He said he knew what he was doing. And he meant that, mostly. Sure, he hadn't owned a dog before. But he'd played with his neighbor's pets when he was a child. Those dogs sat; they stayed; they rolled over; they listened; they were wonderful, loyal, obedient companions. He loved dogs! So how hard could a couple days of dog sitting be?
Thus he assured the first lieutenant it would be no problem, she could attend to out-of-town work while he enjoyed a rare weekend off, a rare vacation for just him and Black Hayate.
The weekend would be great.
Hawkeye had given him a surreptitious side glance before leaving the apartment, some suspicious gesture that maybe she didn't believe he knew what he'd be doing. He waved farewell with a confident smile, but at the same time she paused, and with some strange reluctance said, "There's a box of dog treats in the top cupboard. Black Hayate's more obedient with an incentive. But please. Being firm is better. Use those sparingly."
"Of course. The pooch is well-behaved, anyway. Aren't you, boy?"
He knelt down toward the dog, whose tail wagged tentatively, and Mustang said, "Can you shake?"
Black Hayate looked at Mustang's palm. Black Hayate looked at Mustang's face. Black Hayate wagged his tail twice more. Black Hayate cocked his head to one side. Black Hayate did not shake.
Feeling somewhat self-conscious at the dog's lack of respect, and even more self-conscious the dog's owner was witnessing Mustang-brand uselessness, the colonel tried again.
"Shake."
Nothing.
"Shake?"
Hawkeye sighed.
He could certainly detect reluctance in that sigh.
She… didn't believe he knew what he was doing.
"Shake," she said, and at once, BraHa's paw plopped itself on top of Mustang's open palm.
"Uh. Well. See?" He gave an awkward laugh, scratching at the back of his head. "Obedient dog."
Hawkeye's stare was firm, unwavering. "Don't use all the treats, and please don't do anything stupid," she said one last time.
With that, she left the colonel to his duties.
The door closed before him.
He stood in the room alone with one small, innocent puppy, who stared at him with a combination of curiosity and confusion. Mustang, in turn, looked down to the dog, but his expression was one of pouty exasperation.
"You couldn't shake for me?" he whined to the dog. "Not even in front of your owner? Way to make me look bad." Apparently the commanding officer of a military base, who dictated orders to thousands of well-disciplined soldiers, could not garner the same authority for a four month old puppy. "Those were orders, dog."
Black Hayate gave a happy, carefree yip.
"Let's try this again."
It wasn't just to cure his hurt ego, Mustang told himself. It wasn't so he could feel like the smarter species against one knee-high canine. Simply, he needed to get the dog to shake for a logical, level-headed purpose: to make sure that this dog he was watching would listen to him. It was imperative for Black Hayate to understand who the boss was. Standard dog-training procedures. That's all this was.
"Shake."
"Wooooof."
"That's an order, soldier."
"Brrrf."
The dog sat down, but none of this was actually listening to what Mustang wanted. Why didn't the dog care what he had to say?!
Roy eyed the top cupboard, a sly grin pulling up on his face. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. Brilliant strategists knew how to employ resources to utmost efficacy. "Oh. Just you wait. Just you wait. I'll win this one, mutt. You'll be listening to me in a minute..."
The treats worked like alchemy. At once the dog transmuted from an idle tail-wagger to a loyal, obedient lackey. Feeling rather pleased and self-important, Mustang with his new-found dog-controlling superpowers convinced the puppy to wear a leash and follow him outdoors for a walk around the block. Being a dog owner was easy. Being a dog owner was magnificent. Ah, yes! He surely loved dogs! The ultimate, loyal followers, man's best friend indeed!
Mild-mannered Black Hayate would pause to sniff at flower beds alongside the sidewalks, creep toward small children who wanted to pet him, calmly follow Mustang's lead toward the nearest public park. The dog didn't tug at the leash. The dog didn't abruptly stop. Outside of their earlier "shake" incident, everything was proceeding perfectly. And if anything else were to go wrong - which it wouldn't, not at all - then Mustang was prepared, the box of dog treats secured tactically inside his pants pocket.
To think the lieutenant hesitated leaving him with this dog!
A break in close-packed buildings and narrow alleys opened to a square of rolling green: one of East City's larger public parks. BraHa perked immediately, even before they had crossed the road and started strolling on the grass. Roy found himself relaxing once they stepped past benches and trees and wandered through the park. Glancing at a stick discarded on the ground, he began to formulate an idea.
"You like fetch?"
He paused for a second, analyzing the situation. This would involve letting the dog go off-leash. But given as BraHa seemed so behaved - the dog was sniffing mildly at Roy's pants pocket even now - Roy couldn't see any harm letting the pup run free.
As the dog licked up a treat in one hand, Roy used the other to clip the leash off.
Just as he was about to chuck the stick, though, something happened.
The dog launched himself away from Mustang, charged at an impossible speed across the lawn, yapping and barking with unadulterated enthusiasm. Roy found himself screaming at the top of his lungs. "SHIT! BLACK HAYATE! NO! NO! BAD DOG! NO NO NO NO NO NO! TREATS! I'VE GOT TREEEEAAAATS!"
Ecstatic dog howls pursued… a terrified squirrel.
A very frantic colonel raced after that. Past couples who stared, shocked, at the gallantly-charging dog sitter. Blundering past children playing ball. Leaping over the basket of one family's previously-peaceful picnic. Darting around other dog owners who calmly played with pups, no issues at all, no squirrels setting their canines barreling off to the other end of the green.
"No no no no no cooooome baaaaack!"
He almost face-planted into soil the second BraHa stopped. Tail wagging, the dog placed front paws against the trunk of a tree. A chittering squirrel hid in the branches above.
Roy gasped for breath.
"Alright… Alright. Leash… back… on…" he decided.
The dog hopped out of reach before he could finish that maneuver. Butt high in the air, BraHa gave a playful growl, then danced away again from the colonel's hand.
Oh. Now the dog wanted to play with him.
Frustrated grin on his lips and teeth grinding under his smile, Mustang dug into his pants pocket. Time for treats. He wasn't giving the dog too many, right? And he needed to catch Black Hayate before…
"Colonel?"
Mustang glanced up.
A tall, blond man, puffing a cigarette in his mouth, stared down at the spectacle between dog and dog sitter. Havoc was standing just a few feet away.
"Oh. Havoc."
"What do we have here?"
Mustang used the distraction as opportunity. With a hoot of success, he clipped the leash to Black Hayate's collar, then stood to greet his subordinate. Hopefully Havoc hadn't seen Mustang's earlier desperate dash across the park. Hopefully Havoc wouldn't notice the grass stains on Roy's knees, either.
"The lieutenant asked me to dog-sit this weekend."
"You?" Havoc said skeptically.
Mustang glared.
"Yes, me!"
"Wow. She's got way more faith than I do."
"I know how to handle dogs," Mustang grumbled.
"Do you?"
Havoc pointed down.
Mustang looked down.
There was a leash. And a collar. But no dog.
Havoc looked out in the distance.
Mustang looked out in the distance.
There was the dog. Another squirrel. Halfway across the park.
"AUGH! Dumb dog!"
And as Mustang charged off again, shouting, hurling dog treats into the air and altogether forgetting to grab the collar, Havoc snorted.
"Pretty sure the dumb one's on the other end of the leash."
Keys jangling from outside came at exactly the wrong moment.
"Uhhhhhh…"
He couldn't say "Wait!" to the owner of her own apartment. She had a right to enter. She had the means of entering. She was entering.
He still almost shouted "Wait!" anyway.
The words caught in his mouth, though. So did all the other words he could have spoken. Even when she piped up with a, "Hello? Colonel?" to find his location, he couldn't find anything useful to speak, and choked on nothing.
She found him like this, dumb and dumbfounded, seated on the floor of the bathroom.
Water everywhere.
Mud everywhere.
Shampoo everywhere.
And a suddenly, completely, perfectly obedient puppy, darting up to greet his owner.