Chapter Text
Birdwatching to cross-country dog sledding is an impressive leap. Lydia can give her father that much.
She still doesn’t quite follow the logic that’s led the two of them to be trundling down a track through a snowy forest in a van that seems way, way past its prime. Something about a fresh start. Something about reconnecting with nature. Something about how a semi-permanent cross-state move to some off the grid cabin in Alaska would be a great opportunity for her whole photography thing, right? And.. yeah? Maybe it would be? But the whole thing still comes off more like going mad with grief than anything, in Lydia’s opinion.
Still, for a concerningly sudden and drastic change in lifestyle, it’s all been rather thoroughly planned. Lydia is sitting in brand new snow gear that she wasn’t allowed to get in all black - Dad insisted they were looking strictly for functionality on that particular shopping trip - and the sled is already packed, double checked, and ready to go in the back of the van. Dogs were the final part of the puzzle, and practical as ever her father contacted every potential seller they might possibly pass on the way to the trailhead; almost twice as many as he actually intends to buy from, so he can be ‘selective’, apparently. As if Charles Deetz knows much of anything about dogs. Lydia hasn’t been keeping count of how many times now she’s stood and watched him make an earnest attempt at applying all of his google search and library book obtained knowledge to an animal in front of him and still end up looking clueless, but nonetheless he’s turned down three and purchased four of his goal of seven so far.
Twisting to look over the back of her seat, Lydia is met with six brown and two bright blue eyes looking back at her. There’s Sandy and Sally, near-identical sisters with white, unmarked faces, a splotchy pup named Jock, and the blue-eyed individual, a gorgeous reddish-brown dog named Tina who will most likely be their lead.
She’s reaching out to pat Jock’s head when a turn rattles the van, and she almost falls out of her seat.
“Oh, sorry,” Charles says as she readjusts herself. “I’m still not used to this kind of drive.”
“Mm. We’re stopping for another dog?”
“Yes. Though from the conversation I had with the owner, I’m not too sure about this one.”
The incessant rattling is replaced by stillness, and the snow crunches nicely under Lydia’s boots as she hops down from the van. As has become routine over the course of the day, she shoves her mittened hands into her pockets and trudges after her father. Like all the other times the barking of dogs gets louder as they make their way up the driveway to another cabin, Lydia hanging back as her dad knocks on the door. She kicks idly at the snow as he makes small talk with the man who answers, tuning out the chatter of her dad saying the exact same things he’s said at every stop. Until, that is, the stranger calls over to her.
“Big move, huh? You excited?”
Lydia looks up, and shrugs. “Eh, y’know. Dad’s having a midlife crisis and insists on ‘reconnecting with nature’ so we’re gonna go die in the wilderness.”
There’s a beat of silence before the man forces out a laugh. “Quite the optimist, huh?”
“Uh- Lydia just has an odd sense of humour,” Charles jumps in. “But you’re excited to get some good photography opportunities, aren’t you?”
“Sure.”
The silence returns, briefly.
“...Right!” the man says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll go grab that dog, shall I?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
Lydia goes back to kicking at the snow as the man trudges away around the side of the house, not looking up until she hears the footsteps of her father joining her.
“Lydia. You know we’re going to be okay, right?”
“I was joking, Dad.”
“I know, but even so. It’s not going to be an easy journey, but we aren’t going to die.”
Lydia shrugs. “Well, I mean. We could.”
“Lydia-”
“What? I’m just saying. We might. D’you know how many tourists die on Everest?”
“I don’t think you should be so apathetic about the idea.”
“Well we’re gonna die eventually regardless, so...”
As her father sighs in exasperation, there’s a bit of a commotion at the side of the cabin. The man is back, a rope lead gripped tight in his hands, the dog on the other end bouncing and spinning around his feet and almost tripping him up every other step. He’s a big shaggy thing, with a thick muddy grey-black and brown coat that turns white around his chest, ankles, and face. And he’s barking his head off, tail lashing against his owner’s legs in a way that looks painful. The second he catches sight of Lydia and Charles he surges forward, almost pulling the man off his feet, straining so hard against his collar that he forces himself onto his hind legs.
“He likes people,” the man calls over the sound of the dog - now wheezing past his collar. “Very friendly.”
“...Right,” Charles says, with a tone that makes Lydia fairly sure his mind is already made up about this one. But he still crouches down for a better look at the dog, who immediately responds by enthusiastically licking his face.
“Betel! Betel, no!” the man barks, struggling to haul his dog back. “Betelgeuse! Sit! Sit!”
Eventually, once he’s been hauled out of licking range, the dog heaves a heavy sigh and plops his hindquarters down into the snow. As her father wipes the slobber from his face and the owner apologises, Lydia quietly snorts in amusement; the dog looks greatly offended to have been interrupted.
“His name’s Betelgeuse?” she asks. The dog’s head whips around, ears pricked.
“Yes,” the owner says, now sounding thoroughly out of breath. “The whole litter was stars, planets, all that.”
She shoves her hands in her pockets, stepping a little closer. “Hey, Betel-”
“Careful-!”
In a single bound, the dog goes from sat in the snow to launching himself full-force into the girl’s ribs. She goes down like a bowling pin, landing in the snow with a solid woomph.
“Lydia, are you alright?!”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry-”
“It’s- I’m okay.”
Lydia looks up at the dog now sprawled on top of her. He looks down. He seems entirely baffled by how they came to be on the ground. His owner is already trying to drag him away again, but with his entire bodyweight draped limply over Lydia it’s useless. Betelgeuse doesn’t seem to have even noticed the man.
“Go on,” Lydia says, pushing at the dog’s chest. His ears prick up, and he begins sniffing at her mitten with great interest. Completely unbothered by her attempt to move him. She huffs. “I’m not a dog bed, you know.”
Betelgeuse’s tail begins to wag again. He starts to lick her hand. Apparently entirely oblivious to the displeasure of the humans around him until two grown men wrap their arms around him and haul him off Lydia.
“I really am so sorry,” the owner says again. “He- Betelgeuse!”
Lydia looks from her suddenly cold hand, to the dog squirming out of her dad’s grip with a mitten in his mouth. He’s off before his owner can grab the lead again, bounding through the snow with his prize held high.
“Hey!” Lydia calls, struggling to her feet to take off after him. “You don’t even have hands!”
She chases the dog a short way away from her father, stumbling to a stop when he turns and drops into a play-bow. She can hear the men running towards them, apparently over the shock, but she doesn’t wait. This is personal. She charges at the dog, who evades her with an infuriating air of joyful whimsy, tail wagging as he bounces away.
“You can’t run forever! I swear, if you’ve made a hole in that mitten I’ll make a new one out of your ears!”
He stops and bows at her again, and when she attempts to snatch the mitten from him he scrambles backwards. Not to be deterred, she lunges after him and grabs at him again, and this time snags the thumb. Betelgeuse, equally undeterred, is more than happy to turn the game into tug-of-war. Lydia finds herself stumbling through the snow as the dog eagerly jumps and twists, tail whipping back and forth like crazy. It’s clear that this is not a game a lanky fifteen-year-old is winning against a large sled dog but she refuses to go down without a fight, clinging to the mitten with both hands and taking any small amount of slack she gets as a chance to yank on it. Until, that is, the dog pulls himself up onto his hind feet as he shakes his head hard, and promptly overbalances. Lydia once again finds herself tumbling into the snow with him, but she’s the one to land on top this time.
The dog barks. Lydia notices the lack of tension on the mitten. And realising her victory, Lydia inspects her prize. Perhaps a little stretched, but surprisingly no holes.
“Alright,” she tells the dog, “looks like your ears are safe.”
She reaches out to gently pinch one of those ears, and is shocked at the feeling of velvet. It doesn’t seem right that such a scruffy creature could have such soft ears. The dog pulls his ear away from her, but only so he can lick her fingers. His tongue is so much warmer than her fingers that it almost hurts, at first. But then it just tickles, and she has to stifle her giggles lest she commit the mortifying act of laughing in front of her father when she’s supposed to be annoyed. With her still-mittened hand, she reaches up to scratch behind Betelgeuse’s ear. He eagerly shoves his head into her hand.
“You’re making it kinda hard to pet you,” she tells him, and he responds with a valiant effort to lick her face. She buries both hands in his thick neck fluff in her own effort to save herself.
“Hey, knock it off!” she tells him, still trying to stifle a laugh. He sneezes at her.
Lydia doesn’t think about how long her dad and the dog’s owner have just been letting this go on until she’s at the point of giving Betelgeuse belly rubs while his tail wags hard, like he’s making a snow-angel.
“Lydia?”
She looks up, and sees her dad watching. She pauses, and the dog whines.
“I want this one,” she blurts out, before she’s really thought about it. “Can we get him?”
Her dad looks from her face to the dog, who is now kicking his hind legs in the air in an attempt to regain her attention. “I’m not sure-”
“Dad, c’mon! You dragged me all the way out here to do the sledding thing, at least let me have one dog.”
Betelgeuse contorts his body to get at her mitten again. Lydia takes the opportunity to hug him around the neck.
“...Okay. Alright, we’ll take him.”
Against her dad’s protests, Lydia lets Betelgeuse off his lead on the walk back to the van. He seems very eager to stay with her, and all the rope is doing is giving him even more opportunities to trip her. Her dad hauls open the van door, and four fuzzy snouts appear to investigate their new teammate. Betelgeuse gladly hops up with them, and Lydia and her dad climb into the front. He hasn’t started the engine before a big shaggy head is shoved between the seats. Lydia pets it, failing to hide a smile. Charles consults his map.
“Two dogs at the next place?” Lydia asks, peeking over his arm at his notes.
“Yes. At least, we’re looking at two. Not necessarily buying two.”
“We do need two more.”
“Yes, and we’ve got plenty more options.”
Betelgeuse doesn’t settle for the entire drive to the next stop. He spends a lot of it with his head stuck between the seats, bugging Lydia for attention, and when he pulls away she can hear him moving around and the occasional bark until he comes back to her. When the incessant rattling of the van comes to a stop he perks up even more, tail loudly thumping against something or other in the back of the van. Lydia opens her door and hops down into the snow, and before she can slam it shut Betelgeuse has wormed his way into the front seat and jumped down beside her.
“You’re coming, are you?” she asks as she shuts the door.
Betelgeuse answers with a happy bark.
“Lydia-” her dad starts as he walks around the van to join him.
“I’ll put him on his lead.”
“...Fine. But you need to put him back if he doesn’t behave.”
Lydia grins, though it’s a challenge to get the rope back on a squirming dog in mittens. She doesn’t catch the conversation between her dad and the latest dog owner, too focused on her fluffy idiot, but they’re led over to look at the two dogs. One a pale gold colour with a white face, one completely brown, laying side by side in the snow and watching the visitors with an air of polite interest. Betelgeuse barks, dragging Lydia closer. The dogs don’t do much more than stand up and look mildly uncomfortable.
“See, this is what I mean,” their owner says as Betelgeuse drags Lydia closer and practically shoves his nose into the brown dog’s ear. “They won’t tell another dog off, they just stand there and let ‘em annoy them.”
“I think Betelgeuse has the opposite problem,” Lydia says, doing her best to not get tangled in the lead as he continues to be annoying.
“He certainly seems… interested.”
“Could the female be in heat?” her dad asks, attempting to know what he’s talking about.
“I don’t think so. And your dog seems just as interested in Adam, anyway.”
“Good for him,” Lydia says, now hugging her dog around the neck in an attempt to hang onto him.
“Maybe Betelgeuse should wait in the van,” her dad says pointedly.
“Yeah, maybe. C’mon, idiot dog.”
It’s a bit of a struggle to haul him away, but once his focus on the other dogs is broken he happily returns to doing his best to get under Lydia’s boots. By the time she’s got him back in the van and returned, her dad and the owner are discussing the golden dog in more detail while the brown one lays to the side, watching. Lydia approaches him, crouching down and holding out a hand for him to sniff. He does so warily, but his tail does wag just a little.
“You’re Adam, right?”
His tail wags a little harder. She slowly moves to pet his head, and though he’s hesitant he allows it. When she moves to scratch him under the chin, he rests his head on her hand, looking up at her with big hazel eyes.
“Big softie, huh?” Lydia says, petting his forehead with her other hand. He shuts his eyes, tail again picking up just a little speed.
“Adam!”
The dog springs to his feet, bounding over to his owner, but Lydia isn’t alone for long. The golden dog trots up to her, circling her as she investigates. And then, seemingly making up her mind, the dog attempts to climb into the lap of a girl who is not big enough to hold her and also not actually sitting down.
“Well hello to you too,” Lydia says, deciding to put her faith in her waterproof trousers and sit down before the dog makes that decision for her. After Betelgeuse, the gentleness of this one is shocking; she very delicately places her front legs across Lydia’s lap, and after a brief sniff of her face rests her big head against her chest with a sigh.
“I’m not sure I know your name,” Lydia says, scratching her nose, “but I think you like me, don’t you?”
The dog lightly licks her mitten.
“Yeah. You’ve got great taste.”
For a short while she sits there with the dog, scratching her nose, until Adam wanders back over and immediately lays down beside them to rest his chin on the other dog’s back. Lydia looks up at her dad.
“What’re you thinking?” she asks, with a heavy undertone of you better say yes.
“It’s both or neither, apparently. The owner’s not willing to split them up.”
“They seem pretty chill. Both of them might just be enough to balance out Betelgeuse’s crazy.”
Her dad hums, then crouches down to pet the golden dog’s head. She briefly leans into his hand, a polite acknowledgement, and then goes back to leaning on Lydia’s chest.
“Apparently they don’t hold their own in a pack very well.”
“They’ll learn. I’ll make sure they don’t get bullied.”
“...Alright. These are our last two dogs, then.”
They each lead one of the dogs back to the van, Charles with Adam and Lydia with the golden dog that she now knows is named Barb. The other occupants of the van greet them with the usual curiosity, but the pair quickly find a corner to curl up in without much reciprocation. Lydia figures it’s a good thing Betelgeuse is currently sat up front, as it severely limits his annoyingness to the newcomers, but her dad seems less thrilled when he opens the drivers side door and finds the dog in his seat.
“Betel- No, bad dog. Down. Shoo!”
He gives the dog a light push, and he bounds across to the passenger seat and down into the footwell.
“Lydia-”
“I can fit in around him,” Lydia says, already clambering onto the seat and attempting to shove her boot in next to the dog.
“Alright, as long as you keep him on that side.”
Lydia hugs the dog tight around the neck, just as he was moving to clamber up on top of her. “On it.”
Her dad shakes his head as he starts the engine up again. And they’re off, a complete team of dogs in tow. Nothing more between them and the trailhead. For a short while there’s quiet between them, just the rattle of the van. Lydia looks down at her dog, rubbing his ears between her fingers.
“I think ‘Betelgeuse’ is too sophisticated a name for this guy,” she says eventually.
“You do?”
“Yeah, he’s not distinguished enough for astronomy.”
She pets the dog’s snout, and he makes an earnest attempt to eat her coat sleeve.
“I’m calling you Beetlejuice,” she decides. “Like the grungy, weird creature you are.”
Her dad snorts. “If you say so, Pumpkin.”
They drive on into the snow.