Swiftcurrent Creek Pupsitting does not mean pup-sitting

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If he had thought he’d need to convince Arric and Arlette some quality time with their kids he was sorely mistaken—the pair were eager to seek out some much needed and warranted alone time, it seemed. It seemed a now or never kind of moment—the Creek seemed to be on the precipice of battle, war or doom and gloom.

Just another Sunday, really. It was easy to forget to steal the little moments in life like this—and he was content his friends had found such with one another.

No sooner did he say his goodbyes to the two parents did he turn to study his new charges, pressing down a certain level of anxiety as he studied the size and weight of them. This seemed to be about the age Mae had gone from baby curse words and ankle biting terrorizing to full blown running away from home and all across the valley in an angry ball of hate against him.

Maybe it was amazing the Betas did trust him enough to leave him in charge of the four most important souls in their life.

Before he could even begin with anything—conspiring girls called the shots with a full blown game of hide and seek and before he could blink, they scattered to the wind.

Gone.

Fuck.

“This is fine,” he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the raw rush of PTSD anxiety washing over him as he didn’t straight up give chase. Turning to a tree, he exhaled, lifting a paw to bury his eyes and humoring the littles: “1, 2, 3….” He spoke loudly—but his ears twitched, trying to gather which direction they might be running.

He had one job today: and that was to ensure the mini-Arric’s didn’t get hurt, lost, or worse.

It would be fine.