Redhawk Caldera Two by two

Mashed seemed content enough mouthing at his muzzle, which Peregrine endured with a smile despite the almost overwhelming tickling sensation of damp, warm gums sawing at his face. As the boy gummed him to death, the proud papa mused about possible names for this inexplicably pale pup. They could name him after his paternal grandmother (who was surely the source of all that white fur) and call him Mo. But that didn't fit the convention at all. So maybe Owl? Snowy Owl? There were many other white birds to choose from too. Dove, he thought, wrinkling his nose and making barfing motions. Pigeon? Seagull? Cockatoo? Lil' Cock for short?

Trying not to laugh and upset his son, Peregrine watched as Mashed discovered his own socked foot. "We match," Peregrine purled, stretching out an enormous black forepaw to put beside the tiny tyke's matching one. "Well, our kicks do anyway," he mused, wiggling his toes enticingly.