Redhawk Caldera Hands off, no trash talk, no back walk

If you peeps don't care about a post order, I don't. :)

Last year, Peregrine had been eager to name their children for a myriad of reasons, ranging from sentimental to practical. This time around, he had already decided to respect Fox's tradition and wait until they were a little older. Still, he needed to call them something, if only to keep them straight in his head, or when referring to them in conversation. He was pretty good at coming up with nicknames.

His single sighted eye flicked between the pups as they each reacted to his touch in their own way. "We'll call you Smol," he decided, gazing at the littlest of the bunch and trying to calm his squirming with a gentle pass of his tongue. Peregrine's attention shifted then to the pup's slightly larger lookalike. "You remind me so much of NJ." A little white paw wriggled in his face and he glanced between the two mid-sized boys and declared, "Mashed," and, "Potato." That left the litter's largest, the sandy fellow with distinct black markings. "Hamburglar."

Who knew if the names would stick or if he would come up with a dozen others for each pup as the weeks passed? He wasn't going to fuss about it. Satisfied with his choices for now, Peregrine let his voice trail off into a fatherly rumble as he found himself unable to stop from touching each of them again. This time, he offered each wriggling boy a tender nuzzle to the tops of their fuzzy little heads.

Peter = Smol, Whip = Mashed, Gannet = Potato and Ferret = Hamburglar (wasn't sure if that was clear), lol.