This story isn't a huge commitment for me, so that strangely makes it easier to update. Whoooops. I'll get on my other stories. Eventually. Oi.

Thanks for the review last chapter, Accidentally the Whole Fanfic! I gotta say, I was surprised that I'm updating once again on a Sunday, but maybe that's just my lucky day.

Thanks for reading!

My Shadow

Tony was beginning to see it. Slow and steady. At first, he thought bringing in the stray was something like charity, but it was rounding back on him. He was changing himself. He was happier. More confident. His days seemed shorter, and he had more fun. Having the dog around was making his whole outlook change. It was good.

The dog was only making their bonding easier and stronger, following Tony absolutely anywhere and everywhere he would go. The distance closed with every passing day until he was practically right on his heels. While plowing, Tony backed up too fast and nearly stepped on him, and that's when he noticed it. He had a bigger shadow.

It wasn't all sunshine and rows of corn – once or twice it could get annoying. Other than the previously mentioned clumsy trip that was becoming more and more frequent, the chickens wouldn't come anywhere near Tony anymore with the dog in tow, making rounding them up a nightmare. And he found if he was careless enough to drop any of his snacks, they'd be good as gone. He had to start leaving his food in higher places, being smart about where he set things down. Because that was something else the dog was good at. Chewing.

First it was his slippers. Typical. It wasn't like he used them anyways. Tony let him have them – the dog liked them better than he ever did, gnawing on the leather until it was in shreds. But then it was his old school notebooks, and then, oddly enough, the side of the chicken coop. And he was never interested in any sticks or bound pieces of rope Tony had knotted for him. Nope, those just weren't chewable enough. It took Tony long enough for him to see the dog numbly scraping his canines along the siding of the old wood coop to realize that he wasn't chewing because he was trying to grow in teeth or be a pain in the ass – but because he was just so damn bored.

So Tony had him up and moving as much as possible. If he saw him getting idle, he'd whistle, and the stray would come running – no matter where he was. The dog was a good listener, so it proved he just needed something to do. And having a shadow was more welcome than having another mess to clean up.

But other than feeling like he was playing Simon Says every hour of the day, it was a welcome change. The dog was getting better at reading his footsteps and keeping out of the way, and Tony liked the company. He didn't realize why his own voice sounded so weird for awhile until he remembered that the last time he'd spoken out loud to anybody was the last time he'd been to the store – a good two months ago. Even though he couldn't talk back, it was nice that Tony had someone to talk to. His loneliness was ebbing away.

It was after another long day of work. Tony, used to the routine, opened the door and stepped in first, holding it open with his foot. In trudged the dog he never named, taking his damn good time despite the rain blowing in behind them. The door finally slammed, and the dog shook his fur, splattering the walls. Tony was kneeling to unlace his boots, getting a face full. He shoved the dog's hindquarters, and he responded by trotting off to spread his puddle across the room.

Their trip to the barn was uneventful. The cows' swaying along with their rhythmic tails, watching the stray as he ran back and forth at Tony's heels. But the coop was a flurry of feathers yet again. Tony couldn't just leave the dog out in the rain while he went to the chickens – he just didn't have the heart to close the door on him. He'd become a big baby. So he'd let the tramp in. The hens would squawk in panic and flee to the rafters, the cowardly rooster the first to go, screaming over the noisy clucks of his brood above their heads. Tony would rush through and get the dog out, but today, they seemed especially distempered since they were kept in out of the rain for the third day in a row. Tony's ears were still ringing in the quiet house.

Tony took off his hat and set it over his boots. He looked up just in time to see the dog had his front paws up on the bed already, and he was preparing to jump. "Hey, hey, hey! Get offa there – you're all wet! C'mere. Still no manners…"

Tongue lolling in happy loyalty, the dog obeyed and trotted over to Tony. The farmer went to the dresser and rifled until he found a towel, using it on his own head first. His hair thoroughly ruffled on top with his ponytail permanently tangled at the nape of his neck, Tony knelt down to share. The dog wandered over and waited with his head down as Tony rubbed the towel along his shoulders and back. He couldn't help but notice the difference from his first bath – he'd really filled out. There was muscle and fat that didn't exist before, making him feel more solid and strong. Tony wasn't scared of breaking him now. When he was done, the dog shook again for good measure. Just in case.

"Well, what's our day now? All this rain coopin' us up. I get how the chickens feel…" Tony muttered. He turned to stand and cracked his head on the dresser drawer he left open. He grabbed the sore spot and cursed his stupidity, shoving the drawer shut with a bang and tossing the towel aside. A few items balanced on top fell over and rolled, one or two falling back behind the dresser with a clatter.

The dog leapt up on the bed without acknowledging the noise, curling up and getting cozy. He let out a little sigh when he settled in, big eyes blinking at Tony.

Tony righted the things atop the dresser and got on all fours to try to see what fell behind. He squinted at the dark cranny and tried to squeeze his arm in. His fingertips moved through cobwebs until his hands found the object. It was a screwdriver – why'd he leave that out anyways? He pulled and got his hand caught at the wrist, forcing him to maneuver to freedom. He looked at the dusty tool and the webs coating his hand with a stitch of annoyance in his brow. Maybe he should spend the day tidying up. He did a double take and realized he could still see something lodged beneath the dresser, even though the only thing that went missing was already in his hand. "Hrm…"

After struggling from both sides, Tony went to the front of the dresser and got on his stomach to peer underneath. The hell is that? It appeared to be some kind of tube with divots. He pressed his face against the side of the dresser and reached, finding he could grab it, and he tugged it out. It clunked and made an odd, hollow sound. He brought it into the light, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

His old, wooden flute. Not his flute exactly but his grandfather's. It was more of a glorified recorder, but the sound was a little less harsh and more lonesome. Tony had vague memories of its soulful sound deep in the recesses of his childhood, blurring with the quiet pattering of the rain on the roof. If he closed his eyes, it felt like he could really still hear a song's distant echo. It ached somewhere melancholy in his heart.

He crossed his legs and looked it over. He dusted it off well and good on his jeans and rubbed the mouthpiece clean on his shirt. He held it up to the lamp hanging in the center of the room, looking through it like a telescope. Didn't look like there were any spiders, but he thought he'd give it a good test anyways. He filled his lungs and breathed through the reed without covering any of the holes, creating a loud, steady whistle that blew out more dust. Tony happily ran it along his shirt again to polish up the mouthpiece. "There. Good as new, eh?"

His head automatically turned to the dog for validation, and Tony was surprised to see his ears were perked and his back straightened in alert. He was staring very intensely around the room, like he couldn't tell where the noise came from or what it was.

Tony smirked at his reaction. Holding the flute to his lips again, he blew through it with less force. He pressed his fingers along the short row of six holes, varying the notes coming out. The dog jumped right off of the bed and ran to Tony, sniffing the flute and getting right in his face. It could've been fear or protectiveness, but Tony felt it was coming from curiosity. He chuckled as his snout bumped the flute out of his mouth, and he gave him a reassuring pat on the head.

"It's music, ya nimrod. Er, well, s'posed to be, anyways. Here – lemme see if I can play somethin' you'll like," he said. Tony's day was quickly becoming a music lesson. He sat up straight and held the flute out of the way of the dog who was still trying to sniff it. He got sick of dodging and pushed him back, so he could give a song a shot. "How'd that go…?"

Tony tested a few notes, trying to remember how that song in those fuzzy memories of his went. Since he didn't know anything about what finger position made what sound, it was a trial and error process. With every try, he'd have to push the dog back out of the way. The dog would sit until Tony played a note, and he'd jump back up to get close to the suspicious sounding flute again. He finally found the right order – or what sounded close – and he played it a few times to be sure, trying to jog his memory for the rest of the song.

"Will ya…?! Sit," Tony commanded, pushing down on the dog's rear and going back to his flute. He was feeling frustrated that he couldn't remember, and it seemed to be slipping further away. He played the first two notes, and the dog went forward again. But on the third note, the dog sat.

Tony didn't notice the first few times he did this. He continued to fiddle along, his mouth going quite dry. He just so happened to look over at the dog, defensively ready to block him, when he saw him sit down on his own. An idea struck him as he made the connection, and Tony became more excited. He turned to face the dog and played it again.

Since Tony moved, the dog was distracted and forgot the command. He stood for all three notes, his tail wagging as he stared up at Tony. Tony pointed, trying to get him to sit again. He played the three notes and pressed on his back. "Sit. Go on – put your butt down. There! Good boy! You stay now!"

Tony began playing, but the dog remained seated. He realized it wasn't going to work like this. He'd think the flute just meant 'sit.' But what if he could get him to remember these notes…? He could come up with other strings of simple commands. And jeez, Tony sure had all of the time in the world to practice with him. Might as well.

The farmer stood up and walked backwards to get some distance. The dog followed after him, and Tony quickly played the three notes. The dog didn't sit. Tony played the notes again and forced him down again. "There ya go. Sit. Sit. No, sit. 'Atta boy! Okay, you remember now. Try it again."

Tony moved backwards around the low center table, getting the dog to trail after him. With every third note, he'd make it a point to stop and get the dog to sit. He was starting to do it on his own, learning with their repetitive parade. Tony was so consumed in the task he missed a footfall, and he nearly fell onto the coffee table. He steadied himself and decided that was enough. He crashed onto a pillow he used as a chair, the dog coming up to him and catching up at last. His tail drummed against the ground as he sat and got his ear scratched for his hard work.

"Ya did good, bud," Tony hummed with a laugh at the dog's contentment. He meant it, too. He was so proud. He looked down at the flute in his fist and turned it over, seeing his granddaddy's initials lightly etched into the smooth surface.

Guess they could both learn new tricks.