Heron Lake Plateau I'm a police officer. I'm a police officer and I want a cup of tea.

Owen froze, and squeaked in uncertainty—the only part of him that moved was his big blurry eyes that tracked the arc of the antler as it went flying up, up, up and away, far out of his sight... He turned his bewildered eyes toward his father as Quixote poked and prodded at him with the selfsame big wet black nose that had sent the recalcitrant bony structure off somewhere into the heavens. Owen was in awe. The pup hadn't been able to get any leverage or focus to get that antler moved at all. This big black intruder must be some sort of, of superhero, as it turned out! Owen whimpered uncertainly, just a little, but there was in fact not a scratch on him and obviously this big black beast was going to work to protect him from the things in the world that decided to harm him.

Thusly, after a moment Owen began to squirm about, rolling himself over onto first his side and then his belly in the dust with some difficulty. He wriggled his muzzle first one way, then another, and then thrust it forward with curiosity intermingled with some remaining hesitance. He sniffed at his father to see if the bony antlerbeast had managed to get a bite in on the big bloke with fur the color of the darkest night skies, or if he had somehow miraculously escaped unscathed. Owen even grew so bold as to clumsily paw at him a time or two, to double-check the evidence of his eyes. That tricksy antler had snuck up on and trapped him so unexpectedly. How the heck had his father managed to outfox it?! Owen made an interrogative noise and opened his mouth wide as he tried to lever himself up using his father's nose as a ramp, all the better to get a really good look at him and figure out how the adult may have accomplished all of this. And if there were any more sneaksome thingamajigs about that his father might have spotted that had it in for innocent little puppies, for that matter. No more antlers about, right dad? No lurking tree branches, no screaming fluttering featherthings, no triptastic pointy rocks, no muddily slapping den corners tiptoeing up behind him...? Owen stared as deep and hard as he could into Quixote's luminous green eyes to try and make sure the more-alert elder did not espy anysuch terrible dangers.