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Anya is a very good dog. That’s what her dads tell her.
“You are such a good dog, yes you are. A very good girl.”
They also tell her she's a very spoiled dog. They say it with big smiles on their faces and lots of pets, so she knows it’s a good thing, being very spoiled.
Anya likes being a very good, very spoiled dog.
Papa spoils her with special treats—don’t tell Shane, he says when he stops at McDonald’s and gets an extra breakfast sandwich just for her. And Shane spoils her with long runs in the woods that leave her warm and floppy and happy-sleepy.
Anya has a warm bed by an even warmer fireplace and she gets the yummiest food and treats. Shane says she has “a billion toys” and Anya doesn’t really know what that means, but it sounds like something only a very good dog would have. Anya likes to spread her toys around the house so her dads know just how much she appreciates them—on the couch, on the floor, in the bathroom, the kitchen. She buries her toys in the garden so they get nice and soft and then leaves them in her dads’ bed to find later, to thank them for being so good to her, for spoiling her so well.
Anya loves to play almost as much as she loves treats and runs. She plays with her toys, she plays tug-o-war and fetch with her dads. Sometimes she plays with the Pike kids when they come to visit and that’s a good time—they’re fast and loud and fun to bark at.
But Anya’s favorite game, the one that gets her little heart racing and the happy feelings flowing, is chase. She loves the air ruffling her fur, paws digging up the earth in a spray, ears and tongue flopping about, the churning of her heart like a wild thing in her chest. Anya is the fastest dog ever, even Papa says so.
Anya has very little to complain about. It’s true, sometimes the neighborhood squirrels get uppity and she has to put them in their place. Sometimes she stays at the hotel with the other dogs and she misses Papa and Shane. Sometimes the Pike kids get a little too excited and forget to use gentlehands and Anya has to hide in a quiet bedroom to cool off.
Sometimes Shane and Papa go to bed and make animal noises, and sometimes the animal noises get so loud that Anya howls along in sympathy and Papa laughs and tells her to please hush, моя принцесса, you are not a wolf. But they’re always happy and soft after, and sometimes they’ll let Anya up for cuddles even though Shane says dogs aren’t allowed on the bed.
(There were a lot of animal noises last night. Anya had to sleep in the living room just to have some peace and quiet. She loves her dads, but they can be very loud.)
Lack of sleep aside, today is a good day. They’re at the cottage, the big house where her dads are always relaxed and soft, all of them smelling like sunshine and lakewater and woodsmoke. It’s bright and sunny and Anya almost caught one of those pesky ducks that likes to hang around the dock during her morning outs. She takes her job as the family protector very seriously, especially when loud, angry waterfowl are involved.
After morning outs, she goes for a run with Shane. The woods are full of wonderful sounds and smells; Anya could spend hours sniffing out the bugs and critters that live in the trees, could spend whole days rolling in piles of dead leaves and pine needles and rich forest dirt and hunting for new sticks. But Shane keeps a steady pace and Anya needs to stay by his side. Later, maybe Papa and Shane will take her for a slow walk so she can sniff at the grass and hunt for critters—once she pounced at just the right time and caught a field mouse between her paws, but Papa told her leave it and she did (because she’s a very good dog) and it skittered away. For now, she concentrates on keeping up with Shane so he doesn't get attacked by squirrels or ducks or sneaky field mice.
When they get home, Anya takes a long, slurping drink from her water fountain, the water cool on her overheated nose. Shane serves her breakfast—chicken and kibble and brown rice (Papa calls it “sadness food,” which Anya doesn’t understand because it’s pretty tasty, but not as tasty as a breakfast sandwich from McDonald's). Papa is awake now, too, drinking his strong-smelling brown water and giving Shane morning kisses. Papa lets Anya give him kisses, too, and Shane wrinkles his nose at that but he’s smiling.
Yes, it’s another perfect day.
Papa and Shane make their own breakfasts and take their food and brown water to the patio while Anya roots around in the basket full of toys by her bed. So many to choose from, but she’s looking for her favorite—the soft banana with the funny eyes. It used to squeak when she chewed it, but now it just kind of wheezes. It’s taken lots of chewing and time buried in the garden to soak up all the earth smells, but it’s finally broken in just the way she likes.
Anya trots into the bedroom, banana held firmly in her jaw. She hops up onto the bed, right in the middle where sunshine arcs across, warming the downy comforter. She can hear the birds chirping, the distant sound of the wind over water, Papa and Shane talking outside. It’s all familiar, all very much home. The blankets are soft and her belly is full and the warm light makes her sleepy-happy and soon she drifts off.
She wakes up when the sun has moved on, casting its golden light across the wood floor. She yawns and does a biiiiiiiig stretch before hopping down from the bed and takes a moment to sniff around, just to make sure there aren’t any lingering popcorn kernels or those crackers shaped like tiny fish.
(Sometimes Papa brings treats to bed and Shane fusses at him for making a mess, but Papa says that’s what Anya is for. Anya is very good at keeping the floor clean.)
There is something here, but it’s not popcorn. An object Anya has never seen before—a toy, maybe? She sniffs at it, pokes it with her nose, watches it roll partway under the bed. It bounces and rolls and bounces some more when she paws at it, flipping this way and that. She gets it in her teeth and nibbles at one end, then gives it a good solid chew. Yes, this is a very good toy, but it needs to be broken in. It doesn’t smell like hers yet.
Anya takes her new toy to the living room. Shane is sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs wrapped around Papa, and they’re giving each other messy kisses. Shane loves messy kisses from Papa but when Anya gives him messy kisses, he makes a yuck-yuck face and wipes them off. Rude.
Anyway, they’re clearly busy. Anya whines and paws at the back door to get their attention, the toy clamped in her teeth.
“Yes, da, good girl,” Papa says, but he’s not really paying attention to Anya, he just hustles over and opens the screen door before going back to Shane.
Their animal noises (again!) drift from the house by the time Anya finds her favorite spot in the garden—the one by the woods in a shady corner where the ground is always cool and damp and wild-smelling. She digs a shallow pit and drops the toy in, raking the dirt over it with her paws until it's mostly buried. While she’s at it, she flops down and rolls around on the spot to really get her scent on it and protect it from the squirrels.
When she’s done, Anya is panting hard and thoroughly covered in dirt and Papa and Shane are calling for her. She gives her toy one last good sniff, satisfied that it’s starting to smell less like a new thing and more like hers, then trots back to the patio where her dads are waiting. When Shane sees her, he makes a face.
“Oh, Anya…what did you get into?”
“Messy girl,” Papa says, but he’s slow-blinking and sleepy and he actually looks kind of pleased.
“Good thing we’re going for a swim, huh?”
Swim!
That makes her ears perk up and her tail start wagging. Anya loves to swim in the lake, to paddle around and splash in the shallows, to sniff in the murky mud and in between the big rocks where critters like to hide. She follows her dads down to the shore and leaps into the cool water, letting it steal some of the heat from her thick fur coat.
When Anya gets tired, she paddles back to shore and shakes the water off, drops flying this way and that, sparkling in the sunshine. The grass is cozy and smells like earth-sun and she flops down in the heat to dry off while Papa and Shane continue their afternoon swim. Eventually they rouse her from an overly warm and pleasant nap, and they all go up to the house together. Anya follows them to the bedroom where Shane is frowning at the bed, hands on his hips.
“Your dog left the banana in our bed again.”
“Oh, she is my dog now?”
“She’s your dog when she brings her gross toys into our bed.”
“Aw, she is just leaving us presents, Shane.”
“I guess I should be glad it’s not a dead squirrel or something.”
“Mm. She really does not like those squirrels. I do not blame her. They are vicious.”
Anya barks her wholehearted agreement and Papa kneels to give her pets and a kiss on the head. She rolls instinctively, letting him stroke the soft fur on her belly. He scratches lightly until her leg starts doing that bouncy thing and her tongue lolls out, her brain going happy-fuzzy-static with affection.
Shane sighs. “I’ll put the duvet in the wash. Can you get the spare from the closet?”
“Yes. Thank you, моя любовь. And thank you, Anya, for sharing your toys.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Shane mutters, but then he kneels, too, and rubs Anya’s belly. She feels very spoiled.
Soon the bed is changed and Anya’s banana is returned to her, wiped clean and smelling faintly of dish soap. She’ll fix that later. Her dads disappear into the bathroom and the shower starts. They return a few minutes later, pink-skinned and smelling too-sweet, too-clean, like the flowers in the front garden, and Anya watches as they crawl into the big bed for an afternoon nap. She puts her head on her paws with a sigh and soon she’s dozing off, too.
She wakes some time later to a familiar metallic clatter, a sound she’d know anywhere—kibble being poured into her dish. She’s on her feet before she’s fully awake, scrabbling across the wood and tile and practically sliding into the kitchen.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” Shane says, but Anya barely notices. She hops up and down, tail flying, unable to contain her joy as Shane finishes preparing her meal and sets it on the floor. Her bowl hasn’t fully touched the tile before she digs in, the smell of chicken and rice making her lightheaded with happiness.
“Whoa, easy,” Shane chides, but he says this every time, then: “I don’t think she even chews.”
Papa is standing at the counter. “No. She is like small, furry vacuum.”
She’s licking the last remnants of chicken grease from the bowl when the doorbell chimes. Anya barks to warn her dads just in case they didn’t hear it, and continues barking when Shane answers the door to reveal David and Yuna. Anya loves David and Yuna, they’re very good at spoiling her, sometimes even more than her dads. She barks and jumps and barks some more until Papa tells her to sit-stay. She behaves, tail swishing on the tile, and is rewarded when David pulls a cookie out of his pocket and offers it to her with a pat on the head.
“You’re such a good girl,” he smiles, stroking her ears.
Soon the patio area smells like grilled meat and smoke. She occupies herself while the humans talk, grabbing her banana from the bedroom and bringing it outside to show it off. She plays a few rounds of fetch with David, but eventually Papa calls him inside to look at something, and her banana still smells too clean, not right. It needs a treatment in the garden.
She takes it back to her favorite garden spot. The other toy is still there, undisturbed, and she digs it up, happy with its progress. The banana gets buried in its place, and she gives the new toy a few testing chomps for good measure. Yes, this will do nicely.
By now, the humans are seated around the table outside with plates of yummy-smelling food. If she’s very patient and good, someone might give her a piece of steak, so she settles on the patio next to Papa with the toy tucked primly between her paws to wait. The chewy smells much better now, earthy and a little bit sweet, and she munches on it as her people talk about silly human things.
Eventually she realizes they’re talking about her and she stops and cocks her head to listen.
“…she really likes that one! Is it new?” Yuna asks.
Papa looks down and Anya smiles up at him with a big grin, wagging her tail. She’s being so good today, she’s definitely going to get that steak soon.
“Maybe? She has so many toys, I can’t keep track,” Shane says. “Ilya spoils her.”
Anya yips in agreement, because yes, she is a very spoiled, very good dog. But then Papa frowns.
“I do not recognize this one,” he says, reaching down to grab for the toy. Anya growls a little—a friendly growl to let him know she’s ready to play. Play would be fun.
“Anya…what do you have, sweet girl?” Yuna asks.
Papa is still looking at her funny. “Anya, give.”
“Ilya, wait, is that—”
“Uhhh…”
Shane’s voice has gone kind of faint and reedy. “Ilya…?”
“That’s an interesting shape, is it…good for her teeth or something?” David asks.
Anya gets up and goes to Yuna, ready to offer up the toy for a game of fetch if she’s willing.
“Oh God,” Shane whispers in a small voice, so low only Anya can hear it. Suddenly he smells…funny. Like he’s scared…or, no…he has bad-dog smell. Like he's made a mess on the floor. Oh well.
Yuna reaches out and Anya is just about to give up the chewy when Shane yelps like he’s been hurt and jumps to his feet.
“Mom, no!”
“Shane, what the hell?”
“Don’t—don’t touch that. Ilya—”
“Anya…give,” Papa says again, more sternly this time. “Anya—”
He gets up from his chair and dives after her. He moves very fast, faster than Anya has ever seen him move, but Anya is faster. She clamps the toy in her teeth and takes off, skittering off the patio and onto the soft grass.
“Anya!”
She turns, paws down and butt up, dropping her chewy in the grass between her paws and giving a playful yip.
“Anya, come.”
She should. She really should. Anya is a good girl, a very good dog. But Papa is stepping off the patio and walking toward her and her little heart is skittering around in her chest and this feels like playtime, this feels like a game.
And Anya’s favorite game is chase.
She grabs the toy in her mouth and takes off at a run, following the primal call of her ancestors. The sound of Papa’s footsteps only urges her on. She’s so fast, the fastest dog, the air ruffling her long fur, claws digging at the earth, surging forward. She runs, down the lawn toward the lake, bounding over one of the small boulders lining the slope before taking a hard right at the water’s edge and fleeing toward the trees.
“Anya! Anya, come!”
Papa is calling for her but she tunes him out easily. She can run, she can fly. She’s too fast to stop now. She races up the treeline and around the side of the house, the need to run, run, run overpowering all her other training. Instinct takes over and she’s a creature of the woods, prey in her grasp, and to survive she must run.
Gravel skitters away under her claws as she hits the driveway, weaving between the big, loud machines that go faster than Anya could ever dream. But today the machines are still and quiet and Anya is quick, leaping onto the grass at the far side with her tongue lolling out around the prize in her mouth.
Anya is free, Anya is a wild creature, Anya can—
She doesn’t notice Shane until it’s too late. She takes the corner and slams right into him, bonking her sweet little nose on his shins, the toy mercilessly swiped from her jaws. Anya whines as Shane pinches it between two fingers, holding it out, his face twisted in disgust. She jumps and barks and jumps but he's holding it just out of reach.
Then Yuna comes around the corner.
“Shane? Is everything all right?”
Shane makes a noise like a frightened chipmunk, a pitchy squeak that hurts Anya’s ears and temporarily stuns her into silence. She’s gearing up to tell him just how annoyed she is that he’s stolen her toy when he turns and lobs it into the woods. It sails through the air, beyond the trees, landing with a rustling thud somewhere in the overgrowth. Anya howls her disappointment. How dare he?!?
“Y-yes! It’s—we’re fine! It’s, uh—fine, Mom,” Shane says, still sounding strangled, his voice unnaturally high.
Papa finds them like this seconds later. He’s panting just as hard as Anya after such a good run.
“Are you sure?” Yuna asks. “What was that?”
“It's nothing! Nothing, just, uh—Anya found some…trash.”
Anya yips and whines indignantly. That was not trash, that was her toy, and now she's going to have to sniff it out of the woods and re-season it in the garden…and that’s if the stupid squirrels don’t get to it first!
Sometimes being a dog is exhausting.
“Okaaaay,” Yuna says, giving them all a look before turning back to the patio. “Well…dinner’s getting cold.”
“Right, yeah. We’ll…be right there,” Shane says.
Yuna walks away and Shane turns back to Papa.
“How did she get that?!” he hisses. He’s glaring at Papa like he’s mad, but Papa isn’t the one who threw a perfectly good chewy into the woods for no reason.
“How should I know? I thought it was, you know, with the other things.”
“Well clearly it wasn’t with the other things because they’re in the drawer and she can’t get into the drawer,” he huffs.
“Maybe we left it out after last time?”
“I thought I asked you to put it away.”
“So maybe I forget,” Papa says, going to Shane and nuzzling at his neck, wrapping him in a hug. “I get so distracted by my beautiful, sexy husband.”
Shane makes a little grumbling noise in the back of his throat, but his face does the funny, twisty thing where he’s happy and trying not to show it. Anya can hear the way his heart picks up a little, can practically smell the blood running hotter beneath his skin.
Then Papa frowns. “Why did you throw it?”
“I dunno! Because Mom was there and I—I panicked,” Shane says, looking toward the trees. “Fuck. That was my favorite one.”
“Eh, we can buy new,” Papa says in that low, gentle voice he uses when Anya gets worked up about the squirrels. Anya whines again, confused, and Papa bends down and puts out a hand.
“Is okay, Anya. You did not know.”
Anya goes to him, bumping his palm with her nose.
“We should go,” Shane sighs. “They’re going to wonder what’s keeping us.”
She follows her dads back to the patio, back to the table and the promise of steak, casting a last, longing glance toward the trees.
~*~
The next morning, Anya goes to the woods instead of the lake for her morning outs. She doesn’t have time to chase the ducks today; she’s on a mission.
The toy is still there. She can smell it from the edge of the woods, tracing the scent to a patch of dried pine needles and rotting leaves. It’s still fragrant from yesterday’s burial, seemingly untouched by the local wildlife. Anya barks happily and picks it up between her teeth, carrying it back into the house and into the bedroom, temporarily escaping her dads’ notice. That’s good—this should be a surprise.
She sets the toy gently in the middle of their bed alongside an errant leaf, some yellowed pine needles, and a sprinkling of garden dirt. Shane will be so pleased that she found his favorite toy and brought it back.
She’s woken from a nap some time later by a loud groan, Shane’s voice echoing down the hall.
“Goddamn it, Ilya! Your dog…!”
Anya huffs contentedly and puts her chin on her paws, mission accomplished.
Because Anya is a very, very good dog.