped the hammer and cursed was rather entertaining. His tail flopped in recognition as Tony's eyes connected with the stray's.

"Don't gimme that look…" Tony muttered as the dog lolled his tongue out happily at being seen at his post. His back seemed to straighten with pride as his tail thumped faster against the ground. Tony looked back to the dog house and grumbled as he held his sore thumb tight in his fist. "I'll have a hundred splinters, but I'll get this thing fixed for ya… spoiled mutt."

Tony's granddaddy was a go-getter kind of man, and Tony liked to think of himself in a similar light as he once again picked up the hammer and used the back of it to pry another chunk of crumbling wood from the roof. His mother would've said it was foolish to try following in such big footsteps, impossible to fill the shoes of a man hardened like the earth he plowed, but Tony had to try. All that was left for him was out here in the burning sun and the scorched plains. And he'd be damned if he let a simple task like building a dog house be his limit.

He rubbed his gloved hands on his waist where his work shirt was tied to be out of the way, the heat prompting him to take it off and leave his chest bare and his back sunburnt. Tony swiped the back of his wrist over his slick brow and plopped down on his rear in defeat. He critically eyed his work, proud to have at least gotten the worm-eaten roof off. But he'd need fresh wood to replace the box itself, and he didn't know how he'd cut out a door. He should've taken that shop class in school where they built the birdhouses…

His choices being to go out and collect new lumber, fashion a house from it, and build it to last versus just lighting what was left on fire, Tony saw the obvious answer. He had some matches in the drawer by the sink – and he didn't need kindling in the dry, summer heat. It'd go quick, and he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

The stray carefully wandered its way over, sniffing the ground to feign nonchalance just out of Tony's reach. The farmer smirked in shame at his failure. "Sorry, bud. Looks like you picked the wrong guy. There's a real carpenter or two up the mountain – you should beg ham offa them. Getcha a house twice as nice as mine at any rate."

Why'd he think he could keep a dog anyways? He was barely scraping by as it was. He lived off of the sad, shriveled crops he grew, milk, and eggs. So many damn eggs. But his chickens were the most faithfully producing of his livestock, so Tony didn't want to complain. He'd have to visit Ronald soon at the grocery. See if he'd trade some potatoes and eggs for some lunchmeat and bread again. Get some cans of beans… What did dogs eat? He doubted anyone around these parts had dog food, and Tony couldn't afford meat all of the time. Eggs? Hopefully, it was eggs.

Tony looked up and read the sky, the clouds over the ocean churning ever closer. It'd storm again soon. Definitely heavy rain tonight. If he wasn't going to finish this dog house, there was only one thing left to do.

The door creaked with a pleasant familiarity. Tony held it open and the stray didn't understand the invitation. Tony whistled to prompt him, and the dog's curiosity was piqued. He sniffed the ground all of the way, slow and thorough as Tony waited with the door. He then stood at Tony's feet, staring into the dim, one-room house.

"Get on, Dog. We're lettin' the flies in," Tony commanded, nudging him with his boot at the back of his legs. The stray ran in, suddenly excitable and eager to sniff everything inside. He sprinted back and forth across the room, not used to being in an enclosed space, but he didn't seem totally unfamiliar with the concept either. He wasn't scared. The farmer couldn't help but think the dog might've had a home to call his own at one point, but it was lost in whatever hazy memories animals could hold.

The door swept back on its spring hinge behind them and shuddered closed. Tony crossed his arms by the entryway and just smiled, glad to see the dog so openly happy, tail beating back and forth in a steady rhythm. It wasn't until the stray leapt up onto his checkered quilt that he shouted in alarm and ran to get him off.

It was too late. He had rolled, and mud and a few mites (to Tony's absolute horror) were left on his bed. The stray wasn't bothered in the slightest, and he had happily gone to explore the next corner of the house where an old television was stacked on old vegetable crates.

Tony groaned in frustration and rubbed his hands over his face until the skin felt raw. Then he grabbed the quilt and yanked the bedding clear off. Better to get the laundry done while there was still some sun left.

"Here, boy… I ain't gonna hurtcha…"

For the first time since meeting Tony, the dog straight up wasn't having it. That soft, cooing voice only spelt trouble. And that garden hose looked like a snake monster. No, thank you; you can keep that.

By this time, the clouds had covered most of the sky with patches of afternoon sun blinking in and out between the gusts of wind. Tony's prediction of a storm was fast coming true, and the chickens squawked in warning whenever a particularly nasty boon swept up from the ocean in a salty mist over the fence. The quilt and sheet and Tony's shirt were all hung up along the line connecting the corner of the house to the chicken coop, and the cows were all brushed and ready to be rounded up and put to bed. All that was left to do was to give this mongrel a good bath.

If Tony was going to share his house with this dirt bag, he was determined to make 'im shine. "I'm not gettin' ticks from you… Get over here!"

The dog just missed his grab and circled back to his safe spot. Tony splashed the water with his hand from the running hose towards the dog, showing him it wasn't cold, and there was nothing to be afraid of. But the dog stayed put just out of spraying distance, stoically indifferent to the farmer's pleas.

It wasn't long before a low rumble from the sky made Tony lose his patience, and he tried to physically drag the dog near enough to be washed. But he scampered off, treating it like a game to stay dry. At his wit's end, Tony was forced to use seedier methods.

"That's it… c'mon…" Tony coaxed with a wicked, victorious grin as the dog inched closer and closer. He dangled the treat in front of his nose, getting him to step nearer to being caught. "Smells like the last piece of ham, don't it? Yeah, that's pretty good… just a bit… closer now… Gotcha!"

Just as Tony lost his last potential sandwich to the dog's mouth, the farmer roped a loop made from hay bailing twine around the stray's head. He cinched it tight, binding the dog to the water spicket. Tony snatched up the hose and turned the faded valve until water came gushing out. The dog panicked and struggled back but found he was tied fast. Tony thoroughly doused him until he was pathetically dripping there, looking lost and impossibly thinner.

Tony couldn't help but laugh out loud at the sight. The proud dog was left rooted to the spot and utterly humiliated. Gloves cast aside, Tony took up his own bottle of shampoo and got a dollop lathered between his palms until it was all suds. He was nervous he'd anger the stray and get himself bit, but he couldn't give off any negative vibes. He had to show he was in charge, and this was to help him out.

The dog stood without a sound, without moving, as Tony got him all scrubbed up. His fur was knotted and mangled on his sides, and clumps of packed dirt needed to soak in the warm water before they broke away. Tony rinsed and repeated several times, and the stray never fought him.

Tony felt sad as he realized this dog had never been clean in his life. His hands went back over his prominent spine, smoothing out the fur and rinsing away the soap. "All of this and you ain't nipped me once… Don't got a mean bone in your body, do ya?"

At the sound of his voice, the soggy tail twitched just slightly. Determining the job was done and he'd put him through enough, Tony picked up an old, ratty towel he had ready that moths had eaten a hole or two out of. He gently began to dry him off, careful not to rub too hard or tangle the fur he'd spent so long setting straight. The dog helped him out, giving a good shake or two and forcing Tony to hold up the towel for cover.

Finally done, Tony collected all of the bath stuff in a pail and took the blankets from the line. The dog went right back to laying belly down in the dust, but he panted with content and watched Tony go back and forth with his tasks. Every time he'd pass, Tony would have to do a double take to make sure it was the same dog from before. The fur was fuller with a slight sheen, but the color was muted and splotchy. His ears were bent into perfect rust-colored triangles framing his grinning face with the slightest hint of a whitish pink scar running over his right eye. He was three shades lighter and looked ten times happier than he had before. With some more lunchmeat (and eggs) to fill him out, he'd start looking like somebody's dog.

Tony squatted down in front of the stray who stood up to meet him at eye level. He took his red handkerchief from out of his back pocket and wrapped it around his hand. With a gentle touch, he very carefully wiped the corners of the dog's eyes where weeping tracks had made stains and a possible infection had started to heal in his left, glassy eye. There was a lot of soul in his eyes. They were a bit brighter. A bit brown. Tony stared into them, seeing his reflection staring back.

He smiled and ruffled the soft fuzz behind the dog's ear. He stood up and gave his thigh a pat to signal him. The dog willingly followed behind him towards the screen door which he held open wide once again. Take two. "Come on… this is your home, too, now."

So much for a dog house. It looked like Tony's whole house just became one.