Bearclaw Valley Desert Wellies

Lucas had noticed one day, while chewing on the end of a bone from some terrestrial creature or other, that the den was shrinking. What was once a spacious penthouse was now more of a chicken coop, and it was tough to find space for his giant ass around all the other occupants at night. Wyatt had it easiest—the guy was practically a stick, even though he still had that puppy flab that everyone adores on his belly—but poor Lucas felt like he was drowning in bodies when sleep time came.

As a result, he hadn't been sleeping so well in the night, and was forced to catch up on Z's after dawn when the most energetic of the pups rose and left. He wasn't often far behind them, maybe an hour at most, but he was drowsier than usual for sleeping later in the morning. It was one of those days, the kind where one's eyelids were held down by ten ton weights and the world existed in a shroud, when Nunataq decided to dig her hole.

He was still yawning and smacking his lips and trying to pry his eyes open as he vacated the den on heavily plodding paws. He wasn't quite coherent when his foot landed on thin air, but the resulting tumble woke him up faster than even the welcoming rays of sunlight could. Lucas barely managed to utter an alarmed squeak before he toppled into the hole and his fat gut smashed right into Nunataq's rear end.