dog race

That morning began just like any other - or at least, it probably did. Hell if Whit had any idea considering it was his, what, second morning ever? The pale meatball began the day with a wide yawn-like gaping of his mouth and a long stretch-like manuever of his pudgy, midget legs. The necessities out of the way, he immediately turned his head to search for the squishy boob wall, intent on suckling and puking and peeing the day away.

But then it all went so horribly, terribly wrong when boob wall made a break for it.

Whittier thrust his nose back and forth, searching blindly for his breakfast. He whimpered nervously when he was unable to find it - a sound that cased the moment he wriggled about and smashed his face right into his brother's rump. Deciding that he perhaps just didn't have the right elevation for his search, the little wolf decided to climb Mount Swift, only to tumble right back off the moment he'd reached the top of the summit 'cause.. y'know, gravity.

The little chubster rolled unceremoniously to a halt, bopping lightly against Pasha. Frustrated, he jerked his body about, unwittingly facing his mother and the strip of decaying meat she'd just dropped upon her eldest. Instantly, the boy froze, mesmerized by the new scent. He held his mouth open, hovering just a centimeter in front of the meat, tasting the scent that spilled from it with his tongue but unable to react... except to suddenly soil himself with a rumbly little purr.