Not A Dog, Not A Wolf
A/N: This one is for Blue. The title is from the movie Balto. I thought it was fitting.
So, here I am.
I find myself wondering, not for the first time, how did I get here?
How did I end up abandoning Pops and running with this ragtag bunch of wolves, the very same wolves that I was tracking down mere weeks ago?
Ever since meeting Cheza, I feel like something inside me has been awakened; the part of me that was wolf that was always dormant. The part that yearns to run beneath the stars, howl at the moon, and hunt with a pack.
But there is another part of me that misses Pops, too, who was always good to me-we spent many nights sharing a fire out in the wilderness and he'd always give me a portion of the meat that he would get from our hunts, if we were lucky enough to find game. I would often thrust my muzzle beneath his hand and lick his fingers, and he'd silently reach behind my ears and pet me. I'd sit vigil over him during the night on the watch for mountain lions and bears, and I usually managed to make them keep their distance and find easier prey with a warning snarl.
Pops never said it aloud, but I knew he was grateful for that. I watched out for him, and he watched out for me. I would have gladly laid down my life for him.
He always smelled of whiskey, ever since Russe and mom were killed. Sometimes it was worse than others, and I remember the nights he'd drink himself into a stupor, until the bottle fell from his fingers. I would lay curled at his feet. When the mornings came, I would lick his face to get him to wake up and he would startle awake and then scratch the fur around my neck with rough affection before pushing me back onto the floor.
I wonder what he's doing now? Is he drinking himself into oblivion without me there to comfort him, lost in his grief and his memories?
I never imagined this. I never thought that I'd end up turning on Pops, and placing myself between him and a clear shot at a wolf, staring calmly down the barrel of his rifle, having faith that no matter what, he wouldn't have it in him to shoot me because of his love for me.
Are things different now? Would Pops put a bullet in me, now that I've gone feral? The truth is, I don't know. The part of me that's a dog yearns to go back to him, back to the way things were, but the wolf part of me knows that I can't, that there's no going back. The wolf half of me overrides and wins out over the dog.
So, what am I now? I used to think I was just a dog, good old, reliable Blue following at the heels of her master and serving him faithfully, but now I'm neither dog nor wolf. I'm somewhere in-between.
That leaves only one final question. Will I be allowed to enter Paradise with the others, or will it be denied to me?
Guess I'll find out when I get there.
