AW but please allow his companion, French Fry, to post first =)
--
An involuntary groan fled from the dog's chest as the air was squeezed out of him with a sit. His forelimbs trembled slightly, as though beset with a chill, though this physical manifestation of weakness was due simply to being tired.
"Sit, Fry." He words were kind but firm. Chestnut colored eyes cast over his shoulder to verify that his companion could hear over the sound of his furiously shuffling feet. Mac might've been the smarter of the two but the Retriever could run circles around him all day. And with the amplified height of excitement (and minute dread) between them the golden brother was little more than a live wire; the sheer sight of him dipping and diving in every direction at once elicited an exhausted sign from the elder canine. "Sit," he said again - oftentimes Fry needed a small reminder - before he glanced across the moor from which they'd wandered to.
He ached for his people. Why weren't they here? He thought surely if they returned to the campsite that everything would be fine. Except (unbeknownst to him) this wasn't the camp. Camp was over 30 miles in the other direction...and no human had ever wandered out this far into the wilderness.
His droopy ears perked as he glanced to Fry to see if perhaps he had any input.
--
An involuntary groan fled from the dog's chest as the air was squeezed out of him with a sit. His forelimbs trembled slightly, as though beset with a chill, though this physical manifestation of weakness was due simply to being tired.
"Sit, Fry." He words were kind but firm. Chestnut colored eyes cast over his shoulder to verify that his companion could hear over the sound of his furiously shuffling feet. Mac might've been the smarter of the two but the Retriever could run circles around him all day. And with the amplified height of excitement (and minute dread) between them the golden brother was little more than a live wire; the sheer sight of him dipping and diving in every direction at once elicited an exhausted sign from the elder canine. "Sit," he said again - oftentimes Fry needed a small reminder - before he glanced across the moor from which they'd wandered to.
He ached for his people. Why weren't they here? He thought surely if they returned to the campsite that everything would be fine. Except (unbeknownst to him) this wasn't the camp. Camp was over 30 miles in the other direction...and no human had ever wandered out this far into the wilderness.
His droopy ears perked as he glanced to Fry to see if perhaps he had any input.
May 03, 2016, 11:36 AM
(This post was last modified: May 03, 2016, 11:41 AM by French Fry.)
“Sit, Fry.”
Named for his questionable mental capacity — “few French fries short of a Happy Meal, isn’t he?” — the over exuberant Golden Retriever was quite unaware that he and Big Mac had become completely, utterly lost. French Fry had never been lost. He wouldn’t have been able to fully comprehend the situation even if Big Mac had used the word outright. To French Fry, “lost” was what happened to tennis balls that rolled under the couch until one of the Family dug them out for him. Oftentimes he didn’t even realize they were gone until — oh boy, oh boy! — they winked like neon green signal beacons in Dad’s capable hands. And French Fry — and certainly Big Mac — were too large now to fit under the couch.
“Sit.”
The Golden Retriever’s ample posterior hit the ground with military precision the second time around. Soulful brown eyes immediately searched Big Mac’s face for approval. French Fry was a simple creature with simple desires, and there were few things he enjoyed more than swimming — or doing basically anything — with his brother. Tongue lolling from his open, smiling mouth, French Fry held the position for a second or two before the furious lashing of his tail set his chubby butt wiggling along with it. He inched closer to Mac — inched closer again — and butted the crown of his empty head against his brother’s fuzzy chin. The plastic cone combed through and stabbed harmlessly into the thick ruff around the Newfoundland’s neck again and again, making wild “sssssTHWUP” noises until French Fry realized that Big Mac was actually concerned about something.
French Fry’s tail stopped wagging; his brow furrowed; his expressive brown eyes filled with concern; and his joyously panting mouth closed to form a pensive pout. “Mac,” he said hesitantly when the dark chestnut eyes landed upon his face, “what’s wrong?” A low whine trailed from the retriever’s lips as he attempted to put the pieces of this puzzle together — no Family, no tennis balls, deeply concerned expression on Mac’s face, no hot dog smell —
— oh, no! No hot dog smell!
Clearly the two dogs were in a Dangerous Situation, because if French Fry had one talent it was finding food — and this place was very clearly devoid of food. The Family had brought hot dogs; therefore, if there was no hot dog smell, the Family was somewhere else. And since the intention of this jaunt was to find where the people were, this meant that they had gone the wrong way somehow. The consternation was visible on French Fry’s face as he solved this mystery.
There was only one thing to do.
French Fry flung up his head, a volley of barks trailing off into a pitiful little howl.
“HEY! HEY! WE ARE HERE! WHERE ARE YOOOOOUUUUU?”
Named for his questionable mental capacity — “few French fries short of a Happy Meal, isn’t he?” — the over exuberant Golden Retriever was quite unaware that he and Big Mac had become completely, utterly lost. French Fry had never been lost. He wouldn’t have been able to fully comprehend the situation even if Big Mac had used the word outright. To French Fry, “lost” was what happened to tennis balls that rolled under the couch until one of the Family dug them out for him. Oftentimes he didn’t even realize they were gone until — oh boy, oh boy! — they winked like neon green signal beacons in Dad’s capable hands. And French Fry — and certainly Big Mac — were too large now to fit under the couch.
“Sit.”
The Golden Retriever’s ample posterior hit the ground with military precision the second time around. Soulful brown eyes immediately searched Big Mac’s face for approval. French Fry was a simple creature with simple desires, and there were few things he enjoyed more than swimming — or doing basically anything — with his brother. Tongue lolling from his open, smiling mouth, French Fry held the position for a second or two before the furious lashing of his tail set his chubby butt wiggling along with it. He inched closer to Mac — inched closer again — and butted the crown of his empty head against his brother’s fuzzy chin. The plastic cone combed through and stabbed harmlessly into the thick ruff around the Newfoundland’s neck again and again, making wild “sssssTHWUP” noises until French Fry realized that Big Mac was actually concerned about something.
French Fry’s tail stopped wagging; his brow furrowed; his expressive brown eyes filled with concern; and his joyously panting mouth closed to form a pensive pout. “Mac,” he said hesitantly when the dark chestnut eyes landed upon his face, “what’s wrong?” A low whine trailed from the retriever’s lips as he attempted to put the pieces of this puzzle together — no Family, no tennis balls, deeply concerned expression on Mac’s face, no hot dog smell —
— oh, no! No hot dog smell!
Clearly the two dogs were in a Dangerous Situation, because if French Fry had one talent it was finding food — and this place was very clearly devoid of food. The Family had brought hot dogs; therefore, if there was no hot dog smell, the Family was somewhere else. And since the intention of this jaunt was to find where the people were, this meant that they had gone the wrong way somehow. The consternation was visible on French Fry’s face as he solved this mystery.
There was only one thing to do.
French Fry flung up his head, a volley of barks trailing off into a pitiful little howl.
“HEY! HEY! WE ARE HERE! WHERE ARE YOOOOOUUUUU?”
Too few things went together like burgers and french fries - well at the dog park there were those obnoxious terrier mixes that went by the names PB and Jelly but seriously they were bitches - and the bond between the two dogs was as true as their monikers. Mac lifted his head so that the shifty Retriever could nestled against him and he parted lips to dab the golden noggin with a reassuring lick; the scritching of the cone against his neck was an added bonus to the brotherly embrace.
But Fry soon caught on that things were not all PB and Jelly-
WHY WERE THEY POPPING UP IN HIS HEAD RIGHT NOW?!
- and the logical conclusion of Point A to Point B shed light on the situation without the Newfie's input.
Fry wasn't calm. He was the opposite of calm. He was...uncalm. But in this world where hot dogs didn't exist and people didn't pop out of magical yellow cones [tents] to utter the godly command 'hush' Mac supposed that it was okay to be a little uncalm. The fever of Fry's reaction stirred in him a bit of unrest and he rose to all fours; his plume rose high and curled like a scorpion's tail over his back.
Watch this his eyes sparkled knowingly as he turned his face toward the moor and suckled a great breathe of air. It churned inside him, building in his breast, until at last the might of the Newfoundland heritage spilled into the vacant land with a single, booming bark that cracked against the trees and feathered into soft echoes beyond the distance.
Help. We're here.
But Fry soon caught on that things were not all PB and Jelly-
WHY WERE THEY POPPING UP IN HIS HEAD RIGHT NOW?!
- and the logical conclusion of Point A to Point B shed light on the situation without the Newfie's input.
Fry wasn't calm. He was the opposite of calm. He was...uncalm. But in this world where hot dogs didn't exist and people didn't pop out of magical yellow cones [tents] to utter the godly command 'hush' Mac supposed that it was okay to be a little uncalm. The fever of Fry's reaction stirred in him a bit of unrest and he rose to all fours; his plume rose high and curled like a scorpion's tail over his back.
Watch this his eyes sparkled knowingly as he turned his face toward the moor and suckled a great breathe of air. It churned inside him, building in his breast, until at last the might of the Newfoundland heritage spilled into the vacant land with a single, booming bark that cracked against the trees and feathered into soft echoes beyond the distance.
Help. We're here.
May 04, 2016, 09:58 PM
Ignorance was truly bliss, and it was for this reason that P.B. and Jelly never really crossed French Fry’s mind. Until he had reason to think of them — i.e. until he went to the dog park and they terrorized him with their high-pitched barks and sharp little fangs — he simply...forgot they existed. No, French Fry wasn’t what you’d call a deep thinker.
Mac, though, was another story.
Mac was the family’s protector — the designated driver — the last one out the door to make sure everyone else got out all right. He’d remember the cranky little terriers. [It must be confessed that Mac’s great intelligence had some serious grudge-holding potential.]
The Newfoundland rose to all fours then, his tail curling high and proud above his back, and French Fry was powerless to control the excited skittering of his hindquarters as he butted and licked at his brother’s muzzle in frenetic approval. Mac wasn’t necessarily a creature of few words; when wrestling with Fry or playing with the Family, Mac was capable of some ridiculously weird sounds. But there was something about Mac’s resonant, booming voice that commanded attention, and French Fry was no exception to this rule.
As Mac’s voice echoed and died away, French Fry felt the first cold fingers of worry twist tendrils around his great — but cowardly — heart. “Mac?” the Golden Retriever intoned softly, though he didn’t have a specific question in mind. It was enough that he and Mac were together. As long as they were together, Fry knew they’d find the Family.
Mac, though, was another story.
Mac was the family’s protector — the designated driver — the last one out the door to make sure everyone else got out all right. He’d remember the cranky little terriers. [It must be confessed that Mac’s great intelligence had some serious grudge-holding potential.]
The Newfoundland rose to all fours then, his tail curling high and proud above his back, and French Fry was powerless to control the excited skittering of his hindquarters as he butted and licked at his brother’s muzzle in frenetic approval. Mac wasn’t necessarily a creature of few words; when wrestling with Fry or playing with the Family, Mac was capable of some ridiculously weird sounds. But there was something about Mac’s resonant, booming voice that commanded attention, and French Fry was no exception to this rule.
As Mac’s voice echoed and died away, French Fry felt the first cold fingers of worry twist tendrils around his great — but cowardly — heart. “Mac?” the Golden Retriever intoned softly, though he didn’t have a specific question in mind. It was enough that he and Mac were together. As long as they were together, Fry knew they’d find the Family.
May 05, 2016, 06:10 PM
Fry's thin veil of concentration was beginning to manifest itself into concern. The dog scented it in the air...the sharp edge of it bringing his soft eyes away from the distance and back onto the pensive face of his companion. Should they be worried? The weight of everything mulled in his brain before his conclusion was reached.
No worries. Only happiness.
He smiled then and shook his cinderblock dome with a gentleness that lent an impression of indifference. "They must've gone somewhere to get snacks," he said shortly after the last of his echoing call dissipated. "They'll be back." And they always did. Mac was not a canine privy to the suspicions of those who had been abandoned; his people left and then returned. It was the ebb and flow of his life...he figured it always would be.
"What would you like to do?" he asked spontaneously as his plume gave a few wide waves. If they were going to be minding their own affairs for a while they might as well get busy!
No worries. Only happiness.
He smiled then and shook his cinderblock dome with a gentleness that lent an impression of indifference. "They must've gone somewhere to get snacks," he said shortly after the last of his echoing call dissipated. "They'll be back." And they always did. Mac was not a canine privy to the suspicions of those who had been abandoned; his people left and then returned. It was the ebb and flow of his life...he figured it always would be.
"What would you like to do?" he asked spontaneously as his plume gave a few wide waves. If they were going to be minding their own affairs for a while they might as well get busy!
May 11, 2016, 05:32 AM
It feels so weird to play a character without worries!
The silence following Fry’s outburst and Mac’s single, commanding bark had been initially disconcerting, but as a peaceful smile shaped the level-headed Newfoundland’s jowls, his golden companion immediately relaxed. This wasn’t so different, then, from the slightly terrifying times the Family went out. French Fry had no real conception of time, and therefore the hours he’d been apart from the Family felt fairly standard. He understood snacks. When it came to snacks, French Fry was known to act with an initiative rarely seen by — well, rarely seen by anyone since the beginning of ever. At the mere mention of them, French Fry whined eagerly, tossing his head like a spirited horse as he began to salivate.
“I like snacks,” the chubby Golden Retriever said confidently, with the proud flourish of a scientist who has discovered some fantastic breakthrough.
“What would you like to do?”
The possibilities, it seemed, were endless. With the weight of the world balanced precariously in his flighty paws, French Fry scarcely seemed to know what to do with himself. Unbeknownst to the two lost boys, famine had settled a weighty hand upon the Teekon Wilds. Getting snacks of any kind was out of the question. Fortunately for Mac, hunger was the furthest thing from Fry’s addled mind despite his general status as a stomach with legs. “Well, we’re wild animals now,” French Fry said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. “We should do everything that makes the Family say, ‘Quit acting like a wild animal! Were you raised in a barn?!’ Mac. Mac. We should — ” His eyes darted shiftily about before fixing with vivid intensity on Mac’s face. “ — we should go crazy.”
“I like snacks,” the chubby Golden Retriever said confidently, with the proud flourish of a scientist who has discovered some fantastic breakthrough.
“What would you like to do?”
The possibilities, it seemed, were endless. With the weight of the world balanced precariously in his flighty paws, French Fry scarcely seemed to know what to do with himself. Unbeknownst to the two lost boys, famine had settled a weighty hand upon the Teekon Wilds. Getting snacks of any kind was out of the question. Fortunately for Mac, hunger was the furthest thing from Fry’s addled mind despite his general status as a stomach with legs. “Well, we’re wild animals now,” French Fry said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. “We should do everything that makes the Family say, ‘Quit acting like a wild animal! Were you raised in a barn?!’ Mac. Mac. We should — ” His eyes darted shiftily about before fixing with vivid intensity on Mac’s face. “ — we should go crazy.”
May 11, 2016, 04:07 PM
Aha me too! It's pretty hard to not have a touch of angst xD
--
Wild animals? the Newfoundland queried to himself as Fry took it upon himself to put a name to their current status. The cone fixated to his companion's neck was enough evidence toward their freshly discredited pet status. The man-made accessory removed all feral implications from the Retriever's appearance; the wild glee of his expression upon deciding their fate was a secondary factor. An inky brow raised in speculation but it did not bring with it a countering, verbal argument. The gears had already started turning in his head and he mulled over his brother's findings.
Mac was a simple dog. And simple dogs had simple conclusions. Maybe he speculated, if we act wild enough the people will come back faster. Someone will call them to tattle on us! It was a long shot - one imagined by a dog that had never been lost - but it was worth a try at least.
"Wild?" he voiced with a low, rumbling growl that strayed from ferocity by the humored smile upon his face. "We're going to be freakin' animals!"
But...how?!
--
Wild animals? the Newfoundland queried to himself as Fry took it upon himself to put a name to their current status. The cone fixated to his companion's neck was enough evidence toward their freshly discredited pet status. The man-made accessory removed all feral implications from the Retriever's appearance; the wild glee of his expression upon deciding their fate was a secondary factor. An inky brow raised in speculation but it did not bring with it a countering, verbal argument. The gears had already started turning in his head and he mulled over his brother's findings.
Mac was a simple dog. And simple dogs had simple conclusions. Maybe he speculated, if we act wild enough the people will come back faster. Someone will call them to tattle on us! It was a long shot - one imagined by a dog that had never been lost - but it was worth a try at least.
"Wild?" he voiced with a low, rumbling growl that strayed from ferocity by the humored smile upon his face. "We're going to be freakin' animals!"
But...how?!
May 12, 2016, 04:34 PM
“He’s giving you the Look.”
The familiar phrase rang like a bell in French Fry’s head, so poignantly vivid it caused his ears to perk up as though he could truly hear the two-legged matriarch’s voice. As the inky Newfoundland mulled over the idea and formulated his reply, Fry’s soulful brown eyes were glued to Mac’s ever-solemn visage with desperate urgency. Wide and eager, they didn’t blink. Not even a passing steamroller could break the Golden Retriever’s intense stare; Fry was theorized to be at least 50% rubber and would probably bounce harmlessly back into place without ever looking away.
This was the Look, and it was highly effective when it came to getting French Fry what he wanted, whether it was a stupendously satisfying butt-scratch or a cookie [whose calories he ought to do without]. And what he wanted right now was —
“Wild? We’re going to be freakin’ animals!”
With a saucy smirk — a non-verbal, “Step back, Mac, and let me show you how it’s done,” — French Fry set about rattling the few precious brain cells he still had around his empty skull. Flinging up his head with a joyous cacophony of barks, the chubby Golden Retriever bounced and danced with renewed vigor, his eyes glinting wickedly this way and that before he started Transgression Number One. Arching back on his hind legs like a blooded horse, he dug both forelegs haphazardly into the soft earth beneath his feet. Dirt flew everywhere as he alternated between paddling and jumping, snapping harmlessly at the earth he uncovered.
“FRENCH FRY! STOP DIGGING IN THE YARD!”
“YOU CAN’T STOP ME NOW! I’M A WILD ANIMAL!”
The familiar phrase rang like a bell in French Fry’s head, so poignantly vivid it caused his ears to perk up as though he could truly hear the two-legged matriarch’s voice. As the inky Newfoundland mulled over the idea and formulated his reply, Fry’s soulful brown eyes were glued to Mac’s ever-solemn visage with desperate urgency. Wide and eager, they didn’t blink. Not even a passing steamroller could break the Golden Retriever’s intense stare; Fry was theorized to be at least 50% rubber and would probably bounce harmlessly back into place without ever looking away.
This was the Look, and it was highly effective when it came to getting French Fry what he wanted, whether it was a stupendously satisfying butt-scratch or a cookie [whose calories he ought to do without]. And what he wanted right now was —
“Wild? We’re going to be freakin’ animals!”
With a saucy smirk — a non-verbal, “Step back, Mac, and let me show you how it’s done,” — French Fry set about rattling the few precious brain cells he still had around his empty skull. Flinging up his head with a joyous cacophony of barks, the chubby Golden Retriever bounced and danced with renewed vigor, his eyes glinting wickedly this way and that before he started Transgression Number One. Arching back on his hind legs like a blooded horse, he dug both forelegs haphazardly into the soft earth beneath his feet. Dirt flew everywhere as he alternated between paddling and jumping, snapping harmlessly at the earth he uncovered.
“FRENCH FRY! STOP DIGGING IN THE YARD!”
“YOU CAN’T STOP ME NOW! I’M A WILD ANIMAL!”
May 15, 2016, 10:15 AM
Shall we close this one? I know you're very ill so there's no rush at all =D I hope you're starting to feel better now!
---
For the first time since they'd stomped out of the water the Newfie gave a deep, appreciative laugh as he watched his brother slinging the earth in poignant defiance. He jerked with little clumps of it rained against his shoulder and the motion carried him up to all fours with his plume swinging in excitement; he may have been the more stoic of the pair but he was an adolescent creature after all.
Being wild was a lot more fun than Mac had given credit. He tossed his head like a proud little pony and darted off toward the tree line...the heavy parade of his thudding feet sounding less dog and more stampede. "CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!" he hollered obnoxiously over his shoulder as he became carried away with the idea of their newfound freedom.
---
For the first time since they'd stomped out of the water the Newfie gave a deep, appreciative laugh as he watched his brother slinging the earth in poignant defiance. He jerked with little clumps of it rained against his shoulder and the motion carried him up to all fours with his plume swinging in excitement; he may have been the more stoic of the pair but he was an adolescent creature after all.
Being wild was a lot more fun than Mac had given credit. He tossed his head like a proud little pony and darted off toward the tree line...the heavy parade of his thudding feet sounding less dog and more stampede. "CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!" he hollered obnoxiously over his shoulder as he became carried away with the idea of their newfound freedom.
May 15, 2016, 05:51 PM
Yes, please ♥ I am actually feeling a bit better today! My throat seems to have stopped being quite so raw, and I am able to eat melted ice cream, which is a step up from my previous sad meals of...chicken broth. This will make ten posts!
Someday when he was old and grizzled, with white spectacles and a dusting of powdered sugar white around his muzzle, French Fry would look back on these antics and wonder where he got all that goddamn energy. And he would lift a threadbare ear as his buddy Mac mentioned their “wild days” — and, after some patient reminding — would remember only the good things about their time as wild animals during their long sojourn to find the Family. That is, if all went well.
French Fry was not a deep thinker; he might never be a hero. What he was was optimism and loyalty personified. And he knew that they would eventually find their way home; his trust in Big Mac [and in the way the world worked in general] was based upon the knowledge that every day the fear of being left alone would be assuaged by the beloved herd of the Family coming home again. It didn’t matter that this time the dogs were the ones who had wandered astray. They would be found. If French Fry had any inkling of science, he would have likened it to a scientific law.
Securely snuggled in this simple belief system, French Fry bulleted after his brother. It was a certainty that French Fry could catch the Newfoundland, but whether or not he distracted himself on the way would determine the actual outcome of this little game. “I’M GOING TO GET YOU-OUU-OUUUUU!” he howled, hearing again a voice that did not exist in this place and time.
“Fry, shut up, you goofy dog!”
French Fry was not a deep thinker; he might never be a hero. What he was was optimism and loyalty personified. And he knew that they would eventually find their way home; his trust in Big Mac [and in the way the world worked in general] was based upon the knowledge that every day the fear of being left alone would be assuaged by the beloved herd of the Family coming home again. It didn’t matter that this time the dogs were the ones who had wandered astray. They would be found. If French Fry had any inkling of science, he would have likened it to a scientific law.
Securely snuggled in this simple belief system, French Fry bulleted after his brother. It was a certainty that French Fry could catch the Newfoundland, but whether or not he distracted himself on the way would determine the actual outcome of this little game. “I’M GOING TO GET YOU-OUU-OUUUUU!” he howled, hearing again a voice that did not exist in this place and time.
“Fry, shut up, you goofy dog!”
May 17, 2016, 10:15 AM
So glad that you're feeling better! I'm going to archive this now!
--
Laughter. It rang in the trees and rose into the clouds that were dusted pink by the looming hours of dusk. Certainly the Family was worried sick about their lost dogs, calling desperately into the woods where the two had last been seen, but in this moment Mac hadn't the slightest thought of them. Maybe, just maybe, the chorus of the brothers would find sanctuary in the wind and be carried back to those people who so deeply loved them...and spark a sense of peace in knowing that at least the dogs were together. And together, even if they suffered, they could last forever.
--
Laughter. It rang in the trees and rose into the clouds that were dusted pink by the looming hours of dusk. Certainly the Family was worried sick about their lost dogs, calling desperately into the woods where the two had last been seen, but in this moment Mac hadn't the slightest thought of them. Maybe, just maybe, the chorus of the brothers would find sanctuary in the wind and be carried back to those people who so deeply loved them...and spark a sense of peace in knowing that at least the dogs were together. And together, even if they suffered, they could last forever.
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