Sunny rays cut through murky weather as the afternoon breeze reins in fluffy clouds. It is a nice day to go out and explore the world! Hop, skip, jump, feel alive! Ripe for a day full of adventure! And yet…
"There we have it! Gallery refurbished, feeling…uncluttered. Hmph."
A frank, bumptious voice squeaks out of a curtain-covered cubbyhole. Of course, those words come from the mega engineer teen-pup Dalmatian, Dawkins. With all black ears, spots that resemble freckles, and the second most prominent brows in the family, Dawkins stands out well amongst his siblings. The brainy teen hums to himself as he tidies totally important tasks. Even on a decent day, Dawkins Dalmatian keeps himself isolated from his family.
After a moment, Dawkins stands, tapping his paws against the cubby's walls. "Now then, it's time for a relaxing bath, wouldn't you agree, princess?" He taps the third eye on his goggles, fashioned from the remnants of Princess Positron. He awaits a "Positronly!", but faint echoes of his siblings ring between his twitching ears.
Dawkins sighs. "Ohh, if only I could hear your affirming tone once more…maybe someday."
That horrifying memory…when the devil nabbed a million spots, throwing them into her cold, dreary prison of pelts and moans. Dawkins cannot recall most of what happened after his wonderful princess was sacrificed for dog's sake. His eyes became fuzzy as the room spun like a top. Before he knew it, Dawkins had somehow gotten onto the bright red double-decker on his way home. His gaze never left the single eye and strand of plush "hair" that rest upon his paw, even when climbing the stairs to the Dalmatian home.
Dawkins' eyes feel wet. He puffs his cheeks out, squeezing his eyes as he shakes his head. Dawkins hops down from his cubby, landing on a stool. He stares at it for a moment, scoffing at the claw marks scratched into it. His eyes wander for a bit, trying to find an opening in the sea of blankets and beds. He leans forward, bending his knees slowly…and…
"DAWKINS!"
Dawkins stumbles over his own paws. "Wh-wha?! Ah!"
Poompf!
A storm of black and white circles around him as he pulls his face out of a strangely damp blanket. Various siblings bounce Dawkins around the pillows like a plushie. He fidgets around, just barely escaping the chaos. He stretches a paw to the doorway, but a panting Dolly skids to a halt in the hallway.
Dolly waves her paws: "Oh good, you're up! Listen, the pup flinger's mad unplugged! Ya gotta fix it!"
"Ooh…pup flinger? There's no such thing…"
Dolly glances away: "Yeah, but when you take the bowl flinger and put pups on it…"
"Not again, Dolly! Give me a moment…"
"Oh, there you are Dawkins!" Dylan shoulder checks Dolly, nearly knocking her over. "Your sidekick services are required. The scanner's acting up, its spraying pups on the inside instead of strangers on the outside!"
"Hey, I saw him first! My problem's more urgent, get in line!" Dolly pounces on Dylan.
A low growl grows in Dylan: "Dolly…off! If this has something to do with the bowl flinger, I'm telling Mum."
"Yeah? Then I'll tell Dad who broke his spare helmet!"
"Go ahead! I'll tell Dad you're being too dangerous around the pups!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah!"
Dylan and Dolly bumps noses together, bearing their fangs.
Meanwhile, Dawkins tiptoes towards the stairs, shaking his head in disbelief. The handles of a cream colored tool bag rest in his jaws. "It's always 'fix this, Dawkins', 'fix that, Dawkins'…ugh! I suppose that bath is in the backlog."
After nearly tripping on chew toys scattered about, Dawkins makes it to the paw scanner. It is the more dangerous machine to leave haywire; what if it lets anyone into their home? Dawkins smirks, placing his goggles over his eyes and leaning in. He scrunches his paw in a peculiar shape, overriding the scanning process as the front door creaks opens. Dawkins sniffs the outside scanner, adjusting his goggles to zoom in on every detail. Next, his paw meets the scanning pad…
Hum…ding!
Seems to be working! Dawkins stares at the nozzle…weirdly dry? He heads back inside, checking the nozzle's pipe and water pressure. Everything appears to be in working order, so why would it spray water inside the house…? Dawkins' ears perk up!
Dawkins chuckles to himself: "Ah, of course! It's a loose component pressing the water's pipe in the wrong direction. A simple fix, really."
Rummaging through his tool bag, Dawkins nabs a handy paw-friendly screwdriver. With a few turns, the tightness of the screw seems to be steady. Dawkins shapes his paw in his "moderator mode" once again, reenabling the door's sensors. He steps outside, ready to place the back of his paw on the scanner…
Hum…Bzz! Spwee!
Smack dab in the middle of his dotted forehead. Dawkins huffs in relief, unlocking the door to fix the "malfunction" of Dolly's. Suddenly, a wall of pups block his way!
"Dawkins! Dawkins? Dawkins!" Several voices yell out.
Dawkins groans. "What is this!? Don't block the doorway."
"We're out of doggy biscuits!" One pup barks.
"The brushing machine ripped my fur!" Another yips.
"I'm hungry…" Yet another howls.
"Mmh…stand aside, I must fix the pup—BOWL flinger first! Then I will get to your problems." Dawkins furls a brow as he stomps toward the kitchen, opting to grab a snack between work. He removes scattered toys from his walkway, groaning with each thing removed. Eventually, Dawkins makes it to the fridge! Packed like sardines with everything but sardines. When more than half the fam have special diets, groceries are bound to be plentiful.
Dawkins pops open a bottom drawer, digging through packs of wet kibble bags. He stacks them on top of one another on a countertop, rearranging the bags in order of expiration date. Kibble piles to the ceiling, looming over Dawkins as he excavates. An excited whine rings out as Dawkins pulls up a 4-pack of dog-friendly applesauces with small enough portions for the average pup. Imported from America, Dawkins' allowance bin moans with emptiness from the five boxes he purchased. He tugs at the packaging, pulling one cup and placing it onto the countertop.
Wham!
"Oh, Kibbles!" Dawkin yelps.
Lumbering kibble bags slam down on him. He grumbles as he piles them back the proper way. Dawkins even double checks the expiration dates. The fridge thumps shut, Dawkins catches his snack in his mouth, and opens it with his paws. A chill, green aroma fills his nostrils. Dawkins tongue rolls between his fangs, fidgeting the cup around. The cool sauce pours into his mouth, chilling him to the core. It is a frigid, welcome feeling.
Boomf!
Dawkins glares at the ground as a pup laps up applesauce from the floor. Another brigade of siblings block his path. He furls a brow at them, grabbing some paper towels from the table.
"Dawkins, can you make super flea collars?!" A pup jumps in front of him.
"Can you build a human, Dawkins!?" Another scrapes their behind on the floor.
"Your head looks funny…" A third points at Dawkins.
Bark after bark, yip after yip, Dawkins cheeks puff out…he tries taking a deep breath, but his sibling's keep demanding requests! He shrinks down as his breathing becomes rapid. A low, whiny growl bubbles deep within him…
"Oh, Dawkins!" Dylan and Dolly yell from upstairs. They tumble down the steps, nearly knocking one another over.
Dylan grabs Dawkins by his face: "Quick, tell Dolly it's illogical to fling her siblings like bowls!"
Dolly places paws on Dawkins' head: "Nuh uh! YOU tell Dylan to dog up and fix his own problems!"
The slap of drool smacking against the floor catches the fam by surprise. Dylan and Dolly look down at Dawkins…his face is just teeth…
"GAAAAAAAAAAAH! Right, that's it!" Dawkins yells. "It is NOT my turn for pupcare, and yet, here I am doing absolutely everything around the house, including the kitchen sink! I managed a rough nine hundred seconds to myself, and I squander it on my tablet! When is my time to rest and relax, huh!? When is Dawkins time!"
Dolly lifts a limp paw towards him. "Woah, chill Dawk—"
Dawkins swipes her paw away. "No! I cannot chill! Not here! Hmph!" He lifts his nose into the air as he heads to the front door. Several voices call out to him, but they fall on deaf ears. The frustrated pup prances down the stairs with his nose held high.
A boujee yawn erupts from 103 Dalmatian Street. Clarissa Corgi's ears bounce towards the ceiling with every stompy-tap of Dawkins' paws. She hops from her sofa, spotting Dawkins from her window: "Oh, Dawkins dearie, is Dylan available?" Dawkins does not respond, simply huffing and puffing to himself between his prancing. "Hmph, how rude! One supposes one will have to leave the comforts of one's abode to see for one's self…?" She pouts, hoping that will catch the busybody pup's attention. The stompy-taps get quieter with each stompy-tap. Clarissa squeals in anger; ignored twice before her afternoon tea! Unacceptable!
But Dawkins doesn't care. He wants Dawkins time, away from home and its distractions! Despite this, Dawkins has no clue where to destress…his pouty prancing slows to pitter-patter steps. He brushes the sidewalk with a paw before sitting his behind down.
Dawkins violently shakes his head. "Feeling bothered! What will it take to have a single afternoon of peace! No bath, no snack, elementary issues!? Bah…" his body shakes.
Things shouldn't be this way! There are way more siblings responsible for pupcare, but Dawkins always picks up the slack. Someone forgets to tuck a pup in? Dawkins does it. A chew toy clogs the toilet? Dawkins gets it. An embarrassing bathroom emergency conveniently near Dawkins. Dawkins…well, he would never take the blame for that! Dawkins sighs deeply, taking a look at his surroundings.
Caught between the park and the corner market. On one hand, going to the park by himself would be great for some alone time. On the other hand, the corner store has several spoils for a stubborn pup. Dawkins sighs. He thinks about the heap of applesauce where last week's allowance was.
Defeated, Dawkins turns towards the park. Perhaps the Canal Crew or Dolly's Rottweiler friend will be there… Dawkins thought.
Dawkins lifts a paw, but stops himself. Something…different is caught in his gaze; a moving truck! It has been years since anyone has moved out on the neighboring street. Dawkins hops into the air, trying to catch a glimpse of whomever is moving into Beth Road. No good, the pup's just barely hitting his growth spurt. Dawkins huffs, turning the corner into Beth Road with a sturdy stride. He weaves between human hazards and cracks in the concrete, eyes on the bright red truck. He stops in front of a yard, leaping onto the brick fencing for some height. Goggles adjusted, Dawkins zooms in a bit, catching a glimpse of his adjacent neighbors.
A slender human with shaggy brown hair and olive skin waves his body around in wacky directions to burly movers. The shaggy man wears a grey collared work shirt with a horrifically bright yellow hoodie over it. Paired with the cartoon print pajama pants, it is difficult to get a read on the human. As always, humans are eccentric…
Roooooo-grrroof!
Dawkins' ears fly up! His gaze shoots towards the ground; beside the humans, a dog yells his own orders at moving dogs dragging a box with their teeth. The Dalmatian's mouth creaks open as he tries to get a better look. Yes, the neighbor dog seems to be wearing an ash grey hood of some kind, which makes it difficult to see his face. Outside of that, the dog has ivory and chestnut colored fur. Its body is somewhat awkward; it is as though a pile of blankets has grown a dog face and began moving around! Several folds of extra skin layer the dog's limbs and neck, appearing like a human would in the winter. Dawkins leans a bit forward for a glimpse at the dog's face. Just a bit closer…
"Hey! Weirdo with the goggles!" A voice yells from below. The voice is a bit harsh, like sand between the toes. A slow, boisterous tone that makes Dawkins shiver in his fur. At the same time, the voice is low and strong, a melody that tugs its own strings.
"Huh!? Ah-" Dawkins slips barely managing to land on his feet. "Oh, kibbles! Ah! A-apologies, may I help y—" Dawkins cuts himself off. A hound dog stands duck-footed, only slightly taller than Dawkins. She shares similarities with the moving dog; a hoodie accessory (this one has a black hoodie with skulls on it) and the wrinkles and folds. Likewise, she shares the shorter stature of the other dog. But her fur is charcoal and chestnut, and the distribution of color leaves no blotches. Additionally, her distinct chestnut brows makes her intimidating grimace that much more frightening.
The hound dog stands up straight. "Oh, you can help me alright! Help me not tear your tail off! Stop staring my brother!"
"Pardon!? I wasn't—oh my, your eyes!" Dawkins stares. Now that he has gotten a good look, he finally notices the cherry red glare. Where the bottom lid of an eye should be is a loose shape resembling it. Somehow, even her eyes have lumpy layers!
She lifts a paw at Dawkins face: "Don't change the subject. I'm not from around here, I ain't afraid to bleed a bozo like you!"
"P-please, no! Let me explain, things are not as they seem!"
The hound leans back a bit. "You get ONE chance to tell me why you were drooling. Trust and believe, you're gonna have to get real creative with that egghead of yours to come outta this in one piece."
Oh, kibbles! Where's Dolly or Dante when you need them! I must find an escape route, thought Dawkins. Dawkins opens his mouth, but only chattering escapes his mouth. He tries taking deep breaths, but the hound begins to loom over him with every exhale!
"W-w-w-well, you see, I liv—"
"Yo, Brooklyn! You gonna help get stuff off the truck or you gonna keep brooding by the bricks!" A tone approaches the pair, causing Dawkins' to finally look up from the concrete. This voice is mellow, like a gentle warmth of the setting sun. Furthermore, the voice is low and strong, just like the other hound's. But less scratchy. The mellow voiced dog's eyes meet Dawkins' halfway. "Hmm?"
Dawkins finally catches a glimpse of the moving dog; similar wrinkles to his sister, and he appears to be the same age as her. But his fur breaks into cow-like spots, like the flick of a paint-soaked brush. Additionally, his tail has a white tip, almost like a flag! Furthermore, the reds of his eyes are less prominent. Instead, the whites are visible no matter what direction he looks in, giving the impression of a soft, endearing stare. Finally, his ash grey hood sports a little chef hat pin on the left side. Perhaps it's a sign of his hobbies?
The other hound frowns at Brooklyn. "We ain't been here more than twenty minutes and you've already spooked the spots off this dude…leave 'em alone, Brooklyn!"
"What?! Beaumont, this 'dude' was staring at you like he's never seen another dog before! I ain't letting him go 'till he answers me!"
Beaumont, the cow-spotted hound, looks back at Dawkins. The Dalmatian's fidgeting stops abruptly. He stares into Dawkins expression…and hmphs. "…Yeah, you're good, bro. I ain't sensing bad vibes. Heh, don't pay mind to my sis, she's bein' a cactus."
Brooklyn stomps her paws on the concrete. "Don't start with that!"
"I won't, if you leave the neighbors alone!"
"He was peeping!"
"And how'd you 'catch' him, huh? You prolly were too! Ugh…anyway, what's your—hey!"
In the midst of the argument, Dawkins slinked away from the hounds, making it as far as the street corner.
"Aw, see? You scared him off!" Said Beaumont. He takes a deep breath: "Hold up, spotty bro! Don't let my sis bully you, alright? If you run into her elsewhere, just call for 'Beau'!" Beaumont's voice echoes between the buildings.
"O-oh, okay thanks!" Dawkins squeaks back. But his body feels like it's made of stone. Sweating stones. Why can't he move? Suddenly, Dawkins felt something bubbling up. "I-I um, live on Dalmatian Street, m-maybe I'll see you two on a w-w-walk?"
"Is that right? Cool, I'll try and bump into you sometime. Oh yeah…I didn't even get your name, spotty bro!"
Dawkins leans forward a bit. "Right, my name is D-"
SHHHHH! Fwip-fwip-fuweep!
Neil whistles out, calling his hounds back to him. Beaumont waves goodbye, but doesn't even notice. He is busy staring flabbergasted on his way home. The first new neighbors in a long time, one's a bully, and the other's a beau?! Or, wait, the other one's name is Beau…Dawkins shakes his head. He has never seen that breed of dog in person! Something about their distinctive looks and mature vocal range sticks in Dawkins' mind. They look to be the same age as him, but sound much older! Did Dawkins sound immature compared to those two? That doesn't even begin to describe how difficult it'll be to go on a walk without a human! What will they think!?
Dawkins sighs as he reaches the stairs. Surprisingly, home is a bit quieter, even though the sun still shines bright. Dawkins bets all the kibble in his bowl that he'll have to clean the tub before his bath.
Hum…ding!
The front door swings open, revealing Dylan and Dolly frowning at Dawkins. Dawkins glances away, knowing what comes with those looks. He slinks inside, barely listening to Dylan's nagging and Dolly's half-hearted lecturing. If only the day would end sooner…
Notes: Finally getting around to my Dawkins story! I plan to release chapters in batches, so stay tuned.
So...the Basset Hounds...Brooklyn sounds sort of like Jasper from Steven Universe, while Beaumont sounds like Marshall Lee from Fionna and Cake.