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Confusion is never fun for anyone to experience, Barnaby knows that. It still doesn’t take away the fact that his confusion is the worst it’s ever been. Most of the time his mind can figure something out within a few minutes, and can put the puzzle together. Not today though, it seems. Today there's an overlay of cotton and fuzz on his mind that he can’t quite discern the cause of. The poor pooch is much too bewildered and nervous to ask any of his neighbors for help. What would they think of him? He may joke that he’s really not that big, but Barnaby is one of the largest neighbors in their quaint neighborhood, and he doesn’t really feel like explaining to them that he just feels so… tiny.
The feeling is physical too. It doesn’t seem right that he can reach his tippy top cabinet for a cup or plate. It feels unnatural to be able to touch the ceiling from his tip toes. It feels like he should be no bigger than Wally, or maybe Julie. No one can be as small as Wally (it’s kinda the guy’s thing). Despite all that, what confuses him most is that he knows how large he is. He knows he’s upwards of seven or eight feet tall. Barnaby is well aware of his height, weight, and everything about him. So why does he feel like he should be just an inch taller than his best buddy?
Everything is puzzling, Barnaby concludes as he finishes his cup of milk. He had intended on getting coffee, but by the time he noticed what was actually going into his cup he figured it didn’t really matter that he was going one day without his morning caffeine. He needs to cut back anyway. Besides, the idea of bitter coffee in the morning was yucky (and that is not the way he would normally phrase things, but it feels appropriate now). So cup of milk it is, er, was until Baraby finished off the glass and set it in the sink to be dealt with later. On a usual day, Barnaby would have rinsed out his glass and put it to the side to be used again. But today that feels like too much work for his muddled brain to handle.
Why is that? Why is it that normal tasks feel like so much more effort? He isn’t sad, or depressed. He isn’t worn out. He just… does not want to. It doesn’t feel like it should be his problem today (which makes absolutely zero sense considering Barnaby lives alone and all the responsibilities in his house belong to him). The blue pup decides that it must be tomorrow’s Barnaby’s problem and not his. He can pass off the task from his current self to his self of the future just this once. He’s sure his future self would understand (they’re the same person after all)!
Although without any responsibilities for the day, Barnaby still finds himself in a slump as he goes to the living room and curls up on his floor. What’s wrong with him this morning? He doesn’t want his normal coffee (and even called it yucky), he doesn’t want to wash his dish (even though there is only one), and he isn’t in the right mindset to ask for help (and Barnaby is pretty open about his needs and wants with his neighbors). What kind of funk is this doggy going through? It’s all so bewildering, puzzling, confusing…
Whatever it is, Barnaby doesn’t like it! He hates it even! He wants to go back to normal right now please! At this rate, he isn’t going to feel up to playing with his best friend, a thought that makes him want to tear up more than anything else.
Is he sick? No, he feels fine. Is he hungry? No, he’s never hungry this early in the morning. It usually takes an hour or two to feel like eating breakfast. Is he upset? What would he be upset about? Everything in the world seems to be just right except for him. So what’s his problem?
Maybe he should ask for help, from Wally anyway. Wally never seemed like the judgmental type, and tends to be very open to discussing whatever Barnaby has going on in his head.Yeah. Maybe Wally could help this poor pooch out! It was decided. After getting dressed properly in his open vest and loose necktie, Barnaby made his way off his front porch and too the lovable Home. His paw waved up at the red house, a silent greeting. “Hey, is my buddy here? Need to talk to him urgently. Very important business.”
Home creaked a question.
“Nah, not that serious. Just some advice stuff! Ya know, the typical ‘not sure what to do with this issue’ sorta thing.” Home’s worry seemed to dissipate with a puff of smoke from its chimeny. Barnaby was glad. He didn’t want to make his friends anxious over him after all.
Footsteps were heard from the otherside of Home’s wooden front door. Slow steps, consistent. They belonged to none other than Wally Darling, who opened the door and stepped outside with a smile. His pompadour seemed to be a tad less than perfect, as if Wally was in the final stages of fixing his updo. Even his cardigan seemed skewed. He must have just put it on to answer the door, always wanting to look presentable. It’s an endearing trait, and Barnaby wouldn’t change him for the world.
“Good morning Barnaby. A bit early for hotdogs, but I’m ready if you are.” He didn’t look ready at all. Not that Wally was messy, but he was slightly off in appearance and Barnaby would never ask Wally to join him for anything publicly without him feeling his absolute best,
Barnaby laughed softly. “It’s absolutely too early for hotdogs. I actually came over for something else.”
Wally’s head cocked to the side. He would make a very cute confused puppy, Barnaby thought. Perhaps Wally would be willing to get his puppy ears out today. Wally likely hasn’t gotten rid of the old things, even if they could use some touching up. He tends to be the sentimental type, only tossing things away if he absolutely has to. Otherwise the items end up being gifts for friends, or traded with Howdy when a joke won’t suffice as payment. “Oh? Then what did you ‘peruse’ over for?”
This is why Barnaby trusts Wally. He remembers the little things, like how Barnaby likes to call their morning walks a ‘peruse’ to make himself feel more fancy. He remembers that Barnaby likes to do exactly one yoga pose ‘downward dog’, and remembers his usual order at Howdy’s despite him never needing to buy the odd order himself (which is an all dressed up ballpark dog in a bun, topped with ketchup, mustard, onions, relish, condensed milk, whipped cream, strawberry drizzle, rainbow jimmies, and a maraschino cherry on top). It’s the reason Wally is such a good friend, because he doesn’t have to understand to accept.
“Just worried about something is all. Haven’t been acting like my usual self this morning, and I was thinking an outside perspective might do some good.”
“Well we are outside. How is the new perspective doing?” Barnaby laughed again, and Wally with him. Wally didn’t seem to understand why Barnaby was laughing, but was happy to see his friend smile nonetheless.
“I meant a perspective other than my own buddy. Someone ‘outside’ the situation, not in the literal outdoors.”
“Oh… Well how can I help then?”
Barnaby glances around between Home, Wally, and the great outdoors. He seems lost.
“Maybe chattin’ inside would help? Hate to stand in this heat for too long.” Despite it still being chilly from the morning sun just rising over the horizon, Wally nodded in agreement and stepped aside to welcome Barnaby inside Home. Barnaby is a polite dog who always wipes his paws on the ‘Welcome Neighbor!’ mat, even if there is no dirt in sight on his paw pads or fur. He’s also the sort of polite pooch who removes his hat and sets it on the coat rack (though he seems to have forgotten his hat in the rush to get over here). Wally, in all his politeness, has brought over a small tray of doggie treats in a gleaming glass dish for Barnaby to munch on while they discuss whatever ails him.
The wooden tray is painted, and decorated with smiley face stickers and long-dried glitter glue. A few painted flowers fill in the blank spaces. “You and Julie decorate this?” Barnaby asks, gently taking a single treat from the dish and munching on it between his sharp canines. Wally lets out a soft laugh.
“It was much too boring when she bought it from Howdy’s. She said it was begging to be decorated, but I never heard it say anything.” Now it was Barnaby’s turn to laugh.
“You’ve gotten real good at those jokes kid.”
Wally looks puzzled but doesn’t comment, instead choosing to sit on his recliner across from Barnaby’s seat on the colorful plush patchwork couch. With one leg crossed over the other and soft hands clasped on his lap, he looked perfectly poised. Barnaby wouldn’t have him any other way. He looks smart, mature, and much wiser than Barnaby feels.
That fuzzy feeling still hasn’t quite dissipated, even as Barnaby tries to push it down. He feels disconnected from the world, but not as if he has left his body. More like his form doesn’t match how he perceives himself. But that’s silly! How can he perceive himself in a way that isn’t true?
“You seem troubled, friend.” Wally chimes in. His soft monotone range seems to be lulling the dog into a sense of calm and comfort that is much appreciated.
“ Just… feels off, ya know? Something is different in me, and I don’t know what it is.” Wally hums in response, the same note as his speaking voice.
“Tell me more. I want to understand.”
He doesn’t have to understand to accept, but he still tries to anyway.
“My mind is all… muddled. It feels different than normal. And my body feels like it shouldn’t be much bigger than yours, even though I'm several apples taller. I don’t understand myself what’s happening, and I’m hard pressed to expect you to understand if I can’t explain it…” Barnaby’s ears hung lower than normal, an impressive feat considering how floppy they already are. His head is downturned as well and his eyes stare at the messily decorated wooden tray, a repressed whimper escaping as he fights back the urge to pout and whine and maybe even cry. This was a pretty infinitesimal thing to start tearing up over, but the stress of trying to figure out what has been going on with him is finally catching up and taking a toll. He doesn’t want to have to worry about anything, responsibilities, thinking, decisions. He wants it to be someone else’s problem for the day. That’s selfish however, and Barnaby doesn’t think he has the strength to ask that of someone.
Wally is eyeing Barnaby curiously, that cute forever smile of his never fading as he gets up from his comfortable spot on the recliner and approaches his best friend. A blanket that Barnaby failed to notice is pulled down by the short puppet from the back of the couch. Dandelion yellow hands bring the soft comfort item around the blue dog’s shoulders, moving his ears overtop afterwards so they aren’t stuck under the blanket. Barnaby is grateful for the weight of it, clutching to it where it reaches down to his tummy. He feels along the edge seam to distract himself, repeating the motions with his fingers over and over.
“Do you need someone to care for you, just for a little while?” Wally’s voice is the same monotone as it usually is, but it sounds more mature. Inflections and tone coming from Wally are making Barnaby feel like he should be even smaller than his best buddy. Despite this, Barnaby feels safe. He doesn’t feel like he’s being talked down to, but rather that he’s being talked to on a level that this muddle-brained version of himself can understand. He nods in response.
Wally hums again, thoughtfully. “I figured as much. I’ve never had to care for someone else this way, but I can do my best for you.”
“Care?” Barnaby asks, the short phrase barely enough to explain what he’s thinking.
“Yes.” Wally responds. “You’re the only person who’s ever cared for me in this way. I hope I can do just as good for you.”
That’s all Barnaby ever asks of Wally.
Wally leaves the living room and towards the direction of the kitchen, leaving Barnaby to wonder just what Wally means by ‘care for someone this way’. Barnaby has cared for Wally in many different ways. What’s so special about this way? And what does Wally mean that no one else has cared for him this way except Barnaby? All his friends care for him in one way or another. The only thing Barnaby can think of that’s different is when Wally is in little space.
Oh.
Barnaby feels small. He doesn’t want to have responsibilities. He said coffee was yucky. That isn’t normal behavior for adult Barnaby.
Barnaby isn’t an adult right now though, is he?
It’s not even a question. It’s all clicked in his fuzzy mind that he’s no longer big. He’s as small as they come, and it’s startling for him. He knows what to do when Wally is in little space. It’s all rather simple. Wally likes to be active and play games. He likes to talk to his stuffies like the apple and Sunny the bird, and he likes to color with his crayons. But Barnaby doesn’t feel that way, at least, not right now. He wants to lounge around and be coddled and cuddled. He wants Wally to give him scritches under his chin and tell him he’s doing just fine, because he doesn’t feel just fine. He feels anxious. What if Wally won’t love him after he sees he’s not an energetic little? What if he’s too annoying to care for?
Barnaby’s worried thoughts are thankfully interrupted by his newly self-appointed caregiver coming back into the room with two warm mugs of hot cocoa. It may be the middle of Summer, but Barnaby would never turn down hot cocoa, especially if it has marshmallows. A painted mug with bones and rubber balls is handed to Barnaby. It’s a special mug, one that Barnaby asked Wally to keep with him for special occasions.
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long Barnaby. I needed to pull out your cup for you. Are you big enough to handle it?” Barnaby wanted to huff. Of course he was big enough! He may be small but he was certainly capable! He carefully took the mug into his paws and started to lap at the drink with the tip of his tongue, just like he did as a puppy.
“Ha ha ha! Just be sure not to burn yourself, little one.” That felt… nice to hear. He liked being called ‘little one’ by his… What was Wally to him? Obviously they were best friends but Wally calls Barnaby ‘buba’ when he’s small. So what should Barnaby call Wally?
“I will papa.” Barnaby mumbled, licking up more cocoa from his mug. He held the drink with two paws while Wally stared at him confused. “Is that wrong? To call you ‘papa’?”
Wally let out another soft laugh. “What a confusing family tree.” Wally jokes, holding his own decorated mug close to his chest for warmth.
“It’s not wrong at all, little one. I’m glad you feel safe enough to call me that.”
“Didn’t have a papa. Just me an’ Momma Beagle.” Barnaby explained, as if that was enough context. Wally thinks he understands though.
“Do you like me being your papa?” Wally asks, moving over to sit next to the little one, cuddling close. Barnaby leaned into the touch as he nodded, licking up what was in his cup again. Wally was satisfied with the answer he received.
Figuring that Barnaby was far too little for a stable conversation, Wally decided it was best to sit in silence, or, at least not converse. The yellow puppet found himself humming various songs off-key, like an old wooden church piano that just needed a bit of tuning. Barnaby swayed along to the noise, unbothered by Wally’s lack of rhythm. The cup Wally never ended up drinking from his set on the painted tray next to the glass bowl of dog treats. “It’s a bit cold now, but you can have my cup too. I’m done holding it.”
Barnaby just nodded, setting down his own empty mug next to Wally’s full one. He didn’t pick up the full cup and instead laid his head on Wally’s lap. He’s much too large to be a lap dog, but Wally’s head scritches behind his big floppy ears was enough to make him feel like a newborn pup again anyway.
A new tune that Barnaby knows he didn’t teach Wally is hummed next to his head, vibrating through Wally’s chest. He doesn’t recognize the lyrics from anywhere, but it’s not like it matters anyway. The song tells of toys being tuckered out, and a peaceful presence watching over him. Barnaby feels safe with Wally watching him. It's calm and helps to relax Barnaby for an early morning nap.
“Sweet dreams.” Wally sings as Barnaby drifts off.