fivesome

He snoozed, his mother's tongue caressing and cleaning him, lulling him into a deeper sleep in which he squeaked as though dreaming, not unlike a guinea pig chirping for lettuce. But Swift did not dream, for Swift and his mind were an infant, and the programming in his brain was limited to basic instinctive responses, the kind that would see he survived to grow, when an expanding mind would give way to dreams at a later time.

Even though he was asleep, the little Frostfur had a gift to give his mother. In the quiet of the den, a little pfffff sounded, his tail twitching to suggest exactly where this air had come from. Swift rolled as the rank puppy fart rose around him and drifted right under his mother's nose. His nose crinkled next, for even he smelled the devil's breath that he had released into the den. But he was sound asleep and did not wake.