Chapter Text
Bitty looked out the kitchen window and sighed.
The dog from across the way was in his yard again.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Dogs were great. They were warm and furry and wagged their tails and could be taught to sit and lie down and come when called and STAY WHERE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE.
Which was not in Bitty’s backyard, drooling at the gate of his chicken coop.
Bitty growled, grabbed the broom from its hook next to the back door, and headed outside.
Not that he’d actually hit the dog or anything. He just wanted to be able to keep his distance. The dog was a black and white pit bull, probably more than 50 pounds, with a massive head, and Bitty had heard things about pit bulls. About how they clamped down and never let go. While the dog didn’t look threatening now, who knew what it would do when confronted?
Well. Bitty had a pretty good idea, because this was the second time this week and the fourth time this month that he’d had to shoo the dog out his yard.
At least the coop was strong and secure. Coach probably never thought that when he taught Bitty to build things he was just encouraging his baking habit; Bitty had decided to get chickens as soon as he moved to a house with enough property to care for them because he wanted the constant access to fresh eggs. But now his chickens were pets as much as egg suppliers,and he’d be heartbroken if this goldang dog hurt any of them.
He stalked out the back door brandishing the broom.
“Hey!” he yelled. “You! Skedaddle!”
The dog turned from the coop to face Bitty, tail up, ears pricked forward, tongue lolling out.
Did that mean he was mad? He certainly didn’t look scared.
Bitty jabbed the bristles of the broom in the dog’s direction.
“Go ‘way,” he said. “Get!”
Instead of running, the dog jumped towards the end of the broom, trying to pounce on the bristles. The dog ended up down on its elbows, rear end in the air, tail waving like mad. Bitty could have sworn the dog was smiling at him. It didn’t seem mad.
“No, I don’t want to play,” Bitty said, swinging the broom towards the dog yet again, even more careful not to hit … him? her? It. Definitely it.
The dog stood up and trotted back towards the rear of the yard, a blue identification tag swinging merrily from its red collar. If Bitty got close enough, he could maybe get the owner’s name. At least an address or phone number, so he could give the guy a piece of his mind.
Bitty followed at a distance, watching the dog slip under a loose section of chain-link fence at the bottom the yard then bound up onto the back deck of the house not directly opposite, but one over.
Well, at least Bitty knew where the dog lived now.
That evening, Bitty buttoned up his shirt, shined his shoes and tied his favorite red bow tie around his neck. Maybe it was overkill, but Bitty knew he had a baby face, and he didn’t know what he was walking into. What kind of owner would that big black dog have? Someone who liked to intimidate people? Or a family that didn’t know they were harboring a potential chicken-killer?
Bitty hoped the jaunty red tie would strike the right note either way.
He picked up the pecan pie he’d baked in a disposable tin that afternoon and a plastic container with a half-dozen eggs and marched himself out the front door, down the sidewalk, and around to the other side of the block.
If he wasn’t sure he had the right house (a mid-size colonial with blue shingles), he could have told from the deep barking that came from inside as soon as he rang the bell.
He could just write a note and leave it with the eggs and pie …
The door opened.
The guy definitely was big. And buff. And way underdressed, at least compared to Bitty, in loose athletic shorts and a dri-fit T-shirt. His dark hair wasn’t long but managed to look a bit of a mess anyway. His light blue eyes felt ice-cold as they stared down at the offerings in Bitty’s hands.
“We don’t need any —”
“I’m not selling —”
There was a snuffling noise, and Bitty looked down, taking in the man’s highlighter-yellow sneakers along with the black muzzle of the dog, trying to work it’s way around the man’s knee.
Bitty took a large step back, almost falling down the top step in the process. The man’s leg straightened, effectively penning the dog in the house.
“Puck, sit,” the man said. “Sorry about her.”
Well, that was one question answered.
“What do you need?” the man asked, still brusque, but maybe not quite as terse as before.
“I wanted to give you these,” Bitty said, holding up his offerings.
“Ooo-kay,” the man said, not reaching to take the pie or the eggs. “Who are you? I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m your neighbor from around the other side of the block. Eric Bittle.”
“Are you bringing everyone eggs and pie?”
Now the man just looked puzzled. At least he wasn’t grumpy anymore. But Bitty was probably going to make him grumpy again.
“Um, no,” Bitty said. “It’s your dog.”
“The pie is for my dog?” Jack said, glancing down at the dog, who was staring at Bitty from behind the man with … was that a hopeful expression?
“No,” Bitty said. “The pie and the eggs are for you. I don’t even know if a dog can eat pecan pie.”
“No,” the man said. “Pecans aren’t good for dogs. But she can eat eggs. In moderation.”
Bitty stopped his eyes from rolling at the last comment. This man clearly took his diet — and probably his dog’s diet — seriously. Maybe pie hadn’t been the way to go?
“Of course,” Bitty said. “I meant I wanted to talk to you about your dog. It — She keeps getting into my yard, and she’s terrorizing my chickens.”
The blue eyes blinked as the man processed that.
“You brought me pie because my dog is scaring your chickens?” he finally said.
“And eggs,” Bitty said. “Really, I just wanted to ask you to please keep the dog in your yard.”
The man nodded.
“You’re the one with the chickens,” he said. “I wondered. I heard them.”
“I don’t have a rooster because I didn’t want to wake the neighborhood every day ...” Bitty started.
“No, not that,” the man said. “I’m usually up early anyway. I heard the … clucking? I guess … when I went for a run in the morning the other day, when it was really quiet, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.”
Bitty’s arms were starting to get tired from holding the pie and eggs, but he didn’t dare set them on the step, especially if dogs shouldn’t eat pecans.
“Um, can you take the pie, Mr. —” Bitty thrust it towards the neighbor again.
“Zimmermann,” the man said. “Jack Zimmermann. I’m sorry, I didn’t know Puck had been getting out. I travel a lot for work, and I just got back a couple of hours ago. I have a friend who comes and takes care of her when I’m gone, but he didn’t say anything about her escaping. But I don’t really eat a lot of pie.”
Jack took the pie anyway, and the eggs, and set them on a table inside the door.
Bitty let his arms relax and said, “It’s happened several times now, usually a couple of days in a row, in the afternoon, and then not for a few days. I followed her today to see which yard she went into. I live behind you and over one.”
“Huh,” Jack said. “Okay. The yard is fenced —”
“She’s getting under it,” Bitty said.
Jack nodded.
“That would explain the scratches I found on her back. Shitty said she hadn’t run into any other dogs. He didn’t mention chickens.”
Shitty? Bitty silently mouthed.
“With all due respect,” he said, “how would Sh — your friend knew what she encountered? If she’d getting out of the yard.”
“He probably hasn’t realized,” Jack said. “He likes to stay here when I’m gone because it’s quiet and he can study — he’s a law student — so he probably thinks she’s in the yard while he’s studying. Hold on, he hasn’t gone home yet.”
The man, Jack Zimmermann, turned to call into the house, “Shitty! Can you come out here please?”
The dog, Puck, took the opportunity when Jack turned to get out, coming right up to Bitty. Instead of jumping, she was snuffling around his knees while Bitty stood stock-still, hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening pose.
“Puck!” Jack turned back. “Sorry about that. We have to keep working with the trainer, especially on ‘stay,’ but I’m pretty busy. You can pet her — she likes people.”
Bitty very gingerly lowered his right hand, reaching past Puck’s head (well away from her mouth) to pat her muscled shoulder. She turned and bumped his hand with her head, swiping across the palm with a wet nose.
Bitty’s fingers found themselves resting behind her ear, so he obliged her by scratching. Puck let out a contented sigh.
“Who’s this, Jackabelle?”
Jack had been joined by a man in nothing but Wonder Woman briefs. His shaggy hair was a mess, including the full mustache, and his eyes looked tired.
“This is my neighbor Eric,” Jack said.
Shitty stuck out a hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Did you bring that pie? It smells delicious.”
“It is delicious,” Eric said, because while Jack had been polite, Bitty was not used to having his baked goods ignored to this extent.
“And the eggs,” Jack said. “From his chickens. Which apparently Puck has been terrorizing in the afternoons.”
“She has?” Shitty asked. “But she goes out and then she’s still in the yard —”
“She’s back in the yard when you notice her,” Jack said. “I’ll have to get the fence reinforced. Or install a new one she can’t get under. In the meantime, she has to go out on a leash. Or a tie-out in the yard, I guess, if she wants to play fetch or something. But I don’t want her tied up alone. Only if you stay outside with her, all right?”
“Sure, brah, whatever,” Shitty said. “Wouldn’t want the Puck-princess to get hurt, would we?”
He glanced at Bitty. “Or to hurt your chickens. Sorry, man.”
“Yes, I’m sorry my dog has been bothering you,” Jack said. “Puck, come.”
The dog reluctantly got up from where she had settled half on Bitty’s foot.
“You’re not going to invite your neighbor in to share a slice of that pie?” Shitty said. “What kind of heathen are you?”
“I —”
“You don’t have to,” Bitty said, even though he was kind of curious now. A tall, gorgeous man with a sort-of-trained dog and his friend who seemed to think clothes were optional? Jack said Shitty — really, Shitty? — stayed when he was traveling, but that had been three weeks in the past month. What did he do?
“He doesn’t have to, he wants to,” Shitty said to Bitty, then he turned to Jack with a look Bitty couldn’t interpret. “Don’t you, Jackie-boy?”
“Fine,” Jack said. Bitty somehow thought the exasperation was more for Shitty than for him.
“If you don’t want just pie, I could make an omelet,” Bitty said. “If you have some vegetables.”
“Even better,” Shitty said. “All the protein even you could ask for.”
Bitty squinted one eye open and looked at the clock. The sun was up. Almost seven. Puck would have to go out.
She must have heard Bitty move because she bounded onto the bed and lay on top of him, her elbows pinning his shoulders while he she tried to lick at his face.
“Puck, get off,” he said, holding her midsection with his hands and rolling over, dumping her onto her back next to him. He sat up, scratched her belly for a moment, and got out of bed to find his running clothes. Bitty had learned that a nice run in the morning did wonders for her behaviour the rest of the day, and it was good for him as well,
Then he would have time to feed the chickens, make a couple of videos and tidy the house. Jack would be home late tonight, after his game in St. Louis. There should be plenty of eggs to make an omelet for their breakfast tomorrow.