lovesarah1983

[hyperlexichypatia]

I almost asked someone whether her human child was a service dog. How's your day going?

[flaringfoxsoul03]

Hello! Could I ask for a twst matchup please? I'm Nord, and I go by she/her.

For personality, I've been told I'm a little mischievous but sweet and calming to be around. I'm definitely more on the introverted side but can come off as extroverted due to my friendly nature. Generally, I have a lot of patience and don't tend to get angry unless it's on the behalf of others. I worry for those around me more than myself and nag when I grow concerned ^^; Some of my other traits include being competitive, curious, stubborn and detail-oriented. overall, I have a lot of emotions but do my best to express them in a way that's not a nuisance for anybody. I just want to enjoy the little things in life!

I write short stories, play video games, watch anime (especially horror and comedy), bake and take walks in the nature in my free time. I also love dogs, and tea. I’m currently studying english and geography! Reciting poetry and quotes help me sleep.

As for love languages, I love giving gifts (especially self-made trinkets like jewellery and I will spoil my partner with them), acts of service and quality time. I'm clumsy with words of affirmation but also a bit of an accidental flirt because I like complimenting people??

Thank you so much, take your time and have a good day <33

Hello there my beloved! So sorry it took so long to get this out, but I have your request in my hands no, you’ll be okay…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I match you with…

Riddle Rosehearts!

——————————-

So, hear me out. Riddle isn’t so bad, we all know this. It’s just his mom who’s kind of a sucker for so much control it’s damaging (homie here can relate 😭 saddest of enbies). But I swear, I know what I’m doing. This is full of tragedy, but a hopeful ending for the couple you guys make.

With how extroverted you initially came off to him, Riddle thought you were a massive rule breaker. If that’s not one thing he despises intensely, the world must be ending otherwise. He only saw how angry you got at him for collaring Ace, shouting every word you could possibly throw at his noggin to clarify how dumb he is for following all the rules to a T. After his Overblot, he gets to really meet you and appreciate who you are as you finally let your walls come down.

Instead of anger, he sees the endless amount of worry you put into everyone, which is no easy feat since there’s quite a few of them you eventually friend along the way. He’s even accidentally figured out when you start showing massive red flags for burning out severely, but unfortunately he doesn’t quite realize what burnout is and allows it to get to the point where you finally break (I’ll make that bit into its own bullet point, don’t worry-). When Riddle tries hanging out with you for the first time, he really sees how quiet you are. It even gets to the point he forgot you were there until ADeuce decided to start a competition over something completely dumb and dragged you into the mix. He saved you, don’t worry. Someone’s gotta have a tight grip on these boys

After that accident occurred, Riddle couldn’t help but notice how often you suppressed your own feelings in favor of the others around you, no matter how much you didn’t agree with it. He had to think about how to approach that whole separate issue without coming off arrogant because he knows you’re just trying to enjoy the moment, but you’re too caught up in worrying about everyone else you forget to enjoy it too. He doesn’t get a chance to talk about this with you before your burnout hits you full force, but he did manage to snag a conversation between Trey and Cater about it so he wasn’t totally off the rails (and he was right according to that duo, you needed help ASAP!)

Eventually, your burnout hits. And when I say hard, I mean even Rook Hunt, notorious for finding anything to be prey, couldn’t find you on his first sweep of the entire campus grounds. On top of that, Idia, despite having cameras in the weirdest and oddest of spots, couldn’t see you from his cameras. Being worried would be an understatement for Riddle, he’s trying to not completely panic while you’re missing. It’s when he finally decides to search his rose maze that he finds you curled up into a ball on the ground next to a pavilion crying your eyes out. He sits there and tries to figure out how to comfort you (let’s be honest, this boy is more emotionally constipated than you homie), but he eventually settles on stories from when he was younger and was still allowed to speak Trey and Chenya. He eventually stops because his mother finds out and no longer wishes to upset you further (though we both know what happened that fateful day). He honestly thanks you for your deed from so long ago, apologizing that he should have done it sooner than begging apologies with you back then. Riddle offers you a hand and you inevitably take it, he’s guiding your back to his dorm while texting the group chat with the other House Wardens that you’re okay, but you definitely need space for now and a serious talk with everyone is long overdue

Loves that you’re already choosing to study in your free time as you should when you try to become a productive member of society, but is also (not so) secretly curious of your other hobbies. I’d like to think he’s just completely baffled at the concept of anime, but likes that it’s not just some cartoons his mother initially made him believe they were. On top of that, baking? You’ve made a perfectionist become less perfection and more creation in the kitchen baking together, though the others mustn’t see him in such a lovesick state of mind (a bit late since they saw it a long time ago, but this isn’t new for anyone)

When you start gifting him homemade jewelry out of nowhere, he thinks it’s a ploy to get him to do something for you, you’ll have to explain you like making these sorts of gifts for him. Once he understands it, he will now proudly wear and show off his jewelry that you’ve made any time and chance he gets. Riddle’s even got certain sets of jewelry he wears for special occasions now with how much he’s hoarded and made certain that no one made off with his precious jewels you so graciously gifted him

Finds himself completely flustered out of nowhere when you first accidentally compliment him, has to ask you to clarify that you actually meant it. When you’re outright confused at first then turned embarrassing shades of red, he gets the hint. More so when you cover your face with your hands and whine your apologies. It’s awkward the rest of the day between you two unless Cater does something about it, though in all honestly, he’s probably the one to make jokes at your expenses instead of doing the emotional breakdown for the two of you, especially if you’re in a relationship. He’s trying to get you guys to sort your problems out without his magnificent help after all

All in all, Riddle’s so appreciative of this relationship you guys built together. He’s working on finding himself through some of your interests that aren’t necessarily beneficial all the time (if he hasn’t found a loophole in everything at some point I’ll be surprised). He just feels so free with you, but he still gets to keep the things that help him stay grounded like some of the many rules he used to live by. While he’s managing his anger, he’s also being the best partner you could manage with all the quality time being his favorite love language. He just so enamored by you and your captivating charms, why would he resist someone who really loves him?

===================

And the follow ups are:

Ruggie

And

Epel Felmier

——————————

That’s all folks! Until next time!

~Fox

[ladylee13]

All right, y'all, I've had enough with shitty society. I say we start a cult called "Actual Inclusivity."

Instead of the center of the cult's teachings being some manipulative bullshit, it's literally just love, acceptance, and respect.

We buy some land and start a communal living situation but instead of the money going up to whoever is on top and making them rich, all the money goes toward upkeep and improvement for the whole community. The finances are transparent and available for anyone to see and anyone shown to be corrupt or messing with the money gets kicked out.

We keep a farm to feed everyone. We have high speed wi-fi and some apartments (maybe with communal kitchens, maybe with private ones, idk logistics aren't my strong suit but I wouldn't be the only one running this, so we'd work out the kinks)

Everyone gets to do what they enjoy. Artists make art (and they could do commissions and freelance work and stuff like that to help raise money for the community in addition to art for art's sake), scientists can do their science thing, people who enjoy gardening can tend the farm. Tech people can do tech stuff (idk, I don't do much stem stuff, but we wouldn't be amish, so there'd be upkeep for tech stuff needed, so y'know). Whatever else. Autistic people can spend loads of time focused on their special interests. Non-verbals are not expected to talk. Depressed people or people with anxiety are not expected to work on days when getting out of bed is too difficult. Anyone having a panic attack or PTSD episode while working immediately gets to put down their work, walk away, and come back when they are again capable of giving their work their attention, be that in an hour or not until the next morning. Everyone uses whatever pronouns they prefer, and everyone else uses the appropriate pronouns when addressing or referring to them. If swearing makes someone uncomfortable, people will be expected to respect that and filter their language around them. Everyone gets to love whoever they want with zero societal repercussions. If two people want to get married, they get to. If two people want to live together without getting married, no prob (living together pre-marriage is against my religious beliefs, so I wouldn't do so, but that doesn't mean no one is allowed to. Live according to your own beliefs as long as they don't hurt anyone else. The goal here isn't to make everyone believe same thing or act the same way. It's to respect each other, and hopefully foster more understanding for others and lower discrimination and hate). In that vein, polygamy makes me feel weird, (admittedly, I don't really understand it,) but if some people in a polygamous marriage wanted to join us and were willing to follow the rules, great! Hop in! Let's even have a talk about it. You can help me be more understanding. No one is allowed to force their beliefs into anyone else and if someone feels pressured by someone else, all they have to do is say so and the other person will stop. I've had enlightening and wonderful conversations about religion with people of other religions/also atheists (once even with a drunk atheists and that was great). And all those conversations were great because in no way did they expect me to change my beliefs and vice versa. There was just a sharing of perspectives. And afterward, I felt like I understood them better and they understood me better. And that's what I'm aiming for here.

We can have a few sensory deprivation tanks and weighted blankets available for people with anxiety/PTSD. We can have tons of fidget toys for anyone who needs them to help them focus. We can have anything people need to function their best (I don't know much about what people with neurological disorders that I don't also have need, but whatever they need we'd have). Everything written is also written in braile. There's elevators and ramps in every building. Guide dogs and ESAs are accepted anywhere except in the space of people with animal allergies (Like, the communal areas are regularly cleaned to prevent hair causing allergic reactions and such and there are signs designating pet-free zones). We could maybe have like an animal shelter in a nearby town that anyone can come into to help with and spend time with animals. There would be a prayer room for quiet meditation (with whatever anyone needs for their best prayer environment, like I know Muslims pray toward Mecca and I don't know if there's any ornamentations or anything that they would prefer to have, but if so, it would be there). There'd be a gym to give people access to exercise equipment. There'd be a big old clock tower with bells to indicate prayer times for anyone who needs them. There would be a church building for use by any religious denomination. There'd be regular community activities to give people the chance to have leisurely social interaction and also sometimes exercise in small or large groups, but no one is expected to take part. Everyone with any form of neurodiversity or from any minority group gets to be treated fairly and have their needs accommodated.

No proving you have a disability like you have to to get accommodations from colleges. No one telling you it's all in your head or it's not natural or you should try harder or you just haven't met the right person yet or treating you as being under them for your gender or skin color or anything else you have no control over. Just actual acceptance on every front.

Basically, you'd pretty much be able to live your best life under the principle I learned as a kid: "your agency ends where the next person begins." As long as your actions do not harm anyone, you are free to do as you like.

The rules for living here? Everyone will be expected to contribute however they can (no punching a time clock, but contribute to the best of your ability). There will be no discrimination or hatred toward others. That's pretty much it. It's not that complicated. You will be expected to respect others and they will be expected to respect you. Any crime of any kind would be punished (and I mean things like theft, which I expect would be far less likely to happen given that everyone would have their basic needs fulfilled, and not like things like drug addiction because criminalizing addicts doesn't really prevent people getting addicted and just makes the problem worse.)

I figure the system would be run by committee. Any issues would be put to a vote, and given the size of the group, everyone would get a vote and everyone's vote counts. There would be no one person in charge of the community. Not me, not anyone. Everyone is equally in charge. Issues of things like accusations of discrimination would be handled by a court type situation where a mediator is chosen and both people get to explain what happened (in case of false accusations, which hopefully wouldn't happen, but y'know), and if the problem is based on a misunderstanding or an unchecked or unevaluated privilege, maybe the discussion alone could help the two people work it out, and if not, they get a big meeting with everyone there, and they get a chance to give their side to the group and the group votes on whether or not the accusation is solid and if the accused person will be punished (idk 100% how the punishment would work, but I figure depending on the severity it could be like a first offense would get community service and some kind of lesson in bridging cultural differences or something and a second offense would get something harsher and a third offense would be getting booted from the community. And then something like rape would get an immediate boot.).

Straight/white/cis/NT/any other non-minority people would also be accepted and welcomed so long as they treat everyone there with respect.

And anyone who says or does something homophobic or misogynistic or racist or ableist or anything else along those lines gets first a gentle warning and a chance to re-evaluate their prejudice and if they refuse to check themselves they get kicked out with whatever money they came in with.

I know that no matter what system is in use, there will always be someone ready and willing to find holes and take advantage. So we'd run on a spirit-of-the-law system instead of a letter-of-the-law system, and with everyone getting a say and everyone basing their decisions on that foundation of respect, it would be easier to enforce.

And sure, maybe this is just a fantasy-land-pipe-dream, but come on. How cool would it be? No more forcing our triangle or star or pentagon or splatter-shaped peg asses into circular holes? I don't believe in humanity at large to implement large-scale actual acceptance, but a little mini-society? That seems a little less impossible, right?

This is all spitballing, but the more I think about it, the more I love it. Feel free to add on.

[oldtmer]

this is in regards to PART II and Joel’s verse within it -- to save people from spoilers, i have tagged this post and have placed the study under a read more.

thank you to all my psychology professors for preparing me for this moment, even if you didn’t know i’d use this knowledge for roleplay but y’know.

let’s go with what we know first. 

it’s not a loss on anybody that Joel has suffered through a lot, even in the events of the first game. and though he has recovered well enough, let’s look at the main damage doled out to him in the first game -- namely, his impalement on a metal rod. upper-ish, right hand side abdominal damage. i’ll get into this one in another study, but it’s important to note that he is resilient and he is no stranger to serious injury or pain.

moving on to part ii, and the injuries Joel suffers through at the chalet, let’s start with his leg.

he’s been shot just below the knee of his right leg -- with the force and range of the shot, it’s safe to assume his knee cap has been completely blown to shit. this, of course, results in his having permanent damage to his right leg. even if it does get repaired to the best of the medics’ abilities, Joel suffers a limp the rest of his life, and severe arthritis the older he gets. extensive movement or too much pressure on his right leg causes a flare up of pain in the joints, and much to Joel’s chagrin he is put up the rest of the night with a swollen knee.

now, on to the worst of the injuries.

though we only see some of the blows inflicted by the golf club, we can see that a lot of the damage is done to his face, the left side of his head, and his upper shoulders / neck area. as a general rule, it’s safe to assume a lot of the damage was done to the left side of his head. located here, where i see a lot of the blows landing, is the LEFT TEMPORAL LOBE -- the temporal lobes are generally responsible for:

auditory information and hearing ability

memory acquisition

some visual perceptions and

categorization of objects

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

DISRUPTION OF AUDITORY SENSATION & PERCEPTION

Joel has lost all hearing in his left ear, and while having a conversation with someone, he tends to tilt or swivel his head to the left so his right ear is facing the speaker -- he does so, so he’s able to hear them. in lieu of this, his perception of sound in the right ear is diminished. he has difficulty determining where a noise is coming from, and from how far away. depending on the pitch of the person’s voice, it can sound muffled

DECREASED VISUAL PERCEPTION

Joel’s peripheral vision is limited now, as well as his vision has a tendency to blur, especially when he’s trying to focus on something or when it’s up close to him. printed letters and numbers appear as though they are moving across the page. he is significantly bothered by bright light and/or glare. he grows irritable and overstimulated when in places with a lot of pattern. his eyes tear up a lot, especially when in bright light. he suffers frequent headaches and does find himself feeling nauseated (motion sick) when looking at something too quickly or trying to focus too intently. he has difficulty judging where things are (his depth perception has gone for a shit). he leans significantly to the left while sitting or standing due to feeling “off balance”.

IMPAIRED LONG-TERM MEMORY & LOSS OF SHORT-TERM MEMORY

though many people pray and wish to forget a lot of things since outbreak day, Joel doesn’t want to forget a lot of things ( ie. his time with Ellie, his new life in Jackson, etc ). he struggles with memories of his life before outbreak day, even forgetting his ex-wife’s name completely and what she looked like. he struggles at times with memories of Sarah, and grows extremely irritable when he does. in terms of short-term memory, things need to be explained to Joel a couple times at least before it sort of clicks, and even then it doesn’t click for very long and he needs to ask again. he refuses to meet new people because of this.

CHANGED PERSONALITY & CHANGED BEHAVIOUR ( increased anger )

as though Joel wasn’t relatively grumpy enough as is, he’s quick to temper now. more-so in his frustrations and irritability with his impairments, but little things are quick to set him off now. he has grown increasingly violent with his outbursts, and though he was quite pushy and opinionated before, it has increased tenfold now. he won’t hesitate to throw a punch at someone who simply looks at him the wrong way; followed by very heated and loud shouting.

CHANGED SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR

Joel has never been a very sexual being to begin with, but his libido and sexual desire is all but non-existent now. this isn’t to say he isn’t capable of arousal, as he is more than capable, but he isn’t bothered one way or another when it comes to flirting, kissing, or even heavy petting. it really takes a lot to get him going these days, but to be honest, he isn’t really out looking for it anyway ( “who could want anyone like me, anyway?” )

now, i also see some damage happening just above this, in the PARIETAL LOBE and the back left side of his FRONTAL LOBE.

the parietal lobe is responsible for:

interpreting sensory information from the rest of the body

combining impressions of form, texture, and weight into general perceptions

influencing mathematical skills and language comprehension

storing spatial memories that enable people to orient themselves in space (know where they are) and to maintain a sense of direction (know where they are going)

processing information that helps people know the position of their body parts

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

PROBLEMS IN MATHEMATICS / READING / WRITING

though Joel has never been a mathematician by any stretch, he was fairly quick with his maths due to his job prior to the outbreak, and would often times surprise some people with how quick he could answer math questions. now, his math levels are early elementary school at best, and he avoids math as often as possible. his reading ability is at a fifth grade level at best and his writing has gone for a shit as well. not only grammatically, but his writing is poor in general.

RIGHT-LEFT CONFUSION

just as it sounds, Joel has difficulty determining what is right and what is left.

moving on to the frontal lobe damage, it was not as bluntly attacked as say, the temporal lobe or the parietal lobe, but a good couple blows did manage to fuck a little up in that noggin of his. the frontal lobe is generally responsible for:

speech & language production

some motor skills

comparing objects

forming memories

understanding & reacting to the emotions of others

forming personality

reward-seeking behaviour & motivation

managing attention

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

SPEECH PROBLEMS

Joel has difficulty getting his words out a lot of the time, and this causes a lot of irritability with him as well. he knows the words, he knows what he wants to say, but he ends up stuttering through his sentences or pausing mid-way because he simply can’t form the words. he has never been a very sophisticated or eloquent man in terms of speech, but his impatience with himself and frustration with not being able to get out a simple sentence has his blood boiling.

POOR COORDINATION

his balance has gone for a shit, as stated once before. not only his balance, but his depth perception, and his left-right confusion disorients him a lot some days. his limp throwing him off balance at times doesn’t help him in the slightest, especially when he’s having bad days. he refuses to use any form of help, and says he would prefer to bounce off walls than be caught dead using crutches or a cane. his stubbornness is not a symptom.

SO, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR JOEL?

nothing, really. a lot of his days are spent in his house, keeping to himself. i like to think Tommy and maybe a few others traded for a dog for him. not so much a service animal, but more of a companion since Ellie ran off. 

i also like to think that he was perceived as dead, and there was really just no way of knowing whether or not he’d make it out of this alive. by the time he was functional, Ellie had already made it to Seattle. and by the time she’d returned with Dina so they could go start their little family, Joel had all but shut himself away

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

You Asked, I Told

Spoilers up to Chapter 37 of Baghdad Waltz

Hi everyone,

I’m so very sorry for being so late with getting Chapter 38 out. Writing that Spent Brass put a delay in everything, though it was really crucial to get it posted before this next chapter.

This has been a really tough chapter to get right for me. I’ve gone back to the drawing board more than once for a couple scenes. I’m not sure when it will be out, but I’m working on it daily and making some good progress. Thank you for sending me your words of encouragement and letting me know you’re thinking of me! I’m thinking of you too and know you’re really looking forward to more. It will be a doozy, in terms of content, so I hope it’s worth the wait.

In horrifying news, BW is turning THREE YEARS OLD on March 13th. Kill me. (But not before I finish this fucking thing.)

In the meantime, here are some answers to some Asks-------

Thank you so much for the very kind words. I’m so pleased that this story checks off so many of your boxes, and I’m relieved to know that the structure and methods I’ve chosen for storytelling have lent to a balanced narrative where you can appreciate both of these characters. I figure people don’t have to like each character equally, or at all. I just really want their choices make sense, for each character to have a distinct psychology, to have each action and reaction be believable, even if it is infuriating or illogical (it can still fall within the character’s internal logic, based on their own worldview). And I am so honored that this fic can serve as some inspiration for your own. God knows I have mine I go to on the reg when my stuff sucks and I can’t string two words together to save my life.

This is a deceptively silly question, I think (because I can’t keep anything simple). Working out together would be a nice little nostalgic throwback, wouldn’t it? I sometimes pop back to earlier chapters when they were in Baghdad and think about those times with a wistful smile. I think about the way they related, the way they looked, the relative lack of complications in their lives, and it’s such a profound departure from the way things are now.

Steve obviously has kept up his gym going with Matt. We’ve also seen that working out for him is about more than just being swole and hawt; it’s about control and regulating his emotions. And for Bucky, working out used to be a way of maintaining peak fitness for his career, which was one of the ways that he evaluated his self-esteem. If he was fit, he had value. Also, if he was fit, he was sexy, and we know that sexual capability is also one of the primary currencies he uses to determine his self-worth. He also used the construction of his physique as a way to develop his masculinity, the correct form of [gay] masculinity, rather than being a twink or a sissy. This was always a struggle against Bucky’s natural slim body composition, which has become his default again now that he’s been out of the military.

Now Bucky faces a couple of hurdles to exercise, whether he would do it for health or for building his physique. He has the challenges brought about by his many injuries - compromised grip in his left hand due to his massive forearm injuries and inconsistent rehabilitation efforts, ongoing pain in his right foot and a continued limp from that, significant back and hip pain due to very heavy load bearing and overcompensation from his foot injury. This would make it challenging for him to engage in any intense fitness program. What he really needs is to go back to physical therapy, and probably occupational therapy as well, but last time didn’t go so hot last time.

Even if he didn’t have to contend with his injuries, Bucky is at a bit of a crossroads in terms of how much energy he wants to put into rebuilding and maintaining his ideal physical self, which seems to be based on some prototype he picked up long ago (more on that in a future chapter). No chest hair, no body fat, muscles, a perfectly shaved asshole at all times… But he’s not 21 anymore. He has a boyfriend now. And even though he’d probably love to go to the gym to shoulder in on Steve’s time with Matt, I wonder if he would want to go for himself anymore. I wonder if going with Steve would be intimidating or make him feel pressured to fall back into his old patterns. Because now at least he has the excuse that he can’t lift heavy, that he can’t run, so he might as well not even try. But if he could, it would be interesting to see where his path would go as a 31-year-old man.

See? You thought it would be a simple “Yeah, there’re totes gonna go to the gym together, chapter 41, stay tuned!” or “No, probs not, I don’t think he’s much of a gym goer anymore.” Alas. I give no simple answers. This is why you have to wait 5 months for a BW chapter.

This is a good observation. Bucky loves himself a good drunk pizza. He also watches a lot of food-related TV when he drinks. Bucky has had to think a lot about food for various reasons. One is building muscle and physique when his body is telling him NO I WILL NOT. One is not eating so that he can get drunk faster. One is eating the right kind of diet so that he can have anal sex without having to worry about digestive issues (constipation, feeling too full, not being ‘ready,’ too much or too little shitting), which is a thing he would take seriously a hardcore bottom. I see things like pizza as a comfort food, family food, something Winnie would get for them every Friday night after they moved to New York. It’s a very emotional food for him, but he knows it’s “bad” for all of the aforementioned reasons, because it will make you fat and slow your buzz and stuff up your colon, so he might be most inclined to eat it when deep in a bender and doesn’t give a shit about those other things. Because Bucky not only drinks to forget and manage intense emotions, but he drinks also to just relax the relentless march of self-perpetuated, often absurd rules about what and who he is and what he can and should do. So yes, Bucky has some disordered eating, most of it functional, though a lot of his lack of eating recently is likely anxiety-related and/or stomach illness-related.

Another excellent observation. For those who might need a refresher, since this was in chapter 36:

The morning after Bucky shows up at Steve’s drunk and they have sex and many revelations are made about drinking during their relationship, Bucky gets honest about what happened the day before. He tells Steve:  “I had my interview. It— I really don’t know how it went. I was so out of it. I’ve been so fucked up these past couple weeks. Just— it’s been bad. Really bad.” He tells the story of what happened at Scott’s. Steve asks why Bucky didn’t tell him he was struggling, and Bucky says that he didn’t want to get into it. Steve shifts in to talking about whether they should get back together.

I think there are a couple things here I could say. Yes, Bucky saying that he’s struggling is an example of some unusually straight-forward honesty that’s also a personal risk for himself. That’s a real measure of progress! But while I think this honesty is something that’s pretty new, the fact that he’s in a bad place mentally is not new information to Steve. I think back to the chapter before, after Bucky’s PT appointment with Luke, where he was clearly very distraught and having an extremely difficult time. Steve couldn’t get him to say what was happening then, but it was clear that it was something very major.  So I don’t think this really felt to him like a major revelation, like Bucky’s really been holding it all together perfectly while imploding on the inside. I think this observation was more like, why didn’t you just TELL me you were struggling rather than having to have me wonder and then get wasted and come here drunk? Steve has a long history of asking Bucky if he’s okay and getting the brushoff. He’s probably starting to get tired of always asking and getting shot down.

Another part of your question is also very valid - is this the right time to get into a relationship??  Haha. Ha. Well, nobody said these two were good at making relationship decisions. But on a more serious note, Bucky having struggles is not only not new information for this month, it’s not new information for their relationship. Bucky has always had a secret life of pain that Steve has had to wonder about, ask about, beg to be let into, and he probably figures that one of the best ways he can affect change is if they’re in a romantic relationship. It will let him get close, give him some leverage, etc. So although it might come off as callous, Bucky’s struggles are the rule rather than the exception, and Steve probably figures he needs to get this relationship locked down so that he can get them into therapy and much-needed help.

Of course, there’s plenty of dramatic irony here, right? Steve doesn’t know what we know, which is that what Bucky is struggling with here is the REALLY BIG STUFF. He probably just thinks it’s his usual stuff. So. We’ll see where that goes. Bucky is going to maintain this illusion for as long as he possibly can.

Yes, @pitchforkcentral86​ and I had several conversations about whether Bucky should have an animal. It’s a common trope in fic, and a joyful one to read. (Omg, I didn’t know about Alpine until now and I am thrilled!) And yes, service dogs, emotional support animals, therapy animals, pets, they can all be very healing, can provide meaning and purpose, and can also help to structure the lives of people who feel destabilized in various ways.

However, I have held back on giving Bucky an animal because a) his aforementioned history with animals, and b) I’m not sure if that’s what he needs at this point in his journey. I do really think Bucky has some sort of healing that needs to take place around animals. He loves animals. He loves nature and is a true soft boy (TM) who has been deeply hurt by his experiences. It was very inconsistent with his values to do the things he did, see the things he saw, and it’s so painful that he doesn’t know how to reconcile it.

But he’s in such a precarious place now emotionally, with such low resources, and he can barely even share the smallest pieces himself with other humans. People are a lot more complicated, yes, but animals are a lot of responsibility. He would be so hard on himself if he didn’t do a good job, if he didn’t react well to his animal companion, etc. And I think it would probably be more bang for his buck to devote that energy to trying to increasing his emotional intimacy with his partner or his sponsor or other important humans in his life who are asking for his trust. He could GO BACK TO THERAPY EVEN.  

I do think something that would potentially be helpful and pretty low resource cost is to have a therapy animal in his life, like something he could go periodically, a therapy dog at the VA or something he could visit and pet once in a while. It would be a good start.

But that’s just my thinking for this character specifically. I think service/emotional support/therapy animals are wonderful and can create incredible bridges for people to improving their quality of life.

Well, that’s all for now! I will continue plugging away at BW and will get it to you as soon as I can. Thank you, as ever, for your patience! And thank you for the wonderful Asks <3 <3 <3

[copperbora]

The West Highland Way

The view from atop Conic Hill, overlooking famous Loch Lomond.

In April 2018, I thru-hiked the West Highland Way, a 154.5 kilometre (or 96 mile) trail which runs from Milngavie (pronounced ‘Mulguy,’) just north of Glasgow to spectacular mountain town Fort William, which sits at western end of the Great Glen Fault, at the mouth of Loch Linnhe. The trail traverses through picturesque Scottish farmland, over mighty Conic Hill then along the lushly forested shores of famous Loch Lomond. From there, it cuts north into the West Highlands, where vast open spaces are spotted with snowy white sheep and broken with shimmering deep black creeks. Mountains ring the trail; waterfalls and heather are everywhere. After nearly touching Loch Tulla, the trail cuts north across Rannoch Moor, following an ancient road bed to Glencoe. The trail climbs over a pass, dips to Kinlochleven, then finally ends after a mountain trek in Glen Nevis, at the foot of the United Kingdom’s tallest peak, Ben Nevis. It’s a fantastic trail which is riddled in history, natural beauty, and a lot of water. 

Arklet Waterfall at Inversnaid on Loch Lomond, which was the prettiest waterfall on the trail; note the invasive rhododendron surrounding it.

Don’t forget your Gore-tex here! Not only is Scotland derisive of weather forecasts, but with very few trees, it is also an incredibly windy country, with gusts which threatened to push me off trail. If you ever choose to follow in my footsteps on the Way, or even just visit Scotland in general, I’d recommend a full set of waterproof layers – Scotland is just that wet. At one point, I felt foolish for carrying more than two litres of drinking water in my pack, since generally, every few hundred metres or so there’s a water source, so bring a lightweight filter so that you can fill up at your convenience. Water is literally almost everywhere in this country! 

The ruins of an old farm near Glen Nevis.

As far as adventures go, the West Highland Way falls somewhere between a great cultural experience such as the El Camino de Santiago and a wilderness adventure, however, if you’re seeking solitude, this isn’t the place to find it. While Scotland is stunningly beautiful, on the West Highland Way you can expect to encounter civilization rather frequently, meaning that you’re never far away from people or town. Locals use it as a foot path; an artery for dog walking, trail running and just getting outside. The trail is also frequently a road walk, although you’ll come to appreciate these flat(ish) sections after several hours of Loch Lomond’s shoreline. There’s always somebody nearby, so help is always close at hand if you happen to run into trouble – if you’re looking for a place to shout without anyone hearing you, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a great way to experience Scotland, to really see its landscape and talk to its wonderfully friendly people, this is it! 

This is a great adventure for solo and female travellers. Scotland is a very safe country with people who are generally trustworthy and absolutely no large predators. There’s no bears here to steal your Cliff Bars – in fact, there’s hardly even any squirrels, the Eurasian red squirrel happening to be an endangered species. 

Because I’m an ass, I found it hilarious that people dread these gentle switchbacks going up the so-called Devil’s Staircase. I found the ascent to Conic Hill and some of the stuff along Loch Lomond much more gruelling!

Scotland was almost completely deforested hundreds of years ago, so with animal life which was adapted to the vanished forest, the Highlands can be eerily quiet. There’s deer to be seen here, and the odd bird, but compared to Scotland’s patches of lush forest, the Highlands lay silent, the wind which rushes through the deceptive peaks sounding lonely, as if remembering the trees which once stood in the mountains’ shadows. There’s no wolves here to sing in the cold of night, no lynxes to pad its mossy forest floor in search of hares or mice – you might see the odd fox, but of the great beasts which once roamed this land, there’s nothing left. The haunting empty landscape of the Way made me appreciate the biodiversity of British Columbia all the more – here, we still have our predators.

Scotland may not have wolves anymore, but it does have hordes of deer; here, two young Red Deer stags attempt to prove who is more manly near Loch Tulla.

There’s also hordes of feral goats on the West Highland Way, found along Loch Lomond.

The Way is riddled with history ��� the paths and roads which you stride are the work of soldiers and drovers long gone. At every turn, there’s some reminder that this place is old – that western civilization has been here far longer than one can completely fathom, even knowing the facts. As I walked the Way, I discovered moss covered ruins hidden in the green depths of the forest, minute graveyards on tiny hills, and the crumbling remains of little farms in windswept glens. I walked across the site of a battlefield, climbed to the remnant of an ancient hill fort which was once literally melted in an intense fire eons ago, and padded by a pile of stones representing a memorial to a slaughtered Scottish clan. 

Mhm, steep trail side drop offs into deep lochs are super fun, especially when you’re wearing a 40 lb pack!

The next morning I made the terrible discovery that this campsite I picked on Loch Lomond was absolutely full of teensy, super gross baby ticks. I’m still suspicious whenever I see dark specks!

In Scotland, the people have the Right to Roam, so on my trek of the Way, I wild camped as much as I could. Leave no trace principles apply, but basically, so long as you follow the rules, you can camp just about anywhere. Although I loved the secret campsites which I found, I really don’t recommend this tactic for hiking the Way. Instead, do the smart thing – day hike it from town to town. There’s just not enough wilderness on the Way to justify wild camping, so do yourself a favour by carrying just a light pack instead. There’s luggage moving services in plenty, so you don’t have to worry about your suitcase. This makes the trail awesome for just about anybody, although this certainly isn’t a trail for those who aren’t reasonably fit. There’s some very technical sections with uneven trail, challenging obstacles and elevation gain (although nothing comparing to some of the steep trails which we can roam here in British Columbia!) At the very least, you must be able to climb over the rickety wooden stile gates which separate the expansive sheep pastures which you will travel through.

This is a stile; there are many different varieties of them to be found on the West Highland Way, all of them rather doubtful in their sheep-proofness and safety. Note the mud; mud was everywhere.

These sheep would like you to know that you will encounter thousands of their brethren if you hike the West Highland Way. According to the Scots I encountered, sheep are enormously lacking in intelligence and should never be trusted not to kill themselves in some ridiculous way. This duo was encountered near Drymen.

There are also many cows on the West Highland Way; I maintain that cows are scarier than bears. This one is wondering about the other cows in the pasture behind me, since she was all alone for some reason.

I found that food can be scarce, so it is best if you bring a supply with you and if you wild camp like I did, you’ll have to pick up fuel in Glasgow at a store like Tiso, since isobutane canisters cannot be transported via airplane. Believe it or not, despite the United Kingdom’s reputation for being expensive, food can be found cheaply if you stock up at stores like Lidl, where it’s relatively cheap, even with conversion. On trail, there’s excellent chow to be found in places like Balmaha and in Tyndrum, which boasts the outstanding Real Food Café. Along the Way you’ll find several places with Honesty Boxes, little unmanned stands where I found everything from tasty homemade Scottish tablet to local favourite soft drink IRN BRU to fresh fruit from Spain to bottles of water and Mars Bars. I came to love these boxes, and I always kept a few Pounds Sterling handy for the joyful occasion of finding them!

Scottish tablet, one of the most delicious substances on the entire planet.

In closing, here’s a summary of this outstanding trail, which definitely belongs on your bucket list:

Length: 154.6 km (96 miles) Runs between: Milngavie and Fort William Best hiked: south to north (for best elevation gain situation – I would never consider hiking Conic Hill north to south, but I considered it enjoyable south to north!) Months to hike it: April to October Most people hike it: May Biggest complaint: besides rain and wind, people dread the midges (which are tiny bitey swarming insects,) but you should also beware of ticks, so bring tweezers as well as repellent. There’s tons along Loch Lomond! Biggest danger: with rain and wind comes the danger of hypothermia, which should never be underestimated. Layer accordingly and be prepared, no matter how you walk the trail. Scotland loves its inclement weather and it laughs at the weatherman! Recommendations: At the very least, bring a map or a smartphone with a GPS app like ViewRanger. Map tiles for the GPS can be downloaded in advance, so you don’t need to worry about wifi. While the Way is generally well marked, there are patches where it isn’t, especially on the first day and I was grateful that I had something to refer to when I wasn’t sure where to go next. Research the trail through the great website, Walkhighlands.co.uk, which has a wonderful page entirely dedicated to the West Highland Way. Bring your trekking poles!

The West Highland Way - the purple starred marks are where I camped. Screenshot from ViewRanger. I did the trail in seven days, one day faster than most people despite my heavy pack.

An exhausted dork (i.e. me,) takes her victory bow at the finish line in Fort William. Note Trekking Pole; Trekking Pole was my bestest friend. Note the haggard expression - my body had just remembered that it was tired, and that parts of it hurt. A lot. And didn’t stop hurting for several days.

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 18 September 2017

I’d previously not wanted to do comments on Dear Prudence’s chats; they’re disorganized, the letter writers get responses from other reader in the column, it might be a bit unfair because they’re quickly written.  However, as a wise philosopher reminded me, this wasn’t a rule so much as a guideline.  However I do have rules about alcohol so with a Shiner in hand here we go...

Midlife crisis?: For the past year or two-but especially over the last few months-I’ve been having what I can only describe as a midlife crisis. I’ve lost complete interest in my job (though I’m still productive), don’t want to deal with my kids anymore even though I love them like crazy (I’ve been a single mom for 10 years with no help from their father), and basically just want to travel the world with no responsibilities.

Dear Midlife Crisis, take a look around you at work, later, take a look around you during a school function, PTA meeting, whatever.  Every single adult you’re looking at has had, or will have, a time when they think the same things you are now.  Wanting something different, a life you think you’ll love, free of the responsibilities and worries of your day-to-day life is nothing new.  Heck, here are multiple entries for it on TV Tropes.  You give no indication in your letter that it is life itself which is overwhelming you, which is what Newdie’s advice would be good for.  If all you wanted was a break from the stress, or to reduce the stress, sure, hire a cleaning service or get a babysitter.  However, although she was wrong, she’s on the right trail.  While a year lounging on the beach sipping umbrella drinks might be unreasonable for several reasons, would a week-long vacation without the children be impossible?  That or find yourself a younger woman and buy a sports car.

Husband’s having an affair and I don’t care: I just discovered my husband of 15 years is hooking up with women he finds online. We’ve had issues that all couples who’ve been together for a long time have: full-time jobs, medical issues for us both, dealing with my aging and infirm parents, carting the kids to hell and back. I’m disappointed that he appears to have chosen the nuclear option rather than discuss his dissatisfaction. But other than that, I feel nothing. No anger, no sadness, just ... whatever.

Dear Don’t Care, oof.  This doesn’t strike me as merely a lack of romantic connection, but a lack of an emotional one as well.  I don’t lightly advise ending relationships, but that doesn’t mean I won’t, and it certainly doesn’t mean I wouldn’t suggest it as a topic of discussion with your spouse.  Because it is a subject you need to bring up when you talk with him about this.  At the very least, as NuPru suggested, if you’re going to make this a feature of your relationship you need to make sure you’re protected (emotionally, physically, reputationally, whatever).

Unwilling teetotaler: Recently, I had to give up alcohol for medical reasons-it may or may not be permanent. One side effect is I don’t have as much tolerance for family events or weddings that used to seem fine (or even great) with a few beers. My husband’s family is large and we are obligated to go to a lot of family gatherings. Unfortunately, I’ve found that without alcohol, these events range from boring to someone-please-shoot-me.

Dear Unwilling Teetotler, you’re not being unreasonable to not want to stay at frequent events which make you miserable.  You are being unreasonable to expect your husband to forgo partaking so he can experience your misery.  As in many things COMMUNICATE.  “Honey, I’m going to head out after an hour or so, you stay and have a great time.  If you need a ride because you had too much please call me.”  There, problem solved.  If logistics is an issue, Uber.  Please ignore Bad Pru’s comments about needing to have a conversation about your in-law’s relationship with alcohol.  She’s reading her biases into your letter.  Granted, I’m doing it too but its my place, my rules guidelines.

Bad dog: We have new neighbors that moved in a couple of months ago. They are nice people and have a toddler that my son loves to play with, but they also have a dog that is insanely aggressive toward kids. We have a dozen or so kids on the block and he’s lunged at about half of them. (He even hit my own son with his snout while his back was turned, leaving a bruise, not a bite.) Luckily, he’s been on a leash every time which has prevented a serious attack. Recently, the dog has been digging his way out of the backyard. The owners have fixed the holes when they happen, but now all the neighbors are even more scared of what could happen.

Dear Bad Dog, do you live in my neighborhood?  Nevermind.  They’re nice people and your son plays with theirs.  Share your concerns with them, but be prepared for them to dismiss your concerns.  People tend to be blind to issues close to them.  “Beloved Pet” is an issue close to people, so they’re probably going to be defensive, and you need to be prepared for that.  Afterall, you are about to tell them they don’t know how to train and raise their dog.  Be polite, share your concerns; it’s aggressive towards other children, a dog on the loose is at risk of all sorts of bad things happening to it, etc, etc.  I would caution you about making “call Animal Control” Step 2 in your course of action.  Animal Control is an escalation.  If you’re not prepared to see the dog taken away, don’t call Animal Control; they are there for the protection of animals and people, not Neighbor Conflict Remediation.

Outsider tortoise at a table full of hares: This may seem a nonproblem, but it’s important to me: I’m a slow eater. I don’t make people sit at the table for hours as I languidly pick at my plate, but I’m often finishing my first helping while others are on their seconds, thirds, or beyond. In fact, I rarely get a chance for additional helpings, even when I’m the hostess. (Which I frequently am, making tons of food.)

Dear Outsider Tortoise, I hate your friends and I’m not too fond of you either.  I hate your friends because they’re making you think “I eat slow because of my privilege and that’s ‘Not Okay’”.  I’m not fond of you because you’ve taken it to heart and view “my parents taught me table manners” and view that as some sort of undeserved boon in life for which you must atone.  Fuck that noise.  That being said, if this is an issue across several groups of friends the problem might actually be with you (whether because you do eat interminably slow or your friends are awful people I’ll leave as an exercise to the reader).  You could do what NuPru said and just get more on your plate, or you could go the opposite route and get less at first so you finish faster then get your seconds with the group, or you could store some extra in your fridge for yourself later, or you could find people who aren’t mooching off you and then blaming your middle-class upbringing for why you don’t eat like a ravenous warthog.

[debrisdraws]

a story i wrote when i was 12

Prologue A small stuffed animal sat on a little girl’s bed, a happy expression sewn onto its face. It had two beautiful, bright blue beads serving as its eyes, and it had long, soft ears lined with satin. The stuffed animal was a rabbit, a very well-made rabbit with a pale pink ribbon tied around its neck. Sitting innocently next to it was a small, black-and-tan dog, who, once certain her owner was out of the room, grabbed the stuffed rabbit and began to play with it. The dog shook the rabbit a few times, then flung it across the room, vaulting off the bed to chase after it. After about fifteen minutes, there was a small hole in the rabbit’s side, and the dog eagerly pulled the stuffing out of its side, continuing until it was completely empty of its stuffing. Soon, the dog was tearing up the outside of the rabbit too, and after ten more minutes, there was nothing left of the stuffed rabbit except scraps of stuffing, white faux fur, and a frayed, torn pink ribbon.

Three hours earlier A boy sat in his room, drawing a picture of his friend. His friend looked vaguely canine, or perhaps feline, and had sandy brown fur accentuated with pale blue. His ears were long, and looked vaguely rabbit-like, except for the fact that his ears were broader and came to a sharp point at the end. His ears were pierced, with three earrings in each ear, and the insides of his ears were a soft blue-green color. He was wearing a dark blue jacket with large pockets, as well as a turquoise bow tie. The pockets of the jacket were for his sketchpad, which he never left home without. He had a long, lion-like tail, and the tuft of fur on the end of it was electric blue. The strange creature was also wearing a top hat of the same color as his jacket, with a turquoise ribbon around the base of said hat. The boy stopped drawing to listen in on his parents’ conversation, idly tapping his pen against the table. “Jake, he’s twelve now. Twelve is too old to have an imaginary friend. We humored him for a while, yes, but I think it’s time to tell him the truth,” the boy’s mother said firmly. “…Fine.” With that, the boy’s parents entered his room, pretending not to know who he was drawing. His father glanced in his mother’s direction, then began to speak. “Listen, son, your mother and I need to have a chat with you. Can we sit down?” The boy’s only response was a nod, so his parents sat on the bed, and the boy’s father continued. “So, we know how much you like your… friend… but we think you’re getting a bit old for him. You should go make real friends, you know. To be blunt… having an imaginary friend won’t get you anywhere in life. You know he’s not real, don’t you? He’s never been real, and he never will be.” And that was the precise moment that the boy’s imaginary friend died.

Chapter One A white rabbit with blue eyes and a pink ribbon sat, very confused and slightly afraid, on a small platform in what appeared to be a gigantic child’s room. The lavender walls were at least fifty feet high, the vast amount of carpet was baby blue, and there were at least sixty enormous dollhouses lining the walls, as well as a hospital, a police station, and a very large pot that had lots of strange plants in it. Many stuffed animals roamed about, as well as some strange animals that didn’t seem to be any specific kind of animal at all. The rabbit looked around some more and spotted another strange not-animal on the platform beside her. He was wearing a dark blue top hat, which was slightly askew, as well as several other items of clothing that made him look somewhat like a magician. “Hey, do you know where we are?” the rabbit asked. “No, but when I got here, I was told there would be someone up soon to tell me the rules. That was three hours ago, and no one has come to tell me anything.” Sighed the not-animal. “Oh. Well, while we wait, we could get to know each other,” suggested the rabbit. “My name is Morta.” “Nice to meet you, Morta. I’m Vincent.” “Cool. So, uh, Vincent, I don’t mean to be rude, but… what are you? You kind of look like what would happen if a cat and a dog had a baby.” Morta said, feeling very awkward. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m not, technically speaking, an animal, exactly. I’m an imaginary friend. We imaginary friends can be any creature, be it animal, human, or neither. I just so happen to fall into the ‘neither’ category.” Vincent explained with a smile. “Oh. Okay,” Morta replied. “Do you know how to get back h… oh! Who’s that?” Just then, Morta caught sight of what had previously been a stuffed raccoon climbing the stairs to the platform to address the two new arrivals. “Hello, hello! I’m Ella, and you’re Vincent and Morta, correct?” Without waiting for their answers, she continued. “I’ll be instructing you on how to behave here, and on the services we can provide you with. Firstly, and most importantly, we have free healthcare here in The Life After. If you ever feel sick, go find the hospital. The kind workers there also do piercings, fur dyes, and, if you’re one of those gross new ‘tail-switchers’, they can do that too. I don’t think getting a tail-switch is a good idea, though. You’ve got a perfectly good tail already. Now, any questions so far?” “U-Uh, um, no, thanks,” Vincent stammered, caught off-guard. “What’s a tail-switch?” Morta asked. It was becoming very clear that the rabbit liked to ask questions. “Is it like a light switch? That sounds really weird. Imagine having a light switch glued to your behind… so weird.” “No, no, it’s not like that at all. It’s a new trend, and I don’t like it. Basically, you go to the hospital, and they violently chop your tail off and sew on someone else’s disembodied tail. Disgusting, really,” the raccoon said with a grimace. “Now, any more questions before I continue?” Vincent and Morta both shook their heads, so Ella continued. “Good, good. So, you might be wondering what the currency here is, right? There is no currency. We don’t need money here in The Life After. If everyone contributes something, everyone is happy, and everyone has what they need. There are a few main professions in which workers are most needed; doctors, police officers, and informers. Informers are creatures like me, who help out the newbies when they first get here. There’s also a profession that doesn’t technically count as a profession, which is that of a helper. Helpers, as the name suggests, just sort of loiter about and help people who look confused. Helpers are always very friendly, and everyone trusts them. Now, you will choose your profession. We currently only need the main four, so choose from them.” Ella finished, stopping to catch her breath after her long monologue. “Uhh…” Morta mumbled, shooting a glance at Vincent. “Could I change my profession later, if I wanted to?” Vincent asked, cocking his head hopefully. “Yes, yes, of course.” Ella confirmed. “Then… I think I’ll be a doctor.” “I’ll be a helper. I like helping.” Morta said cheerfully. “Good, good. Now, let’s learn the rules and the basics of what doctors and helpers need to know. Rules first, though.” Ella said, preparing herself for another long speech. “So, basically, the rules here are simple. Don’t kill anyone. After one kill, you’ll be labelled a criminal, but if you stop then, we’ll only put you in jail for a week or two. After five kills, the jail time is upped to two months. After ten, a year. At fifteen kills, the police will hunt you down and execute you, which will send you back to your previous life. You won’t be able to return here until you’ve lived out another life, but the punishment doesn’t end there. When you finally die again, you’ll just be executed as soon as you get here, so you’ll have to live out two extra lives before returning. Something similar happens if you are killed. You can’t die here unless someone purposely ends your life, so you can’t die by accident, and if you do die, you’ll be sent back to your previous life. Any more questions?” Morta suddenly looked very interested. If she could find someone to kill her, she could return home. Lost in thought, she tuned out the rest of Ella’s instructions. Suddenly, Vincent prodded her in the side to get her attention. “What?” Morta asked, bewildered. “She asked if you would mind sharing a house with some other creatures.” Vincent explained. “I’d be there too.” “Oh. Uh, yeah, sure.” *** About half an hour later, Vincent and Morta had been told everything there was to know, and now Ella was leading them to their house. As the raccoon swung open the door, she called out a greeting, and around a dozen voices responded. “You’ll be living with fourteen other creatures. They’re all in the living room right now; you’ll need to introduce yourselves later, once you’re settled in.” Ella said cheerfully, as though living with fourteen other animals was normal. “There are enough bedrooms for each animal to only have to share with one other. You two will be rooming together.” Morta was bewildered, but she nodded and acted as though she understood. She decided to tune Ella out again. Soon, the raccoon had finished rambling, and was leading Vincent and Morta up multiple flights of stairs to their room. By the time they reached the top of the final flight of stairs, Vincent was wheezing. “Can… we… c-can we please… take a break from the stairs,” Vincent panted desperately. “No need. Your room is on this floor, see? You’re in the second room on the left. Now, since I’m assuming you can find it yourself, I’ll be off. Talk to the possum sisters downstairs if you need help.” Ella replied, turning and running back down the stairs, not seeming tired at all. “Well, I guess we should go to our room,” Morta mumbled, swinging open the door to their room and ambling inside. As soon as she was inside, she collapsed onto one of the beds, sighing contentedly as she wallowed in the soft blankets. Vincent sat on the bed next to her, fiddling with the blankets with his strange, monkeylike paws. “So,” Vincent finally ventured. “Uh… I like your ribbon.” “Thanks. I like your hat.” Morta replied, stifling a laugh at Vincent’s sorry attempt at starting a conversation. “I only wear it to cover up my horns. Personally, I think my horns are pretty cool, but they’ve been known to scare people, so I cover them up.” Replied the sandy-colored creature, removing his top hat to reveal a sky-blue set of horns. “You look like a cow,” Morta blurted out. “Uh, I mean, in a good way! You look like… er… a handsome… cow?” “Gee, thanks,” Vincent replied, rolling his eyes and putting his hat back on. “So, do you have anything I don’t know about you?” “Well, my favorite color is yellow. I don’t think I told you that yet. What’s your favorite color?” “Green.” Vincent answered, fiddling with the pockets on his jacket. “Cool. So what’s in your pockets?” “My sketchpad is in one pocket, my pencils are in the other.” Vincent replied. Morta was opening her mouth to ask another question when what looked to be a bull terrier pushed open the door. “It’s time for dinner,” the bull terrier yipped, leaving immediately after he was done talking. “Already?” Morta complained, not wanting to leave her bed. “You go downstairs and eat. When you’re done, bring me my food. I’m hungry, but I don’t want to go back down all those stairs.” Vincent said, sprawling out on the bed with a yawn. With a grumble of complaint, Morta got to her feet and exited the room, making her way to the stairs and heading downwards. Once downstairs, she wandered around until she found a sign that said ‘Dining Hall’. Morta pushed open the door to see fourteen other animals sitting around a table. Hesitantly, she went and sat next to a cheerful-looking possum. “There you are,” the bull terrier from before said in a monotone voice. “You’re late for dinner. Is your friend coming downstairs?” “Nah. I’m going to bring him his food once I’m done.” Morta replied. “Well, while you’re down here, let’s all introduce ourselves!” the possum sitting next to her exclaimed excitedly. “I’m Opal, and this is my sister, Diamond.” Next to Opal was another possum who was nearly identical to her sister, and Diamond simply waved shyly before retreating to cower behind Opal. “My name is Rei.” Said the bull terrier, turning his attention back to his meal immediately after speaking up. “I’m Flame, and these are my brothers, Sky and Wind, and my sister, Storm.” Meowed a flame-point cat, gesturing to three other pointed cats with her tail. “Wow. Lots of the animals here are related, huh?” Morta said, slightly confused. “Er… yes.” Flame mumbled, looking away. “Just tell her.” Sighed Opal. “Well, uh… nobody here is actually related by blood except Opal and Diamond. Similar creatures are sometimes lumped together and told to look after one another. Often, it doesn’t end well, with one or two of the ‘siblings’ going off and leaving the others. Storm, Wind, Sky, and I have only lasted this long because we’re used to living with others, and all of us would be very upset without someone to talk to.” Flame explained. “Oh,” Morta mumbled. “Anyways, let’s go on with the introductions!” Opal said cheerfully. “My name is Faust, and this is my brother, Jaeger.” Said a large, dark gray wolf, angling his head towards another huge wolf. As the introductions went on, Morta slowly stopped paying attention, and so she ended up only remembering a few of her housemates’ names. As the last creature stated his name, she snapped out of her bored stupor and stood up, eager to go upstairs. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you all,” Morta said, licking the last remnants of her dinner from the plate. “Well, I’m going upstairs now. Bye.” *** “Aw, only plants and stuff? I was hoping for real food, like cake or ice cream.” Vincent sighed when presented with his food. “Just eat it already. You need to be nice and energized for your first day of work at the hospital tomorrow. I ran into Ella on my way up here. She said you start work at seven, and I start work whenever I wake up. Being a helper has its perks,” Morta said smugly. Vincent grumbled a complaint, but ate a few of the vegetables on his plate anyways. In the end, he managed to force down about half the food, although he whined about its taste the entire way through. “Good job. Now, let’s go to sleep. You have an early start tomorrow,” Morta directed, sounding very much like Vincent’s mother. Needless to say, the horned creature did not like that. “I’ll do whatever I like. I’m grown. I don’t need you telling me what to do,” Vincent said, shooting a heated glare in Morta’s direction, although he did as she said and took off his hat, bow tie, and jacket, then climbed into his bed, burrowing beneath the pale green blankets so that all that was visible of him was the electric-blue tuft of fur on the end of his tail. “But you still obeyed, didn’t you?” Morta replied, the smug look from before returning. “If you need me, I’ll be in my bed. Not sleeping, just… thinking.”

Chapter Two Vincent woke early the next morning to see Rei standing over him, looking bored. “Wake up.” Said the bull terrier, his voice emotionless. “It’s six thirty. You need to get ready for work.” With a sleepy groan, Vincent sat up, and before he could ask any questions, Rei was gone, closing the door behind him. As Vincent got dressed, he realized something very important; he had no idea where the hospital was. Not bothering to put his bow tie on, or even make sure his jacket was buttoned, he pounced on Morta, shaking her urgently. “Morta, wake up!” he said loudly. “Go away,” Morta growled, swatting blindly at Vincent, hoping to hit him. She did manage to connect with his hat, sending it tumbling to the ground. “Morta, come on,” Vincent whined. “I need help. You’re a helper, aren’t you?” “Nuh-uh. Not yet; I’m just an assistant helper right now. Go away.” Morta muttered, yanking her blankets back up over her head so Vincent would leave her alone. “Fine,” Vincent sighed, hopping off the bed and  retrieving his hat. He then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him and making his way to the stairs. On his way down, he nearly ran into Opal, and he had to stumble to the left to avoid colliding with her, falling down several stairs in the process. “Opal!” he called from his sprawled-out position on the stairs below her. “Opal, I’m so glad I ran into you. Do you know where the hospital is?” “Oh, yeah. All you have to do is go outside, head straight for a while, then take a left, another left, and a right, then keep going straight until you get there.” Opal said cheerfully. “Oh, there’s Diamond! If you want, she’ll walk you there.” Diamond shook her head vigorously, shooting a panicked look in Opal’s direction. “Yeah, okay. That would be great,” Vincent replied, standing back up and pretending he hadn’t just fallen down the stairs. He began to descend once more, this time with Diamond trailing behind him. Once they got outside, he looked to Diamond for instruction. The silvery possum didn’t say anything, just started to walk in what Vincent assumed was the correct direction. After about five minutes of walking in one direction, Diamond began to walk in a different direction, occasionally glancing back to make sure Vincent was following. After a while and a few more odd turns, the two creatures had reached the hospital. “Thanks for your help, Diamond,” Vincent said with a smile. Diamond didn’t say anything, just dipped her head in acknowledgement and left. Vincent hesitated outside the hospital doors for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped inside. As soon as he was inside, a very energetic ferret came over to him and started chatting. “Hello! I’m James, and I’m the receptionist! I’ll bet you’re here to become a doctor, huh? What’s your name?” the receptionist said, barely pausing for breath. “Uhhh… Vincent.” “Nice to meet you, Vincent!” James said cheerfully. “The doctor you’ll be with isn’t ready yet, so while we wait, let’s have a conversation!” “No such luck, James. I’m ready now,” came a voice from the hallway. Vincent turned his head to see the source of the voice, a red fox who was holding a scalpel in her mouth. “Come on back, Vincent.” “Oh. Okay.” Vincent replied, not entirely sure what he was doing, but going back into the operating room with her anyway. Strangely, there was no one there. “I thought I was supposed to watch you do… doctor-y stuff… and learn from that. Why isn’t there anyone here?” “It’s simple, really. You don’t need to watch me do anything. All you have to do is lie back, go to sleep, and when you wake up you’ll know how it’s done.” The red fox said, a satisfied grin creeping onto her lips. “Wh— Ow!” Vincent yelped, feeling the prick on a needle in his skin. The fox stepped back, carelessly tossing her syringe onto the counter and watching Vincent attempt to stay upright. Eventually, he collapsed on the floor, completely unconscious. *** Vincent woke a few hours later with a stinging pain in the back of his head. With a groan, he cracked open one eye to see Morta lying, fast asleep, on the end of the bed. At least, he though it was Morta. She looked different than Vincent remembered. “Hey. Morta, wake up. What did you have them do?” Vincent said, gently hitting Morta on the head with his paw. He watched as the white rabbit opened her eyes, and for a moment all she did was dazedly stare around. “Oh, yeah. I got bored waiting for you.” Morta said with a shrug, her words slightly slurred. “I decided to have them do a thing. I look pretty now, right? I look like you.” “Morta, you were pretty before. You don’t even look like a rabbit anymore. I have to admit, though, the piercings do suit you, but not the… that.” Vincent gestured to Morta’s tail. Her natural tail had been cut off and replaced with someone else’s. It looked just like Vincent’s, with the blue tuft of fur on the end, but the rest of it had been dyed white to match Morta’s natural fur color. A bandage was wrapped around the base of the new tail, and a few droplets of blood had seeped through the fabric of the bandage. She had had her ears pierced, with two earrings per ear, just like Vincent, and she had also had her nose pierced, a small black ring now adorning her twitching nose. “Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you what they did to your head. Also don’t freak out. They said to tell you not to freak out,” Morta said. As the silence stretched on, Vincent stared expectantly at her, only to realize she had gone back to sleep. With a sigh, he shook her awake. “What?” “You were telling me what they did to my head,” Vincent sighed. “Oh. Right. So, basically, they cut you open and inserted a chip into your brain. It feeds the information you need to know directly into your brain. Cool, huh?” Morta said cheerfully. “They even let me see the pictures they took of you, all cut open and gross. Do you wanna see?” “Er… no. No, thank you.” Vincent said quickly. “They said as soon as you were feeling better you could go home for the day.” Morta added, hopping off the bed and heading for the door. With a sigh, Vincent reluctantly followed her out the door, stopping suddenly once he was outside. “H-Hey,” he stammered. Morta halted to listen to him, and he continued. “I don’t suppose you remember the way back home?” “Uh… I mean, it can’t be far, can it?” *** Eventually, after about an hour of wandering around and arguing about which direction they should go, Vincent and Morta happened to spot their house, and so they were now lying on Morta’s bed, doing absolutely nothing. Morta had fallen asleep, and Vincent was rambling to himself about how ‘gross’ and ‘unsanitary’ the hospital had been, focusing particularly on the fact that the fox he had met had held the scalpel in her mouth, getting her saliva all over it. After a while, Vincent fell asleep, and when he woke up, it was dark, not only because the main lights in the gigantic room had been turned off to simulate night, but also because, while he and Morta were sleeping, someone had come in and turned off their lamp. “Oh, you’re awake,” Morta said with a yawn. “I can’t sleep anymore. After that nap, I don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep tonight.” “Me neither,” Vincent agreed. “I’m going out.” Morta suddenly announced, getting up and heading for the door. “Can I come?” Vincent asked eagerly. He didn’t know of anywhere in The Life After that was open after dark, so if Morta knew a fun place to go, he wanted to go too. “No. I want to be alone right now,” Morta said quietly. “Bye, Vincent. Have a nice night.” “Uh… okay?” Vincent responded, confused as to why his friend was suddenly acting so stiff and formal. Without another word, Morta turned and slipped out the door, making her way down the stairs to the door. She stepped outside onto the soft blue carpet, looking around for a bit before deciding she would need a weapon. With a crash, she slammed herself into a window, creating several long, jagged shards of glass. She winced, feeling quite a few slivers of glass go into her skin, but ignored the pain and picked up one of the pieces, looking around once more before going down the shadiest alley she could find. To Morta’s great delight, there was already someone down the alley, a medium-sized rat who seemed to be closely examining a strand of the carpet. She calmly went up to him and gently prodded him with the glass shard, hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough to draw blood. He turned to her, an expression of amusement and slight confusion adorning his face. “What are you doing?” the rat said with a little giggle. “I’m threatening you with a weapon. The only way to escape this fatal situation is to kill me out of self-defense.” Morta said with a small smile. “No, thanks,” said the rat politely. “What?” Morta said, very irritated. “You can’t just say ‘no thanks’! You’re supposed to take my glass piece and dramatically kill me with my own weapon.” “No, thanks. If I kill you, I’ll be put in jail. I’d rather die than go to jail.” “You already died,” grumbled Morta, gripping her drool-covered glass shard tightly. “So? I would rather you ripped me open on the spot than go to jail. I’ve seen what the living conditions are like in there!” the rat said stubbornly, provoking an angry grunt from Morta. “If you truly would rather die than kill someone to defend yourself, then prove it!” Morta snarled, leaping forward and bowling the rat over, first scratching at his face with her claws to give him a chance to retaliate, then dropping her glass shard to nip at him. Still, the rat did not attempt to defend himself. He just lay there and took it, watching through narrowed eyes as Morta bit and scratched at him. “Do it. Kill me,” the rat said, lying perfectly still as the white rabbit tore at his flesh. “I don’t mind. Go ahead.” With an enraged growl, Morta picked up her weapon and plunged it into the rat’s chest, rearing up on her hind legs and dropping her front legs down onto the glass shard, shoving it deeper into his chest. The rat let out a disgusting gurgle, a small wave of blood forcing its way up his throat and dripping out of his mouth. Morta stepped off the rat, looking at the wound in his chest with great interest. She yanked her piece of glass out of his chest and watched as an interesting occurrence happened before her eyes. More blood came out of the wound, an interesting color of blood that was a cross between crimson and magenta. Inside the wound was cotton, the same type you would see inside a stuffed animal. It had been dyed an odd lavender color by the blood, but there was no mistaking it; it was cotton. Morta started to walk away, but turned to look at the rat she had killed one last time. A wave of regret washed over her, but there was no turning back now. With a sigh, she started to walk back towards home. She washed the blood from her fur in the kitchen sink, still regretful but not as much as before. Morta made her way up the stairs and into her room, careful not to wake Vincent, who had fallen asleep while she was gone. She collapsed, now exhausted, into her bed, and slept a dreamless sleep. Chapter Three Vincent woke the next morning to see Rei standing in the doorway, repeating the words ‘wake up’ over and over in a monotone voice. “I’m awake now, you can leave,” Vincent sighed, getting out of bed and starting to get dressed. He was soon completely ready for work, although he still didn’t know the way to the hospital. Nevertheless, he left his room and started for the stairs, hoping he would run into someone who was willing to show him the way to work. Unfortunately, the only creature he ran into was Dawn, a snake who worked at the police department and didn’t know the way to the hospital. So, after about ten minutes of dawdling and hoping someone would come to show him the way to work, Vincent set off in what he thought was the general direction of the hospital. After about twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly around, he managed to find his way to the hospital, where James the receptionist enthusiastically greeted him. “Vincent!” James said excitedly. “Just in time! Your first patient just got here. Go on back into exam room four.” Bewildered but obedient, Vincent made his way back to the fourth exam room, where two creatures sat before him. One of them was an imaginary friend like Vincent, with white fur and pale purple markings. Another strange thing about this creature was the fact that she had no eyes; there was just smooth white fur where her eyes should be. The other was what appeared to be a cat, albeit a very strange cat. He was silvery-gray, with dark blue-gray markings and a purple blindfold over his eyes. “Uh… hello. I’m Vincent, and I… uh… pardon me, but I haven’t been told anything about what I’m to do today. Could you… maybe tell me why you’re here?” Vincent stammered nervously, feeling very unprofessional. “Pearl here got into a nasty fight a few minutes ago. I checked with another doctor, and she said Pearl would definitely need stitches. You’re to do the stitches.” The cat-like creature said, sounding slightly irritated. For the first time, Vincent realized that the other creature –Pearl— was oozing blood from a long, nasty cut on her shoulder. He shuddered, the sight of blood making him feel slightly nauseous, but pretended he was fine and continued trying to help Pearl. “O-Oh, right, of course,” Vincent said, looking around for the needle and thread that was used to stitch up wounds. Suddenly, he felt a small twinge in the back of his head. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, and suddenly he knew exactly where the needle and thread were. Quickly, he retrieved them, then just sort of sat there, very confused, until another small wave of information appeared in his head, telling him what to do. Slowly but steadily, he managed to make his way through the process of stitching the patient’s wound closed. Once finished, he herded Pearl and her friend out of the room. As soon as they had left, Vincent sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room, looking very pale. “Vincent! Your next patient is waiting for you in operating room number two. He’s already unconscious, don’t bother trying to make conversation.” James informed him. Vincent simply nodded his acknowledgement and started towards operating room number two, but was stopped on his way in by a nurse. “You’ll want to have another, more experienced doctor helping you for this one.” Said the nurse in a low voice. “The kid on the operating table in there has more injuries than you’re used to. Poor little guy got in a fight with a big dog, got his ear ripped clean off.” “U-Uh, th-thanks,” Vincent mumbled, now feeling very nervous and slightly sick. He pushed open the door to the operating room, took one look at the fennec fox lying on the silvery table, and fainted. *** “Ah, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” came a voice. Vincent cracked open one eye to see the nurse that had told him of his patient’s condition. “Uh… I don’t know. I feel fine, I guess,” Vincent mumbled, his ears burning scarlet in embarrassment as he suddenly remembered why he was waking up in a hospital bed at work. “Did… did I really faint?” “Oh, yes. It’s only technically your first day on the job, too. Maybe you’re better suited to a different job?” the nurse suggested. “But… but I wanted to be a doctor so I could help people, so I could save lives, that sort of thing,” Vincent objected. “You could be a police officer. They help, and there’s less blood if you work as a police officer. You could also be a helper, whose very definition of a job is helping.” “I’ll try being a police officer, then,” Vincent said, brightening up. “Could you direct me to the police station?” “It’s just down the street. All you have to do is turn left as soon as you get out the door, then continue straight, then you’ll be there. Shall I tell the others that you’ve quit?” asked the nurse. “Yeah, thanks.” Vincent said happily, hopping out of his bed and heading towards the door. He followed the nurse’s directions, then applied for the job at the police station. After a nervous half-hour wait, he was told he had gotten the job, and he was assigned to patrol the streets near his house that night. Vincent was also given a badge, which he pinned proudly to his hat. Soon, he was on his way back home to rest before his first shift that night. Once he got into his and Morta’s room, he realized something, and was quick to point it out. “Morta, look! Your beautiful ribbon is torn.” Vincent pointed out sadly. “Oh, yeah. I tore it last night.” Morta replied. “Oh, hey! Guess what?” Vincent said excitedly, changing the subject abruptly. He continued, not waiting for Morta to guess. “I got a job as a police officer!” “I thought you were a doctor.” “Yeah, but… I guess I don’t do very well with blood… I fainted. It was only my second patient, too! But then the nice nurse lady told me I could be a police officer, so I decided to do it!” Vincent said cheerfully. “How’s work as a helper been? Is it fun?” “No clue. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m supposed to do, so I just lie in bed all day and hope Ella will come tell me what to do,” Morta sighed. “Oh.” Vincent said. He paused for a moment. “What time is it?” “Seven forty-five, why?” “I’m supposed to be outside already! It’s nearly time for the main lights to turn off!” Vincent cried, scrambling out of bed and rushing out the door. Morta watched as he left, waiting for him to go downstairs. She heard four loud thuds, one after the other, and knew that Vincent had just fallen down the stairs. Hopping up, she crawled underneath her bed and retrieved her glass shard, then made her way to the stairs, descending slowly. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Morta risked a glance behind her, then pushed open the door and stepped outside, angling her large ears to the left, then the right, to check for other creatures. She heard someone to the left, and two others on the right, but she decided to wait until the main lights went off to make her move. With a click, the lights went off, plunging the gigantic room and everyone in it into darkness. Quickly, Morta broke into a run, turning sharply to the right, towards the two creatures lurking in the shadows there, a small, black-and-tan dog, and a pale brown cat with red antlers and eyes. There were several scars cutting through the cat’s sleek fur, which were also bright red. The two creatures seemed to be having a conversation, and did not notice Morta. “Hey. Hey, you guys. I have a weapon, and you should probably kill me.” Morta said calmly. The dog looked bored, but the cat’s face split into a grin, and he tensed, tail waving back and forth, then leapt on Morta, biting and scratching at her face. The white rabbit dropped her piece of glass and let the cat hurt her, watching with interest as he attempted to impale her on his antlers. Suddenly, there was a growl, and the cat was yanked backwards by the tail. The dog put down his tail, but still watched the cat intently. “No. Biting, scratching, and fighting is for uncivilized, wild animals. We are civilized, and you should not be attacking this harmless little bunny.” Said the dog disapprovingly. “Harmless?! I am not harmless! Just last night, I killed someone!” Morta said in a prideful tone. “Oh. We’ll have to go to the police, then,” the dog said calmly. “No!” Morta cried, desperation clear in her voice. She started to back away, but tripped over her glass shard, which she had forgotten about. Grabbing the shard of glass, Morta sprang forward and attempted to shove it into the dog’s chest, but the dog swatted her away at the last second. She then turned to focus on the cat, who was watching with great interest. Morta leaped towards the cat, managing to shallowly scratch his face. The cat shoved her down and bit her ears, tearing them a bit. Morta took this chance to push her glass shard upwards and into the cat’s throat. Gasping and hacking, the cat collapsed, and Morta yanked her weapon out of his throat to fight the dog, who was now very angry indeed. The dog leapt, snarling, at her, and bit down on the side of her neck, just left of her windpipe, and shook her around like a rag doll. Morta let out a choked cry and writhed around in the dog’s grasp, managing to cut its forehead open with her glass piece. While the dog was busy blinking blood out of its eyes, it loosened its grip on Morta, and she took this chance to wiggle out of its mouth and onto its back, where she plunged the shard of glass into the back of its neck. Jumping off the dog’s back, Morta watched as it fell to the ground, splattering the baby blue carpet with deep magenta blood. The white rabbit turned to leave, but before she had taken four steps, she found herself face-to-face with Vincent. “Morta, hi! What’s that all over your fur? Why are those creatures… oh. Oh, no…” Vincent stammered, suddenly looking very sick. He turned away for a moment to throw up, coughing and gagging. When he turned back to Morta, he was pale and looked traumatized. “Wh…What happened to them? Are you okay? You have all these bite marks on you, and you’ve got blood dripping out of the side of your mouth… I think you should go to the hospital.” Vincent said, worry clouding his amber eyes. “I’m fine. You can help me clean out my wounds when we get home,” Morta said, her head low and her eyes dull. “Who killed them and hurt you? And why do you have that piece of glass? Put it down, you might hurt yourself.” “Vincent, you really haven’t figured it out yet?” Morta said sadly. “I killed them. This shard of glass is my weapon.” “W-What?” Vincent yelped, his eyes shining with pale purple tears. “But… you… I thought…” “If you tell anyone what I’ve done, you’ll be my next victim.” Morta growled. “B-But I thought we were friends!” objected Vincent. “Vincent, we’ve only known each other for, what, three days? I don’t want to hurt you, but if you rat me out to the police, I’ll have to.” “Fine,” Vincent mumbled, feeling a bit hurt. “I’ll help you, if you want. But only with your injuries. Not the murders themselves. But, before I help you, tell me this; why? Why are you killing all these innocent creatures?” “I want to go back to my other life. There are two ways of going about that; dying, or committing at least fifteen murders and being executed. I’ve already killed three of my fifteen, so me dying at this point would be impractical.” “But… b-but how can you stand it? It’s scary, isn’t it, having to kill all these creatures all by yourself?” Vincent asked. “It is just as easy to kill one hundred as it is to kill one.” Morta replied. “Sometimes it gets easier as you go, too. The more you kill, the more desensitized you get, which helps quite a bit.” “Oh.” Vincent mumbled, feeling very scared indeed. He forced his face to contort into a smile, which looked a bit more like a grimace than a smile. “I’ll help you however I can.”

Chapter Four “Hurry up,” Morta complained with a grimace. Vincent, who had decided one or two of Morta’s wounds needed stitches, was currently in the process of sewing a large bite mark closed. It was, to say the least, very uncomfortable. “Don’t complain. It was very hard to steal this stuff, you know. I had to break one of the hospital windows,” Vincent grumbled, tying off the thread with his strange, monkey-like paws. He then started to bandage the wounds which didn’t need stitching. “You’re lucky I haven’t fainted, actually. I don’t do well with blood.” “Yeah, I saw.” Said Morta with an amused snort, remembering how Vincent had puked earlier when he’d seen the bodies of her victims. Having finished bandaging Morta’s wounds, Vincent stepped back and placed the medical supplies into a box, which he then shoved under his bed. “There. Now, what’s your cover story for why you have injuries?” “I hit my head on a shelf, and then I fell onto something sharp.” Morta responded. “That cover story sucks. Tell people we got in a fight or something.” Vincent sighed. “But you’re not injured, they wouldn’t believe you,” Morta objected. “Well, we can fix that, can’t we?” Vincent said with a grin, pulling the medical supplies back out from under his bed. “Bandage me.” Rolling her eyes, Morta took the roll of bandages from Vincent and started to clumsily wrap them around his front leg, then his face. “Hey, keep that out of my eye!” Vincent complained as Morta started to cover his left eye with the bandages. “How’s it supposed to look real if I keep it out of your eye?” Morta teased, completely covering Vincent’s eye and part of his ear, as well as some of his hat. Vincent was almost one hundred percent sure hats did not suffer injuries, but he kept this to himself. “Okay, okay, quit it. I look convincing enough, now let’s go see if this place serves breakfast.” “What? But it’s still night,” Morta said, confused. “Not for long. The lights are about to come on.” Vincent pointed out, gesturing to the clock with his long tail. Sure enough, it read ‘5:56’, and as the two creatures made their way down the stairs, the lights clicked on. As they entered the kitchen, a surprising sight greeted them; Rei, the bull terrier, was standing by the stove, watching a pot of water boil and occasionally stirring it. “Rei?” Morta said, extremely confused. “You can cook?” “Yeah. Who did you think cooked all the meals?” Rei said, looking irritated. It was the first time Vincent and Morta had seen any emotion on his face besides boredom. “Uh… I don’t know. I thought they just sort of… happened.” Vincent mumbled, edging closer to see what Rei was cooking. To his great disappointment, it was fruits and vegetables yet again. “What happened to you two? Has your eye been gouged out?” Rei said with great interest, staring at Vincent’s bandages. “Has her neck been ripped open?” “No, no. We got in a fight, that’s all. Morta borrowed something of mine without asking, so I kind of accidentally attacked her?” Vincent said, sounding slightly unsure. “Oh.” Rei sighed. To be honest, he looked a bit disappointed. “Well, you guys can go sit at the table and wait for breakfast. The food will be ready soon.” Obediently, Vincent and Morta sat down at the long table, waiting for the food to be ready. Suddenly, Ella barged in, looking frazzled, with three frightened-looking creatures trailing behind her. They looked exactly like normal deer except for a few things; for one, each had brightly-colored hooves. One had yellow hooves, one had blue, and the last had red. Secondly, the ‘deer’ had slightly tinted coats; each deer’s fur was a diluted version of the color on their hooves. Lastly, they were all wearing collars. The yellow-hooved deer had a green collar, the red-hooved one had an orange collar, and the blue-hooved one had a purple collar. There was a long chain connecting their collars together, so they couldn’t stray more than a few feet away from one another. “Morta! There you are. Can you show these three around for me? They’re new,” Ella said, pushing the deer towards Morta and bolting out the door. “Uh… hello there. My name’s Vincent, and this is Morta. What are your names?” Vincent finally said, realizing Morta did not want to introduce herself. “I’m Cerulean, and these are my sisters, Amber and Scarlet.” Said the blue-tinted deer. “Nice to meet you, Cerulean.” Vincent replied, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Do you want me to help you get that chain off? It looks uncomfortable.” As Vincent moved his paw toward the chain, the three deer leaped backwards all at the same time. The buck, Cerulean, drew back his lips to reveal his teeth, which were very sharp and dangerous-looking. “Don’t touch,” snarled Cerulean, taking another step backwards. “O-Okay, I’m sorry,” Vincent whimpered, backing away from the deer. He bent down to whisper into Morta’s ear, “It’s your turn to help them. I’m going back upstairs. Bring my food up to me when it’s ready.” Morta, having forgotten completely about breakfast, stared at Vincent’s retreating form in confusion for a moment before remembering. With a small, awkward cough, she turned back to the three deer. “Okay, uh… do you want me to, uh, find you guys a room or something?” “Yeah, that’d be good, thanks.” Said Cerulean, now calm. “Alright, come with me up these stairs.” Morta replied. There was a lengthy pause in the conversation as the four creatures made their way up the stairs. “Okay, I think this room is empty. I’ll be coming back tonight, after the lights go off, to show you around some more. For now, get settled in.” For some reason, the three deer backed away as they were spoken to. Scarlet and Cerulean looked ready to fight, while Amber simply looked frightened and hid behind Cerulean. Shrugging it off, Morta headed back to her room. “There you are. Where’s my food?” Vincent said impatiently as Morta came in. “Oh,” Morta mumbled. “I forgot.” “What do you mean you forgot?! I’m starving! Go back downstairs and get my food!” Vincent cried. He started to complain some more, but was interrupted by Rei silently opening the door and dropping two plates of food on the floor, then leaving. “Oh. Uh, thanks Rei,” Vincent called out, hoping Rei could hear him. “Vincent, eat your food, then get to sleep. I’ve got another kill planned for tonight, and we both need to be well-rested, as my new target is much bigger than me and I’ll likely get injured trying to fight him.” “Oh.” Vincent sighed yet again. “You still haven’t realized what you’re doing is wrong?” “It’s not wrong if I’m doing it for a good reason,” Morta insisted. “But you aren’t doing it for a good reason! I don’t—I don’t want you to die,” Vincent whimpered, his misty gray eyes filling with tears. “Why not? I don’t matter. It doesn’t matter whether I’m alive in The Life After or alive in my previous life.” “Y-You matter to me!” Vincent protested, pale violet tears spilling from his watery eyes and making a damp trail down his furry cheeks. “You’re my only friend, and I… I don’t want to lose you.” “It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. You don’t matter. Nothing matters except getting back to my other life, my real life.” Vincent flinched, then, with a pathetic sniffle, started to full-on bawl. Disgusted, Morta just stared at him for a moment, then awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Uh… well, I’ll be in my bed if you need me. You should try to sleep, too.” Morta said, backing away from Vincent and hopping into her bed. *** Morta woke late that night, having slept as much as she possibly could. A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly one in the morning, so, deciding it was time to get on with her killings, she went over to Vincent’s bed and shook him awake. “Get up,” Morta whispered. “We’ve been asleep for almost an entire day.” Vincent woke almost immediately, looking slightly surprised that he had managed to sleep for that long. He suspected it was because he hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night. “Here’s the plan. You will come with me, but wait outside the door until I need you. If I call for you, come in immediately, understand?” Vincent gave a small, fearful nod, and followed Morta out of the room. To his great surprise, they did not go down the steps, but instead headed down the hall. “It’ll be easy,” Morta muttered softly in Vincent’s ear. “I have a plan already. That chain the connects the three of them could easily strangle them in their sleep. I’ll just pull on the chain until they’re dead.” “Morta, are you sure this is a good idea?” Vincent whimpered. He had brought Morta’s piece of glass, in case he needed to fight, and was now anxiously clutching it tightly. “What if the big one wakes up and gores you with his antlers? “Relax, Vincent. I’ll be fine,” Morta promised. “Stay here. I’m going in.” As Morta pushed open the door to the room belonging to the three deer, a surprising sight greeted her; the deer, sitting, wide-awake, on the floor, all baring their sharp teeth at her. “What… why are you awake?” Morta asked innocently, hiding her guilt. “I came in to check on you, and you’re all showing your teeth! That’s not very nice, you know.” “Drop the act,” growled Scarlet, taking a step towards the white rabbit. “We know you’re here to kill us. We sensed it earlier, when you were talking to us.” “That’s rubbish.” Morta said stiffly, her long tail coiling itself protectively around her leg. “Is it? Right now, you’re thinking of how you can kill us without a weapon.” Cerulean replied with a smug grin, apparently not as scared as his sisters. “We read minds when we’re within four feet of one another. That’s why we don’t like being separated. We don’t know exactly what you’re thinking, but it’s clear enough, although the pictures are confusing sometimes.” With a wild growl, Morta flung herself at the three deer, aiming for the space in between them, where the silvery chain hung. With the weight of her body, she managed to make Cerulean and Amber start to choke and cough. Scarlet was pulled closer to Cerulean, but she didn’t choke like the others. The red-tinged doe took this chance to bite down on Morta’s long ear, yanking her back. Morta, not relenting, threw herself at Cerulean’s face, clinging tightly to his antlers. She leaned down and grabbed a portion of the chain in her mouth, pulling hard on it. From her perch on the buck’s antlers, none of the deer could get her, so soon, Cerulean started to turn an even more pronounced shade of blue, wheezing and hacking for air. His sisters were doing a bit better, but not by much. Finally, Cerulean fell over, not yet dead, but unconscious. “That’s better,” Morta said, jumping down from the deer’s antlers and taking a moment to regain her breath. Scarlet charged towards her, but as she had to drag a dead weight along with her, she could not hurt Morta. “Enough!” Scarlet snarled, and Amber scooted closer to her, apparently having realized what they were going to do. The two does unfastened each other’s collars, then turned their attention back to Morta. Amber hung back as Scarlet ripped and tore at Morta’s flesh, but soon, Scarlet called for her to join in, so she did. After only about five minutes, Morta was bruised and bloody, on the verge of passing out. “V-Vincent,” Morta rasped as loudly as she could. “Vincent, c-come help me!” Nervously, Vincent pushed open the door, and at the sight of Morta’s severe wounds, he paled. Looking uncertain, he glance from the deer to Morta, then back to the deer. “Attack them, you moron!” Morta growled, struggling to get to her feet. “Right, yes, of course,” Vincent mumbled, taking an uncertain step towards the two does. He brandished the fragment of glass like a sword, and eventually, he gathered the courage to poke at Amber with the glass shard. A tiny droplet of blood dropped from the miniscule would he had just made. “I-I’m really sorry!” Vincent whimpered. With an amused snort, Scarlet stepped forward, then pounced on Vincent, biting and kicking at him. Panicking, Vincent thrust the shard of glass at Scarlet, managing to connect with her stomach. Deep blue blood spurted out of the wound, spraying Vincent with a smattering of the hot liquid. He leaned over to throw up, then struggled to his feet, still feeling a bit weak. He had no time to recover, however, seeing as Amber came rushing towards him, grief-stricken and angry. Vincent toppled over as the doe tackled him, and got bitten several times before he could push her off. “Give it,” Morta growled, snatching the piece of glass from Vincent. Blood was still pouring from wounds in her stomach, flank, and the back of her head, and the very tip of her ear had been sliced off, but still she managed to stand up and fight. Vincent watched as the white rabbit rushed at Amber, shoving the glass shard into her neck, then yanking it out and moving on to the unconscious buck lying on the ground. She leaned over and slit his throat, then turned back to Vincent, who dry heaved at the sight. Morta was covered in blood. Some of it belonged to the deer, and some of it was hers, but no matter whose it was, it was all over her, dying her previously white fur a disgusting shade of violet. “Come on. We’ll need to get back to our room and wash our fur.” Morta said calmly, though she looked like she might collapse at any moment. Vincent simply nodded mutely, but as he started towards the door, Morta halted in front of him, having just thought of something. “Hold on. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Vincent watched in horror as Morta made her way over to Cerulean and, forcing his mouth open, shoved the shard of glass between his canine tooth and his gums, then pried said tooth out. She did the same with his other canine tooth, then picked up both bloodied teeth and walked back over to Vincent, who started to say something but fell silent in disgust as Morta dropped the teeth in his pocket. “I’ll explain later,” Morta said. So, together, the two battered creatures made their way back to their room, where Morta promptly blacked out from blood loss, leaving Vincent to stitch her up and bandage her. He started by sewing the wound on her stomach closed, then bandaging it for good measure, then moved on to bandage her head. Soon, the white rabbit was sufficiently bandaged, so Vincent moved on to her fur. He wet a towel and started to gently dab at her fur until there was no trace of blood left. Vincent then moved on to wash and bandage his own wounds, and once he was done, he collapsed into his bed, exhausted, but a hoarse voice from the other bed kept him from sleeping. “Wait, Vincent. The teeth in your pocket.” Morta said in a low voice, sitting up and ignoring the feeling of dizziness that came over her when she did so. “I want you to put them in my mouth. It shouldn’t be hard, just put some glue on the roots and shove them into my gums.” “R-Right, okay,” Vincent said, paling quite a bit and climbing out of bed. He retrieved his medical supplies, took the superglue out of the box, and pulled the two teeth out of his pocket. Vincent then went over and sat on Morta’s bed, where he simply stared at Morta until she told him what to do. “Here, look, I’ll put the glue on for you,” Morta sighed, applying a liberal amount of superglue to the sharp tooth. “Now I’ll open my mouth, and you just shove them into my gums. On the top, mind you.” The white rabbit opened her mouth as wide as she could, and Vincent, swallowing nervously, hesitated. When Morta made an impatient sort of grunting noise, he let out a shaky breath and shoved the teeth into her mouth with as much force as he could muster. She let out a strangled noise of pain, but forced a smile to convince Vincent she was okay. “Why did you even want that done in the first place?” Vincent asked, staring at Morta, whose gums had started to bleed. “To bite people,” Morta replied with a slight lisp. She expected she would have to re-learn how to talk, but that was fine, seeing as these new teeth would give her another advantage in a fight. “Oh… well, I’m going to bed. Night, Morta.” “Good night, Vincent.” Chapter Five Vincent woke the next morning to a loud, piercing scream. He already knew why someone was screaming, but if he and Morta didn’t go check it out, they’d look suspicious. “Morta, come on, let’s go see who found the… the bodies,” Vincent whispered in his roommate’s ear, starting to feel slightly nauseous and very guilty. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.” Vincent donned his hat and jacket, not bothering with his bow tie, and loped down the hall to the room where the three deer had been staying. Upon reaching it and seeing the bodies, he paled visibly and started to feel dizzy. Moments later, he collapsed onto Morta, who dumped him onto the floor, seeing as he was a dead weight and she was much smaller than him. “What happened?” Morta questioned. Opal, who had been standing in the doorway, pointed wordlessly to Rei, who was standing, tail tucked, in a pool of blood. For the first time since Morta had known him, he looked petrified with fear, and his blue eyes were watering. “I-I came in t-t-to call them down to b-breakfast, a-and when I got here… th-they were…” Rei’s words dissolved into pathetic sobs, and the black-and-white bull terrier seemed to lose himself in his terror and grief for a moment, but when he looked back to Morta, his face was devoid of emotion like usual. “I’m going to my room,” he said dully, pushing past Morta and nearly stepping on Vincent on his way out. Morta stayed in the doorway of the room for a moment, then grabbed Vincent by his bow tie and dragged him back to their room, where she waited for him to wake up. “Ah, you’re awake. You fainted again. Listen, tonight I’m going to go out again, and I want you with me.” “I can’t,” Vincent objected. “I have work tonight, remember? I work every other night. I’ll try to steer the other officers away from where you are, though. Just tell me where you’ll be going and I’ll point them in the opposite direction.” “I was planning on staking out the hospital and ambushing anyone who comes out. Since a lot of the creatures coming out of the hospital are still suffering from the aftereffects of medicine or previous wounds, they’d be easier to kill.” “Okay. Don’t get yourself hurt, understand? You’re already pretty battered, so only attack if you’re sure you can win the fight, got it?” Vincent said firmly. “Yeah, okay, sounds fair.” Vincent and Morta tried to act normal for the rest of the day, Morta pulling it off fairly well while Vincent constantly fretted about whether or not they would be caught.  There was no lunch that day, seeing as Rei was being interrogated at the police station, so Morta scavenged for food in the kitchen. Vincent, however, had lost his appetite and refused to eat. At last, it was evening, and both creatures departed for their own respective destinations. True to his word, Vincent kept his fellow officers away from the hospital so Morta could peacefully murder people. Soon after Morta arrived at the hospital, a large lynx wobbled out the door, but seeing as she had promised Vincent she would not go after anyone bigger than her, she let the lynx be. Finally, a creature small enough to attack came out; a very small fox with very large ears. With a triumphant grin, Morta leaped out from the shadows and pounced on the tiny fox. She bit down on his already-scarred ears, her new, sharp teeth ripping through the flesh. The white rabbit lunged for his throat, but she was yanked back by the back of her neck. Horrified, Morta craned her neck to see who was biting her, and came face-to-face with an enormous, tawny red wolf, who bit down harder and shook her around like a toy. “Let me go!” Morta cried, flailing and clawing at the wolf, who flung her against the wall of the hospital. “Don’t you dare hurt my son,” snarled the wolf, hackles raised and teeth bared. “That’s not your son. He’s a fox,” Morta said defiantly, getting to her feet and starting to back away from the wolf. “He is my son, and if you hurt him, I will hurt you,” the wolf said forcefully, taking a large step forward. When Morta rolled her eyes, he lunged for her and, gripping her long tail, slammed her against the wall again. Morta felt a bone in her foreleg snap, and let out an agonized screech, staring down at her leg. The bone was jagged and splintered, and was jutting out from her paw, which dangled, limp and useless, below the shattered bone. Still, the wolf did not relent, biting and tearing at Morta’s flesh until she was screaming and wailing in agony. The wolf dropped Morta on the ground, watching her struggle to get up. He picked her back up by her long tail and shook her until she felt some of the stitches in the base of her tail snap. The wolf flung Morta against a wall, then let out a huff, pulled his son close, and loped away, not stopping or looking back. *** Morta woke the next day to see artificial light flooding in through the windows of the room she shared with Vincent. With a groan, she tried to sit up, but was pushed back down by a familiar sandy-colored paw. “Don’t,” Vincent murmured. “You got yourself badly hurt. The doctor said I shouldn’t let you sit up, and according to the implant in my head, he’s right. You need time to heal.” “I’m fine. I just got bitten a couple times, no big deal,” Morta said desperately. “You shattered the bone in your foreleg, broke some of the stitches in your tail, and got bitten so badly you nearly bled out. If anything’s a big deal, it’s that.” “I need to go back and get more kills in!” Morta cried, a bit louder than she should have. “I need to get out of here as soon as I can!” “Why? I don’t understand, Morta. What do you get out of this? Surely The Life After is no worse than your old life.” “You don’t understand?” Morta scoffed. “It’s terrible here. You think it’s so great, with its pretty colors and friendly inhabitants, but no. You haven’t seen the back alleys littered with drug addicts and murderers. You haven’t seen the incompetence of the police force, Vincent. You look up to them so much, but you don’t see how ignorant they are. Serial murders, Vincent, are the only bad thing you know of, murders which, to my knowledge, are not being investigated at all. The police force are just sitting on their tails, questioning innocents and hoping they’ll get a confession from somebody. Even the prison sentences are pathetic. You remember how long they are, right? One kill is only a week, as is any amount up to four. After five, the time is still pathetic, two months for five through nine kills. Ten through fourteen, a year. Still not very harsh, but suddenly, once you’ve killed fifteen, the police abruptly decide they need to solve this problem, and then they kill you. Have you ever wondered why that is? It’s a way out, Vincent. Everyone here is just biding their time until they get bored and die, or are executed.” Morta stopped to catch her breath, taking in deep, ragged breaths, apparently tired out from her rant about The Life After. “But how is The Life After any worse than the real world, our previous world?” Vincent said quietly, sadness shining bright in his soft gray eyes. “Think about it, Morta. Stuffed animals such as you are trapped in their own bodies, sentient, conscious, but immobile. Imaginary friends such as me are bound to the minds of the person who invented them, destined to be a puppet for your ‘friend’ to do whatever they want with… until, slowly, your ‘friend’ stops believing in you and you die. How is that life better than this one, Morta? Tell me, what differentiates the two?” “You don’t understand. Leave me alone, I want to sleep,” Morta growled, unable to explain her reasons for wanting to return to her previous life. “All right. Tell me if you need anything,” Vincent said softly, turning and leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Chapter Six After two or three weeks of lying in bed and doing nothing, Morta was told she could get out of bed if she wanted. Of course, she still wasn’t allowed to put weight on her broken foreleg, and she would have to lean on Vincent the whole time, but it was still a start. “Come on, I have something to show you,” Vincent encouraged, pulling Morta out of bed and hooking a paw around her side so that they were pressed together. “When we get there, chances are you’ll be asked a lot of questions, and I want you to tell them you were attacked. A murderer leaped out at you from the shadows, but I rescued you just in time.” “Vincent, what are you talking about?” Morta said irritably, slowly limping to the door with Vincent’s aid. “You’ll see when we get there.” “We’re not going down the stairs, are we?” Morta asked, slightly afraid and a bit suspicious. “No, no, I wouldn’t be so mean to you on your first day of being up and about.” Vincent reassured her as they made their way out of the door and down the hall. After about ten minutes of awkward limping, they reached a door which read ‘Room 21’. Vincent offered up a cheerful grin before pushing the door open. To Morta’s great surprise, all fourteen of her housemates were grouped inside the room, smiling happily. Above them was a banner that read ‘Get well soon!’, and in the corner of the room was a table laden with food and drinks. “Do you like it? I organized the party,” Opal, one of the possum sisters, said eagerly. Her sister, Diamond, hid behind her, looking terrified. “Uh… yeah, it’s, er, great.” Morta responded, very confused. “Just, um… why? Why the party?” “Well, we wanted you to know we care, obviously. Plus, Rei made food that wasn’t vegetables for once. There’s cake.” Opal replied cheerfully. Vincent gasped, then put Morta on the floor and abandoned her to go eat cake. “Bring me some!” Morta called after Vincent, then turned back to her conversation with Opal. “That was really nice of you, to organize a party just for me.” “Aw, don’t worry about it. I like doing things for others.” Opal said with a smile. “So, how’d you break your leg?” “I made the mistake of going out by myself at night, and someone attacked me. Vincent was also out that night, and he happened to find me, lying on the ground in a pool of my own blood. Thankfully, I didn’t suffer any major injuries besides my leg.” Morta lied smoothly, knowing she was a very good liar. “Oh.” “Cake,” Vincent said simply, setting a plate down next to Morta and placing his own plate, which had four pieces of cake on it, in front of himself. “It’s very good. I was going to give you two pieces, but I ate your other piece.” Morta mumbled something that sounded a bit like ‘greedy pig’, but Vincent couldn’t be sure, so he just shrugged it off and continued eating his cake. “Reese, what are—Reese, stop! You’re going to ruin the party!” Opal said, irritated, and hurried over to where a tiny hamster was trying to drown himself in a cup of punch. She fished him out and plopped him down on the floor, leaving him there while she went back to continue her conversation with Morta and Vincent. “Sorry about that,” the possum said in a low voice. “Poor little guy was devastated when he got here a few days ago, keeps trying to kill himself. I’ve told him it was impossible to die in The Life After unless someone kills you, but he wouldn’t believe me. He keeps trying to hang himself with bits of string, and it’s scaring his neighbors. I only brought him so the neighbors wouldn’t file another complaint. If you want, I can take him home.” “No, no, he’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Morta reassured Opal, casting a glance over her shoulder at the little brown-and-white hamster. “Uh, Opal… I think he’s trying to jump out the window.” Opal sighed and quickly retrieved Reese from the windowsill, keeping a tight hold on the scruff of his neck as she made her way back over to Vincent and Morta. “Sorry again,” Opal said through a mouthful of tawny brown fur, still not letting Reese go. “Do you guys mind if I just keep him here by me?” “Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Vincent agreed as he watched Reese wriggle out of Opal’s grasp and run over to Morta, who just sat there, not quite knowing what to do. “Looks like he’s taken a liking to you, Morta,” Opal said cheerfully as Reese sat down on Morta’s foot. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.” “That’s… nice,” Morta said, an undertone of discomfort audible in her voice. After a moment’s hesitance, she added, “He’s very quiet, isn’t he? Is he mute, or is he just shy?” “Bit of both, really. Selective mutism.” Opal responded. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Reese said softly. His high voice was trembling, and he seemed very upset. “Right, right, we’re sorry, Reese.” Opal said hastily. “Good job talking in front of strangers, though. You’ve earned yourself a piece of cake. Stay here with Vincent and Morta, okay?” “She thinks I’m a child,” Reese said, speaking so quietly he was almost whispering. “She treats me like a baby, or an idiot. I’m not stupid. I’m actually very perceptive, Morta. Did you know Morta is the name of a goddess of death? You really do live up to the name, you know, although you should try to leave less evidence. I go out at nights, and I see it. I see the evidence of your crimes. White hairs, blue hairs, magenta blood, and scraps of pink ribbon. It’s very obvious that you did it.” Morta recoiled in horror, instinctively drawing back behind Vincent, who was much larger than her and served as a good shield. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you,” Morta snarled. “Please do.” Reese murmured with a tiny smile. “I’ve finally found someone willing to kill me… I’ll meet you outside this dollhouse as soon as the lights go out tonight. Bring a weapon.” “But… my leg,” Morta objected, suddenly unsure. “It’s broken, remember? That’s the whole focus of this party.” “Just--” Reese cut himself off as Opal approached, falling silent again, determined to keep up the ‘shy, scared little hamster’ act. “Here’s your cake,” Opal said cheerfully, placing a tiny piece of cake in front of Reese. “So, did you guys talk about anything interesting while I was gone?” “Nah,” Morta said casually. “Except, we were discussing my recovery, and I suddenly realized my leg hurt, so Vincent and I are going to go back to our room, if that’s okay.” “Yes, of course!” Opal said, nodding vigorously. “Great, thanks. See you later,” Morta called over her shoulder as she got to her feet and pressed herself into Vincent, who looped a foreleg around her to pull her closer and help her walk. Half limping, half hopping, Morta and Vincent exited the room together. Once back in their room, the two creatures collapsed onto Morta’s bed, lying there in silence for a long while. Finally, Vincent spoke. “I don’t like it. Making a date just to kill someone. It’s like a death-date, and I don’t like it, Morta, I don’t like it one bit. What’s the point of killing people? If you want to go back to your old life, then just go out and get yourself killed. You don’t need to slaughter fifteen innocent creatures.” “The point? Vincent, I kill because I want to stay in my old life forever. Two consecutive deaths, remember? They’ll kill me when they catch me, then as soon as I come back, they’ll kill me again. If possible, once I’ve finished with my punishment, I’ll kill fifteen more. I’ll just continue murdering until they realize that they need to just send me back home every time I appear here.” Morta said forcefully. “Then I’ll never have to see this hellhole again.” Vincent opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, his wide gray eyes filling with tears, which soon spilled from his eyes and slid down his cheeks, dampening the sand-colored fur there. He sniffled a bit, then wiped his eyes with his paw, but the pale purple tears just kept dripping down his face. Soon, he gave up and began to full-on sob, making Morta feel very awkward. “Er… don’t cry,” Morta said, halfheartedly patting Vincent’s shoulder. “Uh… how do I make you stop crying?” Vincent didn’t answer, instead opting to cry louder. “Why are you even crying?!” Morta demanded, abandoning all efforts to be kind, which seemed to make Vincent cry even harder. He was now gasping for breath between sobs, and occasionally he let out a small whimper. Eventually, he ran out of tears and, with a small hiccup, he rested his head on Morta’s shoulder, looking miserable and dripping snot onto her shoulder. Morta stared at Vincent for a moment, then moved away so he couldn’t rest his head on her shoulder anymore. He gave her a sad look and instead rested his head on Morta’s pillow. Soon, he was sleeping, having been exhausted from crying so much. Morta, however, did not sleep. She wasn’t tired, and she didn’t want to miss her meeting with Reese, so she just sat on her bed, wide awake, staring at nothing and thinking longingly of her old life.

Chapter Seven Vincent woke late that night to see a bloodstained Morta standing over him, dripping tiny droplets of magenta blood onto his face. With a shriek, Vincent scrambled away from her. “Calm down, Vincent, it’s just me. I need help washing the blood off my fur. I can’t get it off with only one functioning paw,” Morta sighed. “O-Oh,” Vincent mumbled. “Right, of course. Come on into the bathroom.” Vincent helped Morta into the bathroom. Her broken paw seemed to be hurting more, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she had been putting weight on it. Turning on the light, Vincent set Morta down on the bathroom floor and told her to stay while he got a washcloth. Dampening said washcloth, he carefully washed off any traces of blood around her mouth. There didn’t seem to be any blood anywhere else, so he helped Morta into bed, then went back to bed himself. Soon both parties were sound asleep, though one was sleeping more soundly than the other. Morta stood at the top of a hill, dripping blood of all different colors, so that the ground below her glistened with a grisly yet beautiful array of colors. Upon closer inspection, the hill was not a hill at all, but a pile of bodies, fourteen in total. Vincent stood at the bottom of the hill, trying to scream and run to Morta, but no sound would come from his mouth, and his feet would not move. Morta stared coldly down at Vincent, who began to silently cry. He crumpled to the ground, still sobbing, and Morta felt a twinge of pity. She slid down her hill of bodies to approach Vincent, going close to him so she could hug him, but instead, for reasons unknown, she pulled out her shard of glass and plunged it deep into his throat. “Y-You can’t do this,” Vincent rasped, blood pouring freely from his throat. “I thought we were friends…” Morta woke with a start, shocked, and simply stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking over her dream. Why would she want to kill Vincent? He was the only creature Morta would even contemplate referring to as a friend. She turned her head to look over at Vincent, who was still fast asleep. “I wonder if he trusts me…?” Morta mused aloud, though not quite loud enough to wake Vincent. “Well, he trusts me enough to go to sleep with his back to me, at least.” Vincent stirred, then shifted so he was lying on his side, sprawled out in a starfish-like position. Morta watched him, then sighed and turned her attention to the window. Outside, it was pitch-black except for the tiny pinpricks of yellowish light which were the street lights. “The Life After is a very dull place,” Morta murmured to herself, watching a street light flicker on and off. Finally, said light went completely dark, not turning back on. Behind her, Vincent moved once more, then sat up, watching Morta, eyes bleary with the after-effects of sleep. Feeling very naked without his jacket, hat, and bow tie on, Vincent pulled the blanket close, ears reddening with embarrassment. “You woke me up.” Vincent spoke softly, but there was a reproachful tone to his voice. “Sorry,” Morta mumbled. “I was just… thinking some things over.” “Like what?” Vincent prompted after a few moments’ silence. “Like, for example… well, when we first met, I asked what was in your jacket pockets. You said your sketchpad, but I’ve never once seen you draw. Why is that?” Morta questioned. “I prefer to draw alone, without an audience. I draw once you’ve gone to bed.” “Oh.” Morta said, not quite sure what she’d been expecting him to say. “I want to see.” “O-Oh, okay,” Vincent stammered, caught off guard, and retrieved his sketchpad from the pocket of his jacket. He opened it, flipping through the pages to find a drawing he wasn’t ashamed of showing Morta. Finally, he found one, and proudly presented it to the white rabbit. It was a drawing of Morta, looking grumpy and standing next to a sad-looking Vincent. In front of them was what appeared to be a dead cat, but the only way Morta could tell it was dead and not just asleep was because Vincent had drawn ‘X’s on the cat’s face instead of eyes. “That’s very nice,” Morta said. “Can I have it? I want to hang it on the wall above my bed.” “Oh. Oh! Right, yes, of course!” Vincent responded, sounding flustered. He tore the paper along its perforations, presenting it happily to Morta, who taped it to the wall. There was a long stretch of silence, during which Vincent stared at Morta and Morta looked out the window. “Hey, Vincent,” Morta said suddenly, “I’ve got something for you.” “Really? What?” Vincent responded, eyes wide with excitement. “Stay here and close your eyes. Don’t open them until I say so.” Vincent happily complied, listening to Morta get up and walk around the room for a few seconds before halting, presumably to get the gift. After a moment, Morta’s footsteps resumed, this time walking towards Vincent. He expected Morta to let him open his eyes as soon as she was in front of him, but to his surprise, she started to fasten something onto his front leg. It felt like a belt, but Vincent was pretty sure there was no such thing as a leg-belt. “You can open your eyes now,” Morta said cheerfully, watching as Vincent opened his gray eyes. “Do you like it? Reese gave it to me in return for killing him, but I already have my glass shard, and you needed a weapon, so I decided to give it to you.” Vincent looked down at his right foreleg to see a strap that somewhat resembled a belt wrapped around his leg. Attached to the strap was a short knife sheathed in a pale, mint-green scabbard. The handle of the knife was engraved with flowers, which did not make Vincent feel very manly at all. “Thanks, but I don’t need a knife. I have teeth and claws,” Vincent said, holding up a large monkeylike paw to show Morta the dull black claws on the tips of his toes. “I know, but sometimes it’s good to have another weapon on you,” Morta said, looking slightly annoyed that Vincent didn’t like her gift. “Oh. Okay.” Vincent mumbled, sitting back so his head rested on his pillow. He removed the knife from its sheath and placed it on the bedside table so he wouldn’t accidentally poke himself in his sleep. He did not, however, remove the belt and the scabbard, instead opting to leave it on while he slept. “I’m going to sleep. Good night, Morta.” “Night, Vincent.” Morta responded, then paused, as though unsure as to whether or not she should say what she was thinking. She shrugged and decided to go for it. “Listen, Vincent, I’m going out again tomorrow night, so you’ll need to be well-rested. Keep your knife with you when we go out, too, in case things get… complicated, okay?” Vincent mumbled a sleepy agreement, then slowly drifted off to sleep, unaware that Morta was watching him sleep.

Chapter Eight “Vincent. Hey. Wake up.” Vincent opened one eye to see Morta leaning over him, looking anxious. He ignored his friend’s obvious distress and rolled over so his back was to her. “Vincent, come on! This is serious. Ella and some police dude are here, asking for us,” Morta said, sounding annoyed and afraid at the same time. “What?!” Vincent yelped, leaping out of bed, grabbing his knife and sliding it into its sheath. He then grabbed his top hat and forced it over his blue horns so it was resting on his head. He attempted to run gracefully from the room, but in his haste he had gotten the bedsheets tangled around his legs, so instead of fluidly and gracefully sweeping out of the room, he fell, face-first, to the carpeted floor. Ears burning scarlet, Vincent untangled his long, gangly legs from the sheets and hurried out the door. Only once he was halfway down the stairs did he realize that Morta was hobbling down the stairs on her own. Even worse, she was putting weight on her injured leg, and wincing with each step. Going back up the stairs to retrieve Morta, Vincent gripped the nape of her neck in his teeth, hauling her down the stairs and ignoring her angry growls and grunts. “There. It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Vincent said cheerfully, depositing Morta at the bottom of the stairs. “Now, where are the visitors?” “Dining hall,” Morta said grumpily. She started to limp in the direction of the dining hall, but was stopped by Vincent, who pulled her close and helped her walk. “Can’t have you hurting yourself worse, now can we?” Vincent said with a grin, leading Morta to the dining hall and making sure she didn’t put weight on her injured foreleg. Soon, they reached their destination, and as Vincent pushed the door open, he saw that there was, indeed, a police officer waiting for him. Ella, the helper who had introduced Vincent and Morta to The Life After, was also present, and neither party looked very happy. “There you two are! We were beginning to think you had gotten lost. Pine and I are here to talk about your attendance to your respective jobs, or lack thereof. For the last few weeks, you two have been absent from your jobs. Morta hasn’t been going and helping others, and Vincent hasn’t been… er… police-ing, I guess. Why is this?” Ella demanded. “Well, uh… you see, Morta and I have been a bit busy. When Morta broke her leg, she was told not to get out of bed unless she absolutely had to. Now that it’s been three weeks since she broke it, she can get around, but only with my help. So, you see, we’ve been absent because of her leg. She can’t get anywhere without my help,” Vincent said nervously. “Hmm… I suppose that’s a good reason. However, the absent-from-work thing wasn’t the only reason we’re here. Officer Pine here has noticed that there has been a spike of murders in this area,” Ella sighed, looking sad. “Three of the deceased were the new friends I put under Morta’s care, the deer-looking ones. They died the very night I introduced them to you. At the scene of every murder, there was at least one white hair and one blue hair, as well as a tan hair or two.” Morta froze. Had the police finally put two and two together and realized who was behind the murders? “So,” Ella continued, “we think you’re connected to the crimes somehow. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the abundance of injuries you seem to be suffering, too, Morta. If we’re not mistaken, and I don’t think we are… someone’s after you. They’re killing the others in order to get to you, and they always manage to injure you, at least a little, but not fully kill you. Vincent is the reason you’re not dead. He always shows up just in time to save you and drive off the killer, but before said killer leaves, he or she threatens you. That’s why you’ve kept your mouth shut; you believe that if you tell the police, the murderer will track you down and kill both you and Vincent.” Morta opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed her mouth again. She just stood there, openly staring at Ella, who seemed to take her stunned silence as proof that what she had said was true. “I knew it. Come on, Pine, get a statement from her and Vincent and then we’ll go.” Ella said proudly. Morta prodded Vincent so he would lower his head to let her whisper in his ear. “Lie. Vincent, lie and tell them that what Ella said was the truth. Make it believable,” Morta murmured into Vincent’s large ear, getting only a nod in response. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and the rest of the police force sooner,” Vincent sighed in Office Pine’s general direction. “I just… Morta told me to keep my mouth shut, and her life was on the line, so I… I kept quiet. I kept quiet, and it nearly cost us our lives. I really am sorry; I didn’t think something like this would happen…” At this point, Vincent let out a choked sob, and Morta saw tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re sorry, Officer, we’re very sorry. I just didn’t want Vincent to get hurt, that’s all. To be fair, though, he hasn’t suffered many injuries so far, so I guess I underestimated him.” Morta said, having decided to take over for Vincent. “That will be all, thank you. Seeing as Vincent is a police officer now, I suppose you can just keep your current thing going, but if Morta’s attacker kills anyone else, contact the police immediately, understand?” Officer Pine said over his shoulder as he sprinted for the door, determined to leave before Ella started any more conversations. Both Morta and Vincent nodded vigorously, watching as the raccoon and cat left. As soon as they were gone, she turned to Vincent, who was still wiping tears from his face. “I didn’t know you could cry on cue,” Morta said accusingly. “Could’ve come in handy earlier on.” “You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell you.” Vincent said with a shrug. “So, I take it you like to act?” the white rabbit questioned. “Yeah. It’s one of my favorite things to do, but here in The Life After, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can act in. No plays, no movies, not even a theater club.” “Hey,” Morta said slowly, her bright blue eyes glinting dangerously. “I’ve had an idea about a way you can get back into acting.” “Really? What?” Vincent said eagerly. “You’d be playing the role of a cold-hearted killer, one of the main roles. Your character would show no weakness in battle, and would not hesitate to kill another creature. He would be ruthless, and would take pleasure in inflicting pain upon others.” Morta said with a grin. “Wow, cool! I’ve never played a villain before, but I could try,” Vincent said cheerfully. “A… villain?” “Yeah. I mean, if someone acts like that, they’re evil, right? Nice people don’t kill other nice people.” Vincent responded. Morta frowned, then sighed. “Yes, I suppose your character is a villain, isn’t he…? But that would also make my character a villain,” Morta murmured. “Wait, you’re in it too? Awesome! I didn’t know you liked acting!” Vincent said, beaming excitedly. “I don’t.” “Then what are you talking about? If you’re not in the program, you don’t… wait. Is there actually a play, or are you just trying to get an accomplice for your crimes?” Vincent questioned, an undertone of suspicion lining his high, childish voice. “Bit of both, actually. You see, each victim can be your audience, each scream your applause, each weapon a useful prop, each droplet of blood a positive rating,” Morta said with a grin, that same crazed light from earlier gleaming in her eyes. “And then, at the end, when you’re done, you won’t even be punished for your so-called ‘crimes’. I’ll come clean, I’ll tell them I killed them all, I’ll tell them I forced you to help me. They’ll kill me and let you go, and you’ll be perfectly fine. Don’t you see, Vincent? This is the perfect opportunity for you to practice your acting with no punishments. Unless, of course, you’d like me to hurt you.” “I… I-I’ll��� I think…” Vincent stammered, “I’ll… I’ll do it, so long as you don’t hurt me, okay?” “Okay, thanks!” Morta said, beaming, all traces of the dark, violent anger she’d been radiating a moment ago now gone. “You’re great.” Suddenly, a muffled whimper interrupted their conversation. Both parties turned to find the source of the noise. What they saw, however, was not at all what they had expected to see. There, cowering under the long dining table, was a terrified-looking possum. It was Diamond, Opal’s sister, and she looked like she might bolt for the door at any moment. “Diamond?” Vincent said, confused. “Why are you under the table?” “Hiding.” Diamond’s voice was quiet and surprisingly low for a female, with a slight roughness to it that hinted to the fact that she did not speak much. “Hiding from the monsters.” “What monsters?” Morta scoffed, contempt seeping into her tone. “You.” Diamond looked up to meet Morta’s eyes, staring blankly into them. “And when the monsters are gone, I’m going to go back into my room and hide some more without telling anyone I saw monsters. I know not to do anything that would make a monster angry.” “Hmm, so the possum’s smart.” Morta commented. “We won’t kill you unless you try to tell the police of what we’re doing. However… I don’t entirely trust you. What do you say, Vincent? Should we cut out her tongue as insurance?” “No! I—” Vincent started, but was cut off by Morta. “Remember our discussion? You’re an actor, Vincent, now play your role,” the white rabbit hissed under her breath. “R-Right…” Vincent mumbled, slipping back into character. “Well, Morta, I don’t see why we would cut her tongue out, but if it’s necessary to do so in order for the possum to keep quiet, I see nothing wrong with cutting out her tongue.” He turned back to where Diamond had been cowering under the table, only to find the space empty. She had run off whilst Vincent and Morta were talking. The slam of the front door was the only indicator of where the shy possum had gone, and as Vincent watched her through the window, he realized with great alarm that she was running in the direction of the police station. “Morta! She’s going to the police!” Vincent cried, bolting for the door, closely followed by Morta. He flung himself against the door, shoving it open and racing after Diamond’s fleeing form. Soon, he was far ahead of Morta, and almost close enough to the possum to grab her tail, but not quite. Vincent leaped at Diamond, tackling her to the ground and sitting on her. He didn’t do anything yet, instead opting to just sit there and attempt to steady his ragged breathing. Soon enough, Morta caught up to him and Diamond. “Vincent, you… you idiot…” Morta panted, clearly winded from the run, “you’re… supposed to... cut out her tongue or kill her, you… you stupid excuse for an actor!” “O-Oh, right, sorry,” Vincent stammered, crestfallen. He quickly went back into character, pulling his knife from its sheath and pressing the blade to Diamond’s throat. “Any last words, possum?” “Monsters,” Diamond said dully. “Monsters, both of you. My only request is this; don’t let Opal get herself hurt or killed. And… tell her I said goodbye. Write it in my blood, and include a smiley face at the end.” Vincent looked slightly repulsed, but nodded. He turned to Morta for guidance, and, once he had gotten a small nod from her, he stared at Diamond for a moment, paws trembling, then pushed the knife into her throat, quickly withdrawing it and stepping off the dead possum, whose blood was now spurting onto the ground. “Quickly, Vincent, give me the knife. You write the goodbye, and I’ll keep guard. It is broad daylight, you know.” Morta said, taking the knife from Vincent, who seemed to snap out of some sort of daze when she did so. He nodded numbly, then set about writing Diamond’s goodbye. When he was done, crude magenta letters spelled out the words ‘goodbye, opal’, with a hastily-drawn smiley face tacked onto the end. Vincent shuddered and flicked the droplets of blood from his paws, starting back towards home with his head low, not bothering to check if Morta was coming.

Chapter Nine Vincent stood in front of the sink, washing his paws in the now-cold water that ran from the tap. He’d been meticulously scrubbing his paws for the past hour and a half, trying to wash off all traces of Diamond’s blood. He heard pawsteps behind him, but didn’t bother turning to see who it was. “Hey,” Morta said, coming up behind Vincent and watching him stare hollowly at his paws. “You did a good job earlier. Hardly ever broke character, didn’t show any fear, nothing. I liked it.” Vincent turned his head to stare bleakly at Morta, his usually bright gray eyes now empty and glazed over. “I killed her,” he whimpered. “So? You killed that deer a while ago, remember?” “But that’s different!” Vincent cried, feeling a familiar prickling sensation in his nostrils and realizing he was about to cry. For once, he tried to hold in his tears instead of just letting them happen. “I… I killed a defenseless, weaponless creature. That deer was trying to hurt me. When I killed the deer, that was out of self-defense, but Diamond… she was helpless. She didn’t even try to fight back.” Morta sighed and reared up so she was standing on her hind legs, with her forelegs resting on the counter. She leaned in to whisper in Vincent’s ear. “No matter what you think of yourself and what you did, I think you’re great, and you did a really good job,” Morta murmured into Vincent’s ear. Vincent let out a choked sob and closed his eyes tightly, letting the tears slide freely down his cheeks. He removed his paws from the sink, then moved over to curl up in a ball on the tile floor, bawling and trembling. “You cry a lot,” Morta observed. “I’m going downstairs to find Rei and make him give me food, come get me if you need me. We’re going out again tonight, so have your knife cleaned and ready.” *** “Vincent, are you ready yet?” Morta sighed from outside the bathroom. Her roommate had been hiding out in the bathroom for the past fifteen minutes, claiming that he needed to put on some clothing and wash his knife. Morta was beginning to suspect he’d climbed out the window. “Okay, I’m ready,” Vincent said at last, opening the door with an expectant grin. “What are you wearing? Where’s your bow tie?” Morta scoffed. Vincent had traded out his signature turquoise bow tie for a regular black tie. He also seemed to be wearing eyeliner. “I figured, since I’m playing the role of a villain, I should look the part,” Vincent said cheerfully, no trace of his previous traumatized expression visible, although Morta did sense a dull sadness hidden underneath the façade of happiness. “Good job. Now, got your knife?” Morta paused to let Vincent respond, but all he did was nod. “Good. Our targets tonight are a pair of snakes, Dawn and Dusk. They’re not very big, thankfully.” “Okay.” Vincent replied, letting a confused frown settle on his face. “What?” “Well… it’s just… you usually go after strangers. Why do you know our new targets’ names?” Vincent asked. “They live in this building. I figured we could start getting more bold with our killings, since it’s been a while since we killed anyone,” Morta responded, holding up her still-bandaged foreleg. “Plus, if I counted correctly, we only have to kill seven more creatures before I’ve got my fifteen.” Vincent mumbled a soft ‘oh’. He watched as Morta swung the door open, following like a duckling as she limped down the hall, towards the stairs. They went down one level and, once on the correct floor, headed for the room they knew their prey would be in. Morta pushed open the door to see two rust-colored snakes, one asleep and one slithering around on the bed, probably trying to make itself a more comfortable spot to sleep. Upon seeing Morta, the snake turned to stare at her, immediately taking a defensive posture. “Calm down, we’re not here to hurt you,” Morta sighed. “But, uh, do you think you could wake up the other one? We’ve been sent here to talk to you two.” With a suspicious huff, the snake slithered onto the bed of its roommate, prodding the other reptile with its nose until the sleeping snake had woken. “Good, good. Now that you’re both awake, we need to talk to you. Is it okay if we sit down?” Morta asked. “Yeah, I guess,” the first snake mumbled after a moment’s hesitation. “You can sit on my bed, and we’ll sit on Dusk’s bed.” Morta dipped her head in acknowledgement, then guided a confused-looking Vincent over to the bed. “So, before we go any further, let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Morta, and this is my… partner, Vincent.” “I’m Dawn, and this is my sister, Dusk,” the first snake said, doing her best to be polite. “Anyways, we’re here to talk to you about the pair of killers that have been sighted in this area. They seem to be going for the smaller, less threatening animals, and as you are relatively small, we’ve come to warn you.” Morta said. “What are you doing?!” Vincent hissed into the rabbit’s ear. “I thought we were here to do some murdering, not warn our prey about ourselves!” “I’m figuring out whether or not they’re venomous,” Morta whispered back. “Be ready to strike when I say so.” “If you two are quite done whispering amongst yourselves?” Dusk said, looking irritated. “Uh, right, sorry,” Morta stammered. “Anyways, go on.” “As I was saying, you don’t need to worry about us. We’re copperheads, a venomous breed. We’re not capable of killing bigger animals, but a littler animal, like a rabbit, would be very dead within a few hours of being bitten.” Dusk responded. “Vincent, now!” Morta growled. “Wh—oh! Right,” Vincent said, retrieving his knife from its sheath. “But… are you sure? They just said they were venomous! What if I get bitten?” “You’re expendable. Just go, they’re starting to catch on,” Morta snarled, shoving Vincent off the bed and towards the now-defensive snakes. “And stay in character!” Visibly trembling, Vincent took a few steps towards the two snakes, brandishing his knife and doing his best to look scary. The copperheads just glared at him and bared their fangs. Taking a deep breath, Vincent steadied himself so he wasn’t shaking anymore, then forced himself to grin. “Stupid, gullible snakes, inviting strangers into their room in the middle of the night…” he cackled, taking another large step towards Dawn and Dusk, who were now hissing defensively. Vincent leaped forward and, instead of stabbing Dusk, stomped on her head, hard. While Dusk was immobile and Dawn was shocked, he transferred all his weight to the paw that was on the snake’s head, and her skull shattered with a sickening cracking sound. With an enraged hiss, Dawn sprang at Vincent and sank her teeth into his foreleg. Vincent let out a pained yelp and attempted to shake the copperhead off, but she held on tightly. Finally, he just lifted his paw and sank his teeth into the back of the snake’s neck, tightening his grip until he felt his attacker go limp. Prying Dawn’s fangs out of flesh, Vincent turned to Morta, who was still watching, and gave her a weak smile. “D-Did I do a good job?” he stammered. Before Morta could respond, he collapsed, though if it was because of the snake bite or because he had just crushed someone’s skull, Morta did not know. All she knew was that she should probably take him to the hospital. With an exasperated sigh, Morta picked up Vincent’s knife and returned it to its holster, then picked up Vincent himself, tugging him along by his tie. She dragged her roommate out the door and down the corridor. When they got to the stairs, Morta decided not to bother lugging him down said stairs, so she just pushed him down the steps and walked down behind him. *** Vincent woke a few hours later in the hospital, surrounded by machines. The only creature in the room was Morta, who was watching him intently. “Oh, you’re awake. The doctors said you’ll be fine, and also yelled at me for putting weight on my leg before it was completely healed, but that’s not the point. They said you should rest, and they also advised me not to let you anger any more snakes.” “…Oh. Thanks for taking me to the hospital and not leaving me to die.” Vincent said, sitting up. Morta just shrugged and chose to remain silent. “So, when can I leave?” “Now, if you want. They said they wanted to keep you here for a few more days, but I bet if you climbed out the window, they wouldn’t make you come back.” Morta suggested, already standing and looking eagerly at the window. “We’re on the ground floor, don’t worry.” Vincent blinked in confusion for a moment, then sighed, ripped the needles from his foreleg, and stood up. Using the bedside table as a stepstool, he crawled out of the open window and waited outside as Morta clambered out. “When we get home, I want to talk to you,” Vincent said as he started towards their home, his foreleg still stinging where the needles had been. “Fine,” Morta replied, and they walked the rest of the way back to their house in silence. Once they had arrived in their room, Vincent sat on his bed and motioned for Morta to sit beside him. “I wanted to talk about Reese.” “What about him? He’s dead, and that’s all you need to know.” Morta grumbled. “No, I was just… why did he bring you a knife? Usually, you don’t give your soon-to-be murderer gifts,” Vincent pointed out. “Like you said, it was a gift. He was happy I had agreed to kill him, and he said that if I made it quick and relatively painless, he’d let me have the knife. I bit his neck, making sure to cut his windpipe, and took the knife. I have to admit, Reese was very easy to kill, although it was a bit boring.” Morta said with a faraway look in her blue eyes, no doubt reminiscing about the tiny hamster’s death. “Morta, can… can we stop this?” Vincent asked quietly. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want you to go away, Morta, I don’t…” “No. I already know who my next victims are, and I don’t want all my careful planning to go to waste.” “…Oh. Wo are you going to kill next?” Vincent sighed, sounding weary and resigned. “Flame, Sky, Wind, and Storm, the cats who live down the hall. After I kill them, I’ll only have one victim left before I can turn myself in. Now get some sleep, you’ll need it.” “I don’t feel like sleeping. We spend so much of our time sleeping and not actually doing things. It’s boring. You can go to sleep, but I’m going out.” Vincent replied, leaving the room before Morta could respond. Vincent walked quickly and quietly, making sure no one saw him. He silently crept out of the main door, taking care not to let it slam behind him, and headed for his destination. Once there, he picked out several items and left. He made his way back home, then climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep.

Chapter Ten Vincent woke late the next day, about two hours later than he usually woke up. Moments later, he realized why; he hadn’t set his alarm, and Morta hadn’t woken him. In fact, she was still sound asleep in her own bed. With a yawn, Vincent rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, though he knew he was awake for the day now. After a few minutes of trying and failing to go back to sleep, Vincent finally decided to actually get up. With a sleepy groan, he clambered out of bed, but just stood there once he was up. He didn’t have anything to do that day except help Morta kill a bunch of cats, and he doubted she’d want to do that in the middle of the day, so he had the entire day free to do whatever he wanted. “Vincent,” came Morta’s sleepy voice, “ Let’s go murder those cats now.” “What? But it’s day, and I wanted to go do something fun!” Vincent protested. “Killing is fun. Besides, it doesn’t matter that it’s day. I’m going to kill my final victim tomorrow, so it doesn’t matter if we get seen or heard.” “Aw, okay. Let me get ready first, though.” Vincent sighed. Morta just nodded in response, watching as her roommate went into the bathroom and stayed there for a good twenty minutes. When he came out again, not only was he wearing eyeliner and his black tie again, but he had also replaced his regular black earrings with circular silver ones, and he had also painted the sharp claws on the tips of his toes a pretty silver color. “What do you think?” Vincent asked. “You look like a girl,” Morta said harshly, getting up and heading for the door. “You’re so mean,” whined Vincent, following her out the door and down the hall. Suddenly, he stopped. “Morta, they’d be at work. Our victims would be at work at this time of day.” “We’ll just wait for them to come home, then.” “Oh… we could have waited in our room, though…” Vincent mumbled, but did not try to stop Morta from entering the cats’ room. Once inside the room, the two creatures sat down on the floor to wait for their victims to get home. There was only one bed in the room, a very large bed which had not been made that morning, and beside the bed was a photo of four happy-looking cats, grinning at the camera. However, Morta was not paying attention to any of that. She was carefully inspecting her glass shard, making sure it was sharp enough to hurt someone. “Hey, Morta?” Vincent said with a shy glance in his friend’s direction. “Do you… I mean… uh, would you be happy if I gave you a present?” “Obviously. Everyone likes gifts,” Morta responded, watching as Vincent gave an excited squeal and pulled something from his jacket pocket. “It’s a ribbon, to replace your old one. I noticed your old ribbon was getting kind of gross and torn, so I got you a new one,” Vincent explained, holding up a bright pink ribbon. “I can tie it for you if you want.” “Thanks, but I like yellow best, and blue second best. Pink is nowhere on my list of favorite colors.” Morta said, removing her old ribbon. “I think I’ll just go ribbonless.” “Hey, how about we switch ribbons? The ribbon on my hat isn’t glued on. We can just replace it with your ribbon,” Vincent suggested, already untying the ribbon on his hat. “Fine,” Morta sighed, letting Vincent tie the turquoise ribbon around her neck. “You look even more girly now, though.” “I don’t care, I like pink.” Vincent said with a shrug. Suddenly, the door opened and four cats filed in, one flame point, one seal point, one blue point, and one lilac point. Upon seeing Vincent and Morta, they stopped, clearly confused. “Why are you in our room?” said the blue point, Sky. “Maybe they’re here to clean?” suggested the lilac point, Wind. “With what? It’s impossible to clean with nothing but a bit of glass,” pointed out Flame, the flame point. The fourth cat, a seal point named Storm, said nothing, just observed silently as his siblings talked. “Actually,” Morta cut in, “If you’d close the door behind you, we’d tell you why we’re here.” “Oh. Okay!” Wind chirped, turning to close the door. He then looked expectantly at Morta for an explanation. “Well, you see, we’re here to kill you,” Morta said casually. “Please don’t scream or try to run. It will hurt more if you resist.” Sky and Wind, who were the weakest out of all their siblings, immediately bolted for the door, but while Morta had been speaking, Vincent had crept around behind the group of cats to block the doorway. “Please just go along with her.” Vincent said in a quiet, almost pleading, voice. “If you don’t try to run away, she won’t make me hurt anyone. I don’t want to have to spill any innocent blood.” Sky, looking frightened, withdrew to hide behind her siblings, but Wind did not give up. He ran to the window, only to find it locked. “Come now, you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” Morta said, mocking undertones tinging her voice. “Now, which of you should I kill first? Eenie, meenie, miney… that one. You, the one with the orange markings. Come here.” Flame stepped forward, her claws extended and teeth bared. Morta eyed the cat, sizing her up and deciding whether or not to request Vincent’s help. “Vincent, come over h—” Suddenly, Flame leaped on Morta. She ripped and tore at the rabbit’s fur with her sharp claws, determined to live. With a growl, Morta sank her sharp teeth into the cat’s soft paw pad, eliciting a pained shriek from said cat. Vincent threw himself at the cat and grabbed her tail to drag her off his friend. “Your knife, Vincent! Stab her!” Morta cried out, though the last part of her sentence elongated into a drawn-out yelp of pain as Storm pounced on her. With an audible whimper of fear, Vincent pushed the knife into the back of Flame’s neck, his paws trembling as he did so. Upon hearing the cat’s loud screams of agony, he felt bile rise up in his throat, but pushed it back down, determined to stay in character, at least until all four cats were dead or had run away. He pulled his knife from her neck and started to turn away, but stopped upon hearing Morta’s voice. “Head them off! They’re trying to escape!” Morta ordered, still mid-fight. Vincent looked over in the direction of the door and realized Morta was right; the tip of Wind’s tail was disappearing out the doorway, and Sky was following close behind. With an exasperated sigh, Vincent grabbed Sky by the nape of her neck and tossed her back inside the room, then shut the door behind him and went after Wind. He found the lilac point cowering under the stairs a few minutes later. “Look, you and I both know you’re not coming out of this alive,” Vincent started to walk towards Wind, forcing his face to contort into a sadistic yet gentle smile. “So why not just accept your fate and make this easier for both of us?” The frightened cat just shook his head mutely and backed away as far as he could before his back end hit the wall. “I guess it can’t be helped…” sighed Vincent, his smirk turning to a pout. He stepped closer, and closer still, until finally he was close enough to whisper in Wind’s ear. “Sorry, kitty. It’s just a role. No hard feelings, right?” Swiftly, Vincent pulled out his knife and slit Wind’s throat. He turned and headed back to the room, not even looking back. Once he arrived in the room, he saw that Morta had managed to kill Storm and was about to plunge her shard of glass into Sky’s neck. However, before she could do so, the door was forced open to reveal five or six armed police officers. Morta hesitated, but then calmed down and quickly killed Sky, not even paying attention to the police officers in the room. “Drop the weapons, both of you. If you come without a fight, we may be able to cut you a deal.” Ordered the police officer at the front, who happened to be a large and dangerous-looking dog. Morta paid no heed to his instructions, and instead pulled Vincent into a hug, which took everyone by surprise. “Sorry,” she murmured. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in Vincent’s abdomen, and he looked down to see Morta’s glass shard jutting out from his stomach. Small droplets of deep blue leaked out of the wound, but only when Morta removed the glass shard did the bleeding actually start. The world spun for a moment, then Vincent felt the hard ground beneath him. “H-Hey… you’ll… y-you’ll come back for me, r-right?” Vincent asked weakly. He felt blood spurt in short bursts from his throat with each word he spoke, yet he still continued to talk. “D-Don’t… don’t f-forget me, o-okay? R-Remember me by my hat, a-all right?” Vincent then proceeded to put his blood-smeared top hat on Morta’s head, albeit a bit clumsily, seeing as he was literally bleeding to death. He started to feel cold and clammy, and the pain lessened, but now he was so dizzy he had to close his eyes. He faintly heard Morta laughing, and the police officers shouting, and then he was being dragged somewhere, although he didn’t know where. “Finally, we’ve got some time to ourselves. Now, Vincent, I don’t know if you can still hear me, or even if you’re still alive, but… I want to apologize. I want to say I’m sorry for exploiting you, and for using you, but, in truth, I’m not sorry. I’d do it again, you know.” Here, she paused, but she soon continued. “Anyways… I wanted you to know that this wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing. I’d been planning this for a while. When you got bitten by that snake, I distracted the doctors and diluted the antidote they were about to give you, so that you would think you were healed, but actually, you’d be slowly dying. So, even if I couldn’t stab you in time, you’d be dead, and I’d have been the culprit. Either way, I’ve finished my fifteen murders.” Another pause, this time longer, and Vincent started to feel sleepy. “I… I hope you don’t mind if I keep your hat. I know you told me to keep it, but it kind of feels like stealing… hey, Vincent? I don’t know if you realized this, but in the beginning, before I started killing, I… I really looked up to you, and I wanted… I wanted to be your best friend,” Morta exhaled, sounding slightly regretful. “…When I come back, let’s be friends again, okay?” And that was the last thing Vincent heard before he went to sleep, and subsequently died.

Epilogue Vincent sat on a small platform, waiting for Ella to come up and help him. After a while, he just gave up and descended the stairs to the lower level of The Life After’s residential section. Without his top hat, his horns were easily visible to everyone around, but he no longer cared. Vincent headed towards the building he lived in, and once there, he made his way towards the room he used to share with Morta. Idly, he noticed that the bloodstains were still noticeable, standing out prominently against the pale cream color of the carpet. Vincent entered his room and sat on Morta’s bed, looking up at the drawing taped to the wall. It was the drawing he had given Morta a few years before. He laughed bitterly and took the drawing down off the wall to look at it. With a sigh, Vincent looked out the window to see the average citizens of The Life After milling about, pitiful in their ignorance and their dumb happiness. *** Several days later, Vincent was looking out the window again, as that had become a habit of his, and noticed a familiar white rabbit wearing a familiar dark blue top hat. Uttering a sharp cry of surprise and happiness, Vincent tumbled out of bed and half-ran, half-fell down the stairs to get to Morta. However, when he reached her, he noticed two police officers walking on each side of her, blocking her in and holding weapons to her neck. Stifling a whimper, Vincent followed them at a distance. Once, Morta caught his eye, but instead of saying something, she just gave a tiny shake of her head. Why Morta was telling him no, Vincent didn’t understand, but instead of mulling it over he just kept following until they reached the police station. Once in the police station, the two police officers stopped Vincent and asked him if he had business here. “No,” he responded, “but that rabbit you’re with is my friend. Please can I talk to her?” “No. She’s a murderer, kid. You don’t want to talk to a murderer. Besides, we were told not to let her out of our sight until we got into the execution room.” “Execution… room..?” Vincent echoed. “Yeah. This rabbit’s set to be executed today. If you like, you can watch.” Vincent just stared dumbly at them until they turned and walked down a hallway. He followed them silently, staring at the back of Morta’s head, until finally they went into a room. The police officers cuffed Morta to a metal pole, then jabbed her with a needle. All the while, she stayed silent, her head lowered and her eyes half-closed. After a few minutes, the poison seemed to take effect, and she stared pleadingly at Vincent, though she still didn’t make a sound. Finally, she slumped over, as if dead, and the police officers cautiously made their way over to her body. One of them produced a lighter and set her corpse on fire before Vincent could protest. He felt as though he were about to throw up, but kept this fact to himself. After around fifteen minutes, the flames died down, and one of the officers fished a small object from her ashes. “Do you want her remains?” “Wh-What? That’s not Morta. That’s a statue,” Vincent objected. “Shouldn’t you be offering me her ashes?” “Oh, that’s right, you’re still relatively new here, aren’t you? In The Life After, creatures who have been set aflame leave a figurine in their ashes. This figurine is a statue of the thing the deceased cherished the most, and usually, it is this that their loved ones collect and keep, not their ashes.” “Oh… yeah… yes, I want it.” Vincent responded, taking the figurine. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized who the figurine was; it was him. He was the one Morta cherished the most. *** “Hey,” Vincent murmured to the headstone in the graveyard. “I miss you. A lot, actually. You’re a jerk, you know that? A huge jerk. You left me all alone, Morta, and that’s not nice.” “I know.” Vincent quickly turned around, his gray eyes wide with shock. “Morta?” he said softly. “Yeah.” Letting out a loud sob, Vincent tackled Morta in a tight hug, squeezing her tightly and dripping tears and a small amount of snot onto her shoulder. For the first time, Morta seemed to feel empathy for him, and she patted him gently on the back as he sobbed into her shoulder. “You left me all alone!” Vincent bawled, hugging his friend even tighter. “I know. I’m sorry.” “And—and I had to sleep in a scary empty room alone, and I’m pretty sure our room is haunted, and it’s scary without you there!” Vincent wailed. “I know, Vincent, and I’m sorry.” “I missed you so much, you jerk,” Vincent said with a soft whimper. “I know. I missed you, too.” Morta said softly. The End

[starsinursa]

My trip to Iceland

Hi all! I’m back in good ole’ Kansas after vacationing in Iceland for several days, so I wanted to share some of my stories and pictures! :D

I’ve placed everything under a cut for anyone who isn’t interested in my personal life. If you just follow my blog for the Supernatural goodness, no worries, friend, go ahead and keep on scrolling right past this post!

For the rest of you... (warning, very picture heavy)

So I spent about 5-6 days total in Iceland... I arrived on Sunday, March 19, and flew back home yesterday on Friday, March 24. I stayed in a hotel in Reykjavik, so I got to explore the city, but I also took several tours out-of-town.

Not sure how to format this post, so I’m just gonna do little ‘bulletin point blurbs’ about my experiences, in chronological order. Pictures included here and there, and also at the end.

The flights were about as long and mind-numbing as expected. Two hours from Kansas to Chicago, and then about six hours from Chicago to Reykjavik.

It’s interesting to see the differences between rural areas like Kansas versus massive cities like Chicago. At the airport in Wichita, I had three airport staff tell me they loved my “Everyday is Caturday” shirt and make small-talk with me. In Chicago? Not a one.

Sat in front of a Canadian veteran on the flight to Chicago, on his way home with a new service dog for his PTSD. Consequently, I learned a ton of interesting things about both the processes of training and qualifying for a service dog, and also about Canada (okay, so I never actually talked to him, I just eavesdropped on his conversation). Apparently a lot of older, retired Canadians will buy timeshares in Florida and chill there for a few months out of the year because Canadians are allowed to spend up to six months at a stretch in the U.S.? I was not aware of that (...and does it go both ways?).

Sat next to a smokin’ hot dude (seriously, he looked like Ezra Miller) with a full tattoo arm sleeve on the flight to Reykjavik. Made minimal small talk and never even exchanged names, but I did let him share my adult coloring book and gel pens when he looked super bored by hour two. We colored in companionable silence for a couple of hours. It was nice. Alas, I’ll likely never see him again, and all I have is this stunning artwork to remember him by.

This one is the artwork of my mystery plane companion.

This one is mine.

Listening to the tour guides talk in Icelandic is awesome (like 80% positive they were talking about us though). When they do speak English, it’s with a definite Scandinavian accent.

Dudes, I learned so much about Iceland. So, so much. Some trivia: Iceland is most heavily influenced by Norway and Denmark. They were under Denmark rule for quite a while and actually had the king of Denmark as their king. Also, the only animals originally found on Iceland are basically: artic foxes, some birds, and a shit ton of different whales. Puffins stay on the land for a few months during the summer to breed, too. Everything else? Originally imported. Reindeer? Imported. Sheep? Imported. The famous breed of Icelandic horses? Imported. Iceland also has some of the best water fresh from the tap, since it’s drawn straight up through the lava rock which filters it (I’m a tap-water drinker so this was awesome).

Everything was a weird mix of familiar and unfamiliar. There was a Subway restaurant right across the street from my hotel, but the whole menu was in Icelandic and they had corn as one of the vegetable toppings and the mayo tasted different? The chicken was A++ though, way better than the nasty chicken patties Subway uses in the States.

The Blue Lagoon is awesome. The water is nice and toasty and it actually DOES have that beautiful milky blue color you see in pictures because of a special kind of algae that lives in the water and you only catch a whiff of sulfur every now and then. You can also do face masks with silica mud.

The white hand of Saruman...!

So you would think you’d be perpetually cold in Iceland, right? Even with heated buildings, I kinda figured everyone would be used to the cold and so they would naturally keep the temps in their homes lower, even during the winter. WRONG. Turns out, geothermal energy provides the hot water and the central heating for most of Iceland and since there’s such a huge abundance of it, Icelanders just bask in that shit willy-nilly. Everywhere was super warm, you could NOT keep your coat on inside any buildings or even the tour bus or you’d be sweating. I spent the first three nights in my hotel room sweating my ass off, and when I finally asked, “Dear god, how do I turn down the heat?”, the answer was, “Oh, we never turn down the heat here in Iceland. Just open the window!” 

Inevitably, there were a couple of occasions when I ducked my head and pretended to to be invisible when some of the other American tourists asked really dumb questions. On the other hand, I felt warm and fuzzy when all of the American tourists tipped our guides really well and thanked them genuinely and gave them contact info to get in touch if they ever visit the States. Americans: we’re loud, we’re proud, but we mean well.

Apparently tourism has really exploded there just in the last five-ten years, and it’s actually causing some strain. There’s only about 330,000 people in the whole COUNTRY of Iceland (with about 2/3rds living in Reykjavik itself), but there was about 2 million international tourists just last year alone. A lot of things are changing, a lot of construction is underway… the Icelanders seem to have mixed feelings about it. Some like the tourism because it brings in money and jobs, but some are against it because Reykjavik is basically commercializing and expanding to keep up with demand. I can understand both sides. Mostly, it makes me anxious about how millions of new tourists are going to affect these natural landscapes...and a lot of these places are very culturally important to the Icelanders, very full of heritage. Our guide described one of these places as “the heart of Iceland” and even in these days, native Icelanders feel compelled to make a trip at least annually to these places to reconnect with their history. As tourists, I felt like we were really being honored by the Icelanders sharing these places for us, and I just hope that tourists continue to earn that privilege. For the most part, all of the tourists I saw were respectful and didn’t throw trash everywhere and etc., but I also know that it only takes one person to ruin something for everyone. :/

Everything is super expensive in Iceland, the travel reviews were NOT kidding. Take the cost of something in the U.S. and basically double it. $1.50 bottle of water? $4 (or around 450 kronas). $8.50 subway sandwich? $14. Keychain that would be sold for $2.99 anywhere else in the world? $10. Normally I like to get a couple of T-shirts as souvenirs, but those were $40 a pop! So everyone in my family got a keychain and they’ll damn well be happy with it (6 keychains + 1 shot glass still ended up costing me about $80 though).

The northern lights were…underwhelming. Still 100% glad I did it, and now I can check it off my bucket list, but still. All the gorgeous photos you see of the northern lights in long green waves are captured with long exposure photography and all kinds of special equipment. In real life, they didn’t look that intense. Honestly they didn’t even look green, just whitish…like a cloud in the distance. I did finally see the lights “dancing”, which was cool, but that effect was really subtle too. If you weren’t looking and paying close attention, it was easy to miss. The lights “dancing” was kind of like looking at light coming from under the crack of a door where people keep shuffling past on the other side...just a subtle interchange of light and shadows. I tried to take pictures but they didn’t turn out at all. I did hear the northern lights were stronger a couple of nights later though, and some people got to see the green coloring.

Apparently the Icelanders are my kind of people. Aversion to dramatics and not taking shit too seriously? Check. Perpetually late to every single thing in life? Check.

If I talk very slowly and concentrate very hard, I can now correctly say Eyjafjallajökull. And the tour guide said I had the best pronunciation of any tourist so far, though. *preens* (That’s because I practiced saying that shit like hundreds of times, though. Literally. I just sat there on the bus, quietly muttering “Eyjafjallajökull” over and over under my breath like a weirdo, determined to get it right).

Do not call the Icelandic horses “ponies”. Icelanders are picky about that (...even if the horses totally do look like little fuzzy ponies).

True to form, while everyone else in the group was petting the horses, I made friends with the resident barn cat and spent ten minutes petting it instead. His name was Jamie, FYI.

Got up close and personal with a geyser when it drenched me. I watched that thing erupt three times and the water always went in the same direction. As soon as I moved locations off to the side for a better view, the water came right at me. At least the water was warm.

Learned about the Icelandic system of choosing a surname, which they still use today. They don’t pass down “family” surnames (with a few exceptions) like most of us do. Instead, they always use their father’s name as part of the surname (or sometimes their mother’s name, but not as commonly) and then ‘son’ or ‘daughter’ depending on if they’re a boy or girl. So, since John is the dad of Sam and Dean, their Icelandic names would be Dean Johnson and Sam Johnson. If John had a daughter too, she would be (firstname) Johnsdottir. Once Sam and Dean have kids of their own, the tradition continues with their own names. So if Dean has children, their names would be (firstname) Deanson for a boy, and (firstname) Deansdottir for a girl.So it’s entirely feasible in Iceland for everyone in the same immediate family to have different last names. Confusing, huh? (Sometimes the daughter’s surname has an -ar instead of an -s? Like Deanardottir instead of Deansdottir. But I have no idea when or why).

It is impossible to maintain a coffee addiction there. I like my coffee, okay? I like it in very large quantities, I need like two cups in the morning to be useful at all. But in Iceland, since everything is so expensive, a cup of coffee usually runs like $4-5. And I’m not talking about a fancy Starbucks coffee with caramel drizzle and whipped cream, either, I’m talking like just straight black coffee. But that’s not all - you don’t even get like a 16oz or 12oz cup, you get the tiniest little 8oz cup of coffee...even the gas stations coffee cups are tiny! I felt like soulless!Sam.

So apparently flying to another country and going on a week-long vacation by myself is a piece of cake, but I still get super anxious anytime I eat in a restaurant alone. Not surprising, I guess, since I’m kind of a moron. Tried some tasty beer though.

Even though I had a ton of fun, I was also really ready to get home. I missed my furbabies...and they missed me! Well, one of them. :D

My doggie, who was SO excited to see me and has been cuddling as close as he can get.

My kitty, who is pissed at me and has spent all night at the very end of the bed ignoring me.

Is...is it bad that I’ve already started looking at trips for next year? Scratch that, I wasn’t even HOME yet, I was still in Rekjyavik with two days to go, and I was already looking at trips for next year.

 All in all, a very awesome, educational, and fairly relaxing trip. :D A++ would do again. If you’re interested in taking a trip yourself, please check out Gate1... they have really affordable prices (good enough that even my broke ass could go!) and they really took care of anything and looked out for us, it was such a relief.

Last but not least, here are some random pictures of the scenery. :)

The Catholic church in Reykjavik. Looks like Isengard!

IS IT WINDY OUT IT FEELS WINDY OUT

Some dumb kids stomped a word all over the snow, I have no idea what it means, so just ignore the word and look at the bad-ass crater.

They have to use these giant landrovers for traveling on the glaciers.

Famous black sand beach...because it’s old lava ash!

And finally, the best picture I will probably ever take in my natural born life.

Double rainbooow... what does it mean...?

[kathydsalters31]

Trampled Trails and a Parade of Poop: The Unleashed Consequences of Hiking With Dogs

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Updated August 18, 2020 | For Dog People By Colleen Stinchcombe

Not a substitute for professional veterinary help.

Additional reporting by Gwendolyn Elliott

For many people, there’s nothing more delightful than a happy dog face bounding toward you on a hiking trail, free of worldly cares and the constraints of a leash. For dog lovers, watching a dog be a dog outside—sniffing around, exploring, enjoying quality time with the rest of their pack—is a welcome encounter.

But not everyone feels this way, especially on hiking trails. There are some very good reasons for this: some people are afraid of dogs and prefer to avoid them as much as they can; younger hikers and the differently abled are more prone to injury from overly excited, unleashed dogs; others simply want to enjoy a hike without having to maneuver around free-range pets at every turn on the trail.

Unleashed dogs, however, are surprisingly common on hiking trails across the nation, as is another common gripe: the proliferation of dog poop, in bags and unbagged piles, dotting the trail in significant quantities.

So, what does good trail pet etiquette (pet-iquette?) look like on trails? How can we all share the trail, and responsibly enjoy a hike with our pups? We spoke to pet owners for their take, and to the experts for their tips.

Leash Up: It’s a Courtesy (and Usually, the Rule)

Dogs are required to be on leash at state parks such as Wallace Falls State Park in Gold Bar, Washington. Photo by Gwendolyn Elliott.

On the majority of hiking trails across the nation, dogs, when they are allowed, are only permitted on leash. These regulations are usually posted near or at the beginning of a trailhead, and are generally highly visible. However, hikers often complain that dog owners aren’t complying.

Take dog owner Tanja H., for example, who was walking her 3-pound Chihuahua and 5-pound Min Pin on a neighborhood trail last summer near her home in Lake Tahoe, California. Her dogs were on a 6-foot leash, with another foot-long attachment allowing them to walk next to each other from the same handle strap. As dogs do, they stopped to smell the ground new every few steps, yanking one another from side to side. Suddenly, Tanja looked up to see a large Golden Retriever bounding toward her, tail wagging, eyes locked on her dogs.

Tanja remembers the dog was just being curious and friendly. But it was off-leash, and Tanja’s dogs weren’t as excited to make an introduction. She pulled the leash behind her to try to keep her dogs back, and with her other arm, began to try push the incoming dog away. By the time the owner, about 20 feet behind, caught up with his dog, Tanja’s arm was twisted and her shoulder dislocated as she was trying to wrangle the Golden away.

Tanja has a genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome that makes her connective tissues especially fragile and found herself nursing the injury for several weeks afterward—not the kind of outcome most folks would expect after a casual hike with the pups on a neighborhood trail.

Image by 2999607/Pixabay

Who Let the Dogs Out?

In 2019, in Rover’s home state of Washington, Washington State Parks issued 154 violations to pet owners, many of which included violations of off-leash rules (others included dog bite reports on trails, either dog to dog or dog to human).

This sounds about right to Meghan Young, founder of a 40,000-member Facebook group for women hikers in the northwest called PNW Outdoor Women (PNWOW). Occasionally, a member will post about hiking with their dog; it inevitably leads to a heated slew of responses. “It always amazes me how we can have so many calm conversations about [hiking] but when it comes to dogs, it’s like, nope.”

There are a few reasons people get defensive about hiking with their dogs, unleashed, or otherwise, Young says. One is that for so many people, pets feel like family. When their dog’s behavior comes under scrutiny, it can feel as though their parenting technique has, too. And, of course, no one likes being told what to do.

What’s more, it’s easy to understand why some owners let their dogs off leash on trails where it is prohibited. Dogs tend to pull and stop frequently, which is especially taxing when slogging uphill, and more like walking with a distracted toddler. Many pet parents also feel their pet is the exception to the rule, as a handful of commenters in this Reddit thread claim their dogs to be.

And, while the behavior may not be malicious, the person who started the Reddit thread, user estrellaj, seems to sum up the reasons many people let their dogs off leash on a hiking trail: “I love my dogs like crazy and I don’t want them falling off a cliff or eating poison mushrooms but I also want them to enjoy the hike, sniff around, investigate things, be a dog!”

Free-Roaming Dogs Restrict Access for Other Hikers

Image by Michael Pinter/Pixabay

For Denaya Shorter, a former wildlife biologist for the National Forest Service, Walker Fellow for the National Audubon Society, and author of this terrific article about hiking with dogs, off-leash dogs go beyond just being a nuisance.

Shorter, who is now the community engagement program director at the Ecology Center in Berkeley, California, works to introduce traditionally underrepresented communities in the outdoors to the joys of hiking and being outside.

“The experiences I often have in this work are with someone who has never hiked before, someone who is being introduced to hiking on trails and being introduced to these spaces for the very first time. And then, coming around the corner, there’s a dog running at them. You know, that creates a negative experience for that person, and if their first experience out on the trail is a negative one, we risk that person never wanting to come out again because of that.

“Even if your dog is the nicest, sweetest, friendliest dog in the world, for someone who is fearful of dogs or has had negative experiences with dogs, they don’t care about any of that. It’s not enjoyable or pleasant for them to walk around on a trail where they are expecting to be able to, you know, freely walk and explore, and then have a dog unexpectedly run up on them.”

Dogs Impact More Than People on Trails

Image by JacLou DL/Pixabay

Dogs, off-leash or otherwise, also have a measurable impact on wildlife and water quality. Lori Hennings is a senior natural resource scientist for the parks and nature department at Oregon Metro, which manages natural areas in the greater Portland area. As a wildlife biologist, she’s particularly interested in how dogs affect the green spaces that have been set aside in the city, like conservation areas and Portland’s crown jewel, Forest Park. She’s also a dog owner who loves hiking with her 97-pound Labrador.

It turns out there are few things you can do on a trail that are more disruptive to wildlife than bringing a dog. In 2016, Hennings conducted a literature review of 77 studies on dogs in recreation areas. One 2008 study published in the Natural Areas Journal found that deer doubled their distance from trails that allowed dogs (versus just humans), and also drove smaller animals like squirrels, rabbits, and prairie dogs away. A 2006 study published in Biological Conservation suggested that bobcats not only stay further away, but also shift their movements to nighttime in order to avoid dogs.

Compared to walkers, joggers, and mountain bikers, dogs were the single biggest factor that drove wild animals away from the trail, Hennings told me. The effects are worst with off-leash dogs. “Even I wouldn’t say keep dogs out of all natural areas, because I have a dog and I want to take him to natural areas,” she says. “But that does harm, and I recognize that.”

The Trail to the Top Is Paved With Poop

And then we need to talk about dog poop. Dog owners seem to have different methods of dealing with waste when they’re hiking. In the small, informal poll I conducted with friends, there was an even split in poop-management methods. One group of folks bagged the poop and then left it on the trail with the intention of picking it up and and putting it in the trash on the way back; another picked up the poop and carried it with them the whole hike.

Lauren G., who hikes in Arizona, says she bags her dog’s poop and leaves it on the side of the trail, but always picks it up on the way back, along with any other dog bags she sees—to pay it forward in case she misses one of her own. “It’s just easier than carrying it because I usually have a day pack and nowhere to put it,” she says.

Reddit user eatyourspinach put it more bluntly: “If a dog craps half a mile in, I’m not carrying a bag of s*** for 5.5 miles when I can just pick it up on my way back and carry it .5 miles.”

However, an anonymous Rover staffer admits that those bags can be hard to find on the way back. “I was once that person who hid a poop bag on the trail—out of sight, but where I thought I would be able to find it again—and then on my way back down, I paced for like 10 minutes where I was certain it was, but couldn’t find it.”

A few people had other methods of dealing with the doo: flicking the poop to the side, believing it would do no more harm than the rest of the animals pooping in the woods, or burying it. Of anything you could do, flicking it is probably the worst.

Image by Sandra Petersen/Pixabay

“It doesn’t take much dog poo getting into the water to really pollute it,” Hennings says. E. coli is particularly harmful for human health and dogs can be carriers. In fact, 13% of the non-pathogenic E. coli found in the Tualatin Basin in Oregon was DNA-linked back to dog waste according to Clean Water Services. A similar percentage (14%) was blamed on dogs in Idaho’s Lower Boise River, and 11% was linked to dogs near Puyallup, WA. Many additional municipalities such as L.A., Chicago, and Seattle have long struggled with keeping dog poo out of the water supply.

Dog waste also has nutrients that can promote algae blooms and reduce oxygen for the creatures living in the water, Hennings adds. And before you think that flicking when there’s not a water source nearby is less harmful, think again. “Everything gets into the stream eventually,” she says.

On a two-week backpacking trip where carrying your dog’s waste is unfeasible, Hennings says burying it six to eight inches underground, and away from any noticeable water source, is OK. But any trip shorter than that, the poop should be carried out. Imagine if every dog owner stopped to dig a six-by-six inch hole (the appropriate size according to Leave No Trace) for every dog poop—there would be more cat holes than trail-side trees.

Some of my hiking friends mentioned cleaning up any bags they saw on the way out, as a way of paying it forward in case they missed one of their dog’s own bags. But if you forget to clean up a bag and another benevolent hiker doesn’t grab it, you’re essentially back in a worst-case scenario—eventually, something will chew through or tear the bag, giving the poop direct access to the ground to spread possible disease. You’ve also added plastic to the mix. (Don’t pat yourself on the back for biodegradable dog bags, either, since many of them don’t break down quickly, or at all.)

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The Top 3 Things to Do to When Hiking With Dogs

Hennings said if she could implore people to follow a few simple rules, it would be these. And they’re going to look familiar—they’re the rules most trails require of dog owners.

1. Keep your dog on leash: This helps to minimize the disruption to wild animals and gives you control over your dog in the presence of other hikers.

2. Keep your dog on trail: Like humans, dogs going off-trail can damage local flora and cause erosion, Hennings says.

3. Bag your dog’s waste and put it in the trash: The most respectful and ecologically sound method is to bag dog poop immediately and carry it with you. While that might sound less than desirable, a smell-resistant container like an old Pringles can, or letting your dog carry it out in her own backpack, can make things a lot more pleasant. You can also get a specially designed, odor-concealing bag or pouch that will pack out your load securely and responsibly. (We love Ruffwear’s ingenious pack-out bag.)

In Other Words: Follow the Rules

“I would reiterate to dog owners, as much as possible, to just do the research on where they’re taking their dogs, because someone has already done all of the work and has determined what’s best for the dog and for the environment that you’re going to hike in,” Shorter says.

“For those dog owners who do want their dogs to be able to experience the outdoors off-leash, there are plenty of places where that is allowed, and that is permitted. And it’s just locating the places and following those guidelines!”

Happy (Shared) Trails to You

In the end, it’s up to dog owners to do the right thing and make it routine for poop to be scooped and dogs to be leashed so that everyone who wants to enjoy our shared outdoor spaces can do so, peacefully and responsibly, together.

More Resources on Hiking With Dogs

It’s not just us—here’s what hiking and dog experts say about etiquette on trail.

REI: Hiking and Backpacking With Dogs

Washington Trail Association: Hiking With Dogs

American Kennel Club (AKC): Tips for Hiking With Your Dog

American Hiking: Hiking with Dogs

Adirondack Council: Tips for Leave No Trace Hiking With Dogs

More From Rover About Hiking With Dogs

Featured image by TeeFarm/Pixabay

Colleen Stinchcombe is a professional freelance writer in Seattle, WA. Her two rescue pups wish she were a professional ball-thrower.

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source http://www.luckydogsolutions.com/trampled-trails-and-a-parade-of-poop-the-unleashed-consequences-of-hiking-with-dogs/ from Lucky Dog Solutions https://luckydogsolutions.blogspot.com/2020/08/trampled-trails-and-parade-of-poop.html

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Trampled Trails and a Parade of Poop: The Unleashed Consequences of Hiking With Dogs

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Updated August 18, 2020 | For Dog People By Colleen Stinchcombe

Not a substitute for professional veterinary help.

Additional reporting by Gwendolyn Elliott

For many people, there’s nothing more delightful than a happy dog face bounding toward you on a hiking trail, free of worldly cares and the constraints of a leash. For dog lovers, watching a dog be a dog outside—sniffing around, exploring, enjoying quality time with the rest of their pack—is a welcome encounter.

But not everyone feels this way, especially on hiking trails. There are some very good reasons for this: some people are afraid of dogs and prefer to avoid them as much as they can; younger hikers and the differently abled are more prone to injury from overly excited, unleashed dogs; others simply want to enjoy a hike without having to maneuver around free-range pets at every turn on the trail.

Unleashed dogs, however, are surprisingly common on hiking trails across the nation, as is another common gripe: the proliferation of dog poop, in bags and unbagged piles, dotting the trail in significant quantities.

So, what does good trail pet etiquette (pet-iquette?) look like on trails? How can we all share the trail, and responsibly enjoy a hike with our pups? We spoke to pet owners for their take, and to the experts for their tips.

Leash Up: It’s a Courtesy (and Usually, the Rule)

Dogs are required to be on leash at state parks such as Wallace Falls State Park in Gold Bar, Washington. Photo by Gwendolyn Elliott.

On the majority of hiking trails across the nation, dogs, when they are allowed, are only permitted on leash. These regulations are usually posted near or at the beginning of a trailhead, and are generally highly visible. However, hikers often complain that dog owners aren’t complying.

Take dog owner Tanja H., for example, who was walking her 3-pound Chihuahua and 5-pound Min Pin on a neighborhood trail last summer near her home in Lake Tahoe, California. Her dogs were on a 6-foot leash, with another foot-long attachment allowing them to walk next to each other from the same handle strap. As dogs do, they stopped to smell the ground new every few steps, yanking one another from side to side. Suddenly, Tanja looked up to see a large Golden Retriever bounding toward her, tail wagging, eyes locked on her dogs.

Tanja remembers the dog was just being curious and friendly. But it was off-leash, and Tanja’s dogs weren’t as excited to make an introduction. She pulled the leash behind her to try to keep her dogs back, and with her other arm, began to try push the incoming dog away. By the time the owner, about 20 feet behind, caught up with his dog, Tanja’s arm was twisted and her shoulder dislocated as she was trying to wrangle the Golden away.

Tanja has a genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome that makes her connective tissues especially fragile and found herself nursing the injury for several weeks afterward—not the kind of outcome most folks would expect after a casual hike with the pups on a neighborhood trail.

Image by 2999607/Pixabay

Who Let the Dogs Out?

In 2019, in Rover’s home state of Washington, Washington State Parks issued 154 violations to pet owners, many of which included violations of off-leash rules (others included dog bite reports on trails, either dog to dog or dog to human).

This sounds about right to Meghan Young, founder of a 40,000-member Facebook group for women hikers in the northwest called PNW Outdoor Women (PNWOW). Occasionally, a member will post about hiking with their dog; it inevitably leads to a heated slew of responses. “It always amazes me how we can have so many calm conversations about [hiking] but when it comes to dogs, it’s like, nope.”

There are a few reasons people get defensive about hiking with their dogs, unleashed, or otherwise, Young says. One is that for so many people, pets feel like family. When their dog’s behavior comes under scrutiny, it can feel as though their parenting technique has, too. And, of course, no one likes being told what to do.

What’s more, it’s easy to understand why some owners let their dogs off leash on trails where it is prohibited. Dogs tend to pull and stop frequently, which is especially taxing when slogging uphill, and more like walking with a distracted toddler. Many pet parents also feel their pet is the exception to the rule, as a handful of commenters in this Reddit thread claim their dogs to be.

And, while the behavior may not be malicious, the person who started the Reddit thread, user estrellaj, seems to sum up the reasons many people let their dogs off leash on a hiking trail: “I love my dogs like crazy and I don’t want them falling off a cliff or eating poison mushrooms but I also want them to enjoy the hike, sniff around, investigate things, be a dog!”

Free-Roaming Dogs Restrict Access for Other Hikers

Image by Michael Pinter/Pixabay

For Denaya Shorter, a former wildlife biologist for the National Forest Service, Walker Fellow for the National Audubon Society, and author of this terrific article about hiking with dogs, off-leash dogs go beyond just being a nuisance.

Shorter, who is now the community engagement program director at the Ecology Center in Berkeley, California, works to introduce traditionally underrepresented communities in the outdoors to the joys of hiking and being outside.

“The experiences I often have in this work are with someone who has never hiked before, someone who is being introduced to hiking on trails and being introduced to these spaces for the very first time. And then, coming around the corner, there’s a dog running at them. You know, that creates a negative experience for that person, and if their first experience out on the trail is a negative one, we risk that person never wanting to come out again because of that.

“Even if your dog is the nicest, sweetest, friendliest dog in the world, for someone who is fearful of dogs or has had negative experiences with dogs, they don’t care about any of that. It’s not enjoyable or pleasant for them to walk around on a trail where they are expecting to be able to, you know, freely walk and explore, and then have a dog unexpectedly run up on them.”

Dogs Impact More Than People on Trails

Image by JacLou DL/Pixabay

Dogs, off-leash or otherwise, also have a measurable impact on wildlife and water quality. Lori Hennings is a senior natural resource scientist for the parks and nature department at Oregon Metro, which manages natural areas in the greater Portland area. As a wildlife biologist, she’s particularly interested in how dogs affect the green spaces that have been set aside in the city, like conservation areas and Portland’s crown jewel, Forest Park. She’s also a dog owner who loves hiking with her 97-pound Labrador.

It turns out there are few things you can do on a trail that are more disruptive to wildlife than bringing a dog. In 2016, Hennings conducted a literature review of 77 studies on dogs in recreation areas. One 2008 study published in the Natural Areas Journal found that deer doubled their distance from trails that allowed dogs (versus just humans), and also drove smaller animals like squirrels, rabbits, and prairie dogs away. A 2006 study published in Biological Conservation suggested that bobcats not only stay further away, but also shift their movements to nighttime in order to avoid dogs.

Compared to walkers, joggers, and mountain bikers, dogs were the single biggest factor that drove wild animals away from the trail, Hennings told me. The effects are worst with off-leash dogs. “Even I wouldn’t say keep dogs out of all natural areas, because I have a dog and I want to take him to natural areas,” she says. “But that does harm, and I recognize that.”

The Trail to the Top Is Paved With Poop

And then we need to talk about dog poop. Dog owners seem to have different methods of dealing with waste when they’re hiking. In the small, informal poll I conducted with friends, there was an even split in poop-management methods. One group of folks bagged the poop and then left it on the trail with the intention of picking it up and and putting it in the trash on the way back; another picked up the poop and carried it with them the whole hike.

Lauren G., who hikes in Arizona, says she bags her dog’s poop and leaves it on the side of the trail, but always picks it up on the way back, along with any other dog bags she sees—to pay it forward in case she misses one of her own. “It’s just easier than carrying it because I usually have a day pack and nowhere to put it,” she says.

Reddit user eatyourspinach put it more bluntly: “If a dog craps half a mile in, I’m not carrying a bag of s*** for 5.5 miles when I can just pick it up on my way back and carry it .5 miles.”

However, an anonymous Rover staffer admits that those bags can be hard to find on the way back. “I was once that person who hid a poop bag on the trail—out of sight, but where I thought I would be able to find it again—and then on my way back down, I paced for like 10 minutes where I was certain it was, but couldn’t find it.”

A few people had other methods of dealing with the doo: flicking the poop to the side, believing it would do no more harm than the rest of the animals pooping in the woods, or burying it. Of anything you could do, flicking it is probably the worst.

Image by Sandra Petersen/Pixabay

“It doesn’t take much dog poo getting into the water to really pollute it,” Hennings says. E. coli is particularly harmful for human health and dogs can be carriers. In fact, 13% of the non-pathogenic E. coli found in the Tualatin Basin in Oregon was DNA-linked back to dog waste according to Clean Water Services. A similar percentage (14%) was blamed on dogs in Idaho’s Lower Boise River, and 11% was linked to dogs near Puyallup, WA. Many additional municipalities such as L.A., Chicago, and Seattle have long struggled with keeping dog poo out of the water supply.

Dog waste also has nutrients that can promote algae blooms and reduce oxygen for the creatures living in the water, Hennings adds. And before you think that flicking when there’s not a water source nearby is less harmful, think again. “Everything gets into the stream eventually,” she says.

On a two-week backpacking trip where carrying your dog’s waste is unfeasible, Hennings says burying it six to eight inches underground, and away from any noticeable water source, is OK. But any trip shorter than that, the poop should be carried out. Imagine if every dog owner stopped to dig a six-by-six inch hole (the appropriate size according to Leave No Trace) for every dog poop—there would be more cat holes than trail-side trees.

Some of my hiking friends mentioned cleaning up any bags they saw on the way out, as a way of paying it forward in case they missed one of their dog’s own bags. But if you forget to clean up a bag and another benevolent hiker doesn’t grab it, you’re essentially back in a worst-case scenario—eventually, something will chew through or tear the bag, giving the poop direct access to the ground to spread possible disease. You’ve also added plastic to the mix. (Don’t pat yourself on the back for biodegradable dog bags, either, since many of them don’t break down quickly, or at all.)

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The Top 3 Things to Do to When Hiking With Dogs

Hennings said if she could implore people to follow a few simple rules, it would be these. And they’re going to look familiar—they’re the rules most trails require of dog owners.

1. Keep your dog on leash: This helps to minimize the disruption to wild animals and gives you control over your dog in the presence of other hikers.

2. Keep your dog on trail: Like humans, dogs going off-trail can damage local flora and cause erosion, Hennings says.

3. Bag your dog’s waste and put it in the trash: The most respectful and ecologically sound method is to bag dog poop immediately and carry it with you. While that might sound less than desirable, a smell-resistant container like an old Pringles can, or letting your dog carry it out in her own backpack, can make things a lot more pleasant. You can also get a specially designed, odor-concealing bag or pouch that will pack out your load securely and responsibly. (We love Ruffwear’s ingenious pack-out bag.)

In Other Words: Follow the Rules

“I would reiterate to dog owners, as much as possible, to just do the research on where they’re taking their dogs, because someone has already done all of the work and has determined what’s best for the dog and for the environment that you’re going to hike in,” Shorter says.

“For those dog owners who do want their dogs to be able to experience the outdoors off-leash, there are plenty of places where that is allowed, and that is permitted. And it’s just locating the places and following those guidelines!”

Happy (Shared) Trails to You

In the end, it’s up to dog owners to do the right thing and make it routine for poop to be scooped and dogs to be leashed so that everyone who wants to enjoy our shared outdoor spaces can do so, peacefully and responsibly, together.

More Resources on Hiking With Dogs

It’s not just us—here’s what hiking and dog experts say about etiquette on trail.

REI: Hiking and Backpacking With Dogs

Washington Trail Association: Hiking With Dogs

American Kennel Club (AKC): Tips for Hiking With Your Dog

American Hiking: Hiking with Dogs

Adirondack Council: Tips for Leave No Trace Hiking With Dogs

More From Rover About Hiking With Dogs

Featured image by TeeFarm/Pixabay

Colleen Stinchcombe is a professional freelance writer in Seattle, WA. Her two rescue pups wish she were a professional ball-thrower.

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from Lucky Dog Solutions http://www.luckydogsolutions.com/trampled-trails-and-a-parade-of-poop-the-unleashed-consequences-of-hiking-with-dogs/ from Lucky Dog Solutions https://luckydogsolutions.tumblr.com/post/626828302158594048

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The Diverge-and-Converge Technique for UX Workshops

Summary: By first working independently on a problem, then converging to share insights, teams can leverage the benefits of both work styles, leading to rapid data analysis, diverse ideas, and high-quality designs.

By Therese Fessenden on December 15, 2019

Topics: Ideation, Research Methods

Are you an introvert who hates meetings and derives pleasure from thinking in solitude? Or do you get excited when you can discuss ideas with others and work side by side with them toward a common goal? Working alone and working with others have each their own advantages and disadvantages. In this article, we define a collaborative technique that combines the two in order to maximize the work quality and efficiency: diverge and converge.

Definition: The diverge-and-converge collaboration method has two stages: (1) a diverge stage, during which team members work independently to produce individual insights and (2) a converge stage, where they discuss the results of the diverge phase as a group in order to decide on some collective output.

When team members diverge, they research, analyze, generate, or design independently, without discussing thoughts or findings with others. When team members converge, they share their findings, insights, ideas, or designs with one another.

How Diverge-and-Converge Works

The technique can be incorporated into any collaborative activity which involves consolidating the input of multiple people into a single collective output. A facilitator should introduce the diverge-and-converge method before or at the beginning of the meeting, to keep participants on track.

Depending on the goal of the activity, the diverge part can happen before the workshop, with participants working by themselves at their own pace, or during the workshop, with all participants spending a dedicated period of time to do the individual work in parallel.

For example, if the goal is to speed up data collection for a large research study, several UX researchers may run study sessions separately, using a shared research guide. After the data has been gathered, team members will converge in a meeting to discuss research findings. Alternatively, if the goal of the activity is to generate design ideas for a particular problem, participants in an ideation workshop may all spend the first part of the meeting sketching ideas individually and then they may converge and consolidate those ideas.

The amount of time dedicated to each phase depends on the complexity of both the independently generated input and of the collective output. For example, running usability studies can take hours, sometimes days. Analyzing research findings for a large data set can also take days, sometimes weeks. Consequently, both the diverge and converge portions for research can extend over the course of a month. On the other hand, an ideation session is best run when timeboxed — that is, within a designated amount of time, like 5 to 10 minutes — in order to emphasize quantity over quality of ideas.

The most important piece of running diverge-and-converge exercises is to set expectations and ground rules before running these activities. Doing this early can help ease tension between group members, increase contributions, and avoid groupthink. Here are some rules and expectations you should share with your group before running a workshop.

Strictly enforce divergent and convergent time as “quiet” and “talking” time.

Some people are naturally chattier than others or like to bounce ideas off of others or “think aloud” before solidifying their own ideas. Not only does this disrupt the quiet time needed for individual thinking, but it can also inadvertently sway the output of the diverge phase (or even that of the converge phase) by adding bias.

Ban the words “no” or “but.”

People often become defensive and reluctant to share when they hear others openly rejecting their ideas or contributions with words like “no” or “but.” Banning these words reduces inherent tension, increases willingness to discuss, and, paradoxically, and enables dissenting contributions to be heard (because they won’t sound so offensive).

Why Use Diverge-and-Converge

Many of the issues that emerge in collaborative workshops happen precisely because team members are not given the time to first sit with their ideas and insights before subjecting them to the opinions of others. When converging first, the input is still very “malleable” rather than being substantial enough to have a nuanced discussion.

Diverging first enables team members to:

focus on the task at hand without distractions

quickly gather data or organize information

tackle multiple parts of a project

interpret or analyze information at their own pace (which is crucial for people who speak a different native language, or people with disabilities or impairments)

generate creative ideas in a safe space

counteract groupthink (i.e., being influenced by others’ ideas)

Groupthink comic

When groupthink happens, an influential group member’s opinion (in the comic above, the yellow lightbulb, A) may directly or indirectly squelch dissenting opinions (the green lightbulb, B) of others.

Converging afterward enables teams to:

identify patterns and uncover new perspectives

frame problems differently

align and build a shared understanding of the problem to be solved

create strong team relationships for future collaborative efforts

build empathy among team members

increase the odds of solving the problem or finding objective truth (More and varied solutions will have a higher chance of solving the problem than one idea will.)

Diverge-and-converge will ultimately produce a higher-quality result than would have resulted from simply generating one good idea and running with it. Several years ago, we conducted a measurement study of an example of parallel design (which was equivalent to the “diverge” stage for a user-interface design project). Four different designers independently designed solutions to the same user-interface problem. The measured usability of the best of these 4 designs was 56% higher than the average usability of all designs. (This number can be interpreted as an estimate of the gain to be had from having 4 different ideas, instead of just an average one.) Even better, when the ideas from the 4 designs were merged into a single design, the result gained an additional 14% in measured usability compared to the single-best of the original designs. This outcome shows that even the best design wasn’t perfect. The 3 designs that scored lower in overall usability still contained some good ideas.

In the case study, the final, converged design was 70% better (56%+14%) better than the average of the individual (diverged) designs. Obviously, this was just a case study, and your mileage will vary. However, the example shows that the gain from this method can be quite substantial. It does cost a little more time to employ two steps instead of proceeding directly to the solution, but the ROI usually makes it worthwhile.

Image of three painters, each looking at a dog, and each painting contains a dog with two legs

Each person’s perspective, in isolation, is rarely a complete understanding of the problem. In this adaptation of the parable of the blind men and the elephant, each of the three painters sees a different view of the animal, and all three of these perspectives are incomplete if they do not incorporate the perspectives of others.

When to Incorporate Diverge-and-Converge

Diverge-and-converge activities are most useful during collaborative efforts which are subject to skewed results due to personal bias, groupthink, or the HiPPO effect (highest paid person’s opinion). Here are some common use cases:

Collecting and Analyzing Research Findings

Research is just as subject to bias and groupthink as any other activity. Diverge-and-converge can reduce bias and increase empathy with both participants and coworkers.

A diverge-and-converge technique like affinity diagramming can be used in a variety of circumstances (e.g., analyze findings from sessions, build cognitive maps and empathy maps) to cluster research findings and analyze themes. Or, if time does not allow a full affinity-diagramming workshop, a quicker version may simply involve verbally sharing with team members individual notes made while observing a user session or reading an interview transcript.

Comic of two researchers diverging to collect data, and converging to empathy map

Researchers can avoid projecting their own biases into their research and speed the process along by gathering data independently and converging to comprehend their insights together.

Mapping Workshops

Diverge-and-converge methods can be used to build any types of maps — customer-journey maps, experience maps, service blueprints, and so on. The diverge stage usually involves participants individually reflecting upon and labeling the data used to build the map, and the converge stage consists of aggregating individual insights into a final artifact.

Comic of a team diverging to jot down observations and converging to create a service blueprint

Teams can diverge to jot down their insights at their own desks and transfer those insights onto sticky notes on a journey map or service blueprint.

Design-Thinking Workshops

Diverge-and-converge activities are a common practice in design-thinking workshops in order to maximize contributions and ensure alignment. For example, this method can be used to create need statements or for ideating on new design ideas to prototype next.

Comic of a team diverging to ideate and converging to prioritize ideas

Teams can diverge to ideate or create prototypes, then converge to prioritize which ideas or prototypes get implemented or tested.

Conclusion

Diverge-and-converge is a powerful tactic that eliminates bias, broadens insight, adds depth to conversations. When incorporated at the right moments, it can also help you get many team members’ hands in the user data, code data quickly, and increase the likelihood of creating the right solution to the right problem. After all, many hands (and brains, when given the chance to think) make light work.

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How to Train an Older Dog to Use a Pee Pad: The Bad and the Ugly

Someone recently contacted me and asked me how to train an older dog to use a pee pad.

 Well, that was an interesting conversation. Look. Potty pads have their uses. If you live in an apartment complex and you don’t have access to a yard where you can take your dog every time it needs to go potty, then pee pads are essentials. 

Here’s the thing, though – I don’t like potty pads. In fact, for most situations, I think they make it harder to potty train dogs and not nearly as effective as our go to potty training strategy.

However, if you have recently moved and found yourself in a situation where your adult dog needs to get adjusted to using pee pads, potty pads, or puppy pads, then we have a guide for you right below. First, though, here’s a quick little warning:

It’s true – I’ve said it, I’ve written about it, and I HATE potty pads!

Here’s Why:

1) You Give Up

Most people go to the store and buy potty pads and think they are some kind of miracle. Place the potty pads in designated areas and sit back and let your puppy find them and use them. Viola! He is now potty trained – but not really.

It is like potty pads are a license to give up on actual potty training. The truth is, they are not a miracle. In most circumstances, they are detrimental to your potty training at best. 

Teaching a dog or a puppy to go potty outside is WORK! It is your job to make sure your puppy gets outside right after he wakes, 20 minutes after he drinks or pees, after he exercises and about every two hours in the beginning.

It is your job to make sure he can’t wander off and throughout your house without being constantly accompanied or watched by you! It is your job to catch him in the act of having an accident, and calmly and kindly get him outside so that he can be conditioned to where he should relieve himself. 99% of dogs will have accidents in the house, it is our job as owners and partners to kindly (no beating, no rubbing of noses) catch them and teach them where to go.

It isn’t easy! If it was, no one would have problems and I wouldn’t get this question several times per week. After all, dogs aren’t born with our rules and social norms, they have no problem going potty in their space, until they are taught and given other options.

2) They Are Confusing at Best

Let’s look at it from your puppy or dog’s standpoint…

You scatter these things all over the house, they have one or several attractive smells (like ammonia) and encourage your dog to use them to urinate and defecate. At least in the “old days,” newspaper had a very unique and different smell and feel.

Nothing else in your house smells like or feels like newspaper, not your laundry, not your carpet, not your rugs, which is the big reason that newspapers often worked but potty pads create more of a problem than they are worth.

Because…

3) It Teaches Your Dog to Potty Indoors

Either you want your dog to potty indoors, or you don’t! When you have a puppy, encouraging or allowing both is confusing. I mean, how does your puppy know that your intention is to actually have him going potty outdoors full time?

It is especially confusing if you aren’t teaching him. I mean can you honestly say that you are taking him outside or to his indoor spot as often as he needs to go and you aren’t allowing him to wander alone?

In the beginning, I recommend that you either choose to potty train your dog for outdoors or indoors!  Once he is older and conditioned to the path that you have chosen (indoor or outdoor) THEN you can teach him another way!

That way, you can train your dog for one or the other and condition him.  I have found in my years of dog training, that usually what a dog learns first becomes his default in times of stress. After all, teaching a human toddler potty training is difficult enough, imagine having different rules in different places!

4) It is Hard to Distinguish a Potty Pad from Your Things

For your dog, it is often hard to distinguish a potty pad from your other things. Think about it; potty pads are soft and plush and smell like ammonia. Carpet is also soft and plush. Bathroom rugs are also plush and soft and smell like our human (ammonia scent). 

Human sweat and urine often smells like ammonia (even to us in some circumstances) now remember that your dog’s nose is thousands of times more powerful and sensitive than your own nose.

No wonder these dogs pull down towels, and pee on laundry and carpet; because of course by using ammonia scented potty pads we are, in fact, teaching him to do so!

Interesting thought, right? I mean, most people don’t realize how stinky we are (to our dogs) and how our own odor can increase the likelihood of our dogs using our things as a place to mark or put their own scent and relieve himself. Heck, he figures you did! We alleviate this when we teach our dog that outside is the only place to use to relieve himself.

5) It is a Main Cause of Euthanasia

A large majority of dogs end up in shelters because people either can’t or won’t potty train their dogs. After years of accidents, or new carpet or flooring people decide to get rid of their problem dog. Most of these discarded dogs never make it out of the shelter. After all, who wants a dog that they KNOW will soil their house?

And, the hard part is that bad habits or poor conditioning (a behavior that has become a habit) is hard to change! In reality, all of that can be avoided, if the people would just devote the time and effort it takes to potty train their dogs. Potty training is more about the person getting the dog out (or into an appropriate spot) and not allowing bad habits to form than it is about the puppy or dog.

  I Used to Teach Dogs to Potty in the Bathtub!

What if You NEED Your Dog to Potty Inside?

So what if you need your dog or your puppy to go potty indoors?

Occasionally there is a person who can’t take their dog out; or perhaps they work such long hours that they simply need their dog to go potty indoors!

It CAN be done!

But, I will tell you it is even more difficult, in most respects, than potty training outdoors can be. 20 years ago, before there were ever indoor grass potty spots, I was teaching dogs to pee and poop in the bathtub! Yes, it is true! I trained Service Dogs, and a couple of my clients wanted to take their dogs with them on a cruise ship.

As you can probably imagine, a cruise ship is not set up to have grass for dogs to poop and pee. Yet the physically disabled partner relies on his/her Service Dog!  And, they should be allowed to travel together! So, before there were indoor doggy patches, we were using grass carpeting in the shower/tub (of course it was easier to clean up here).

In the beginning, we used a very large piece of grass carpeting, and slowly as the dog became used to going potty in the shower; we could cut it down to a tiny piece that could simply be tossed into any shower.

Sounds easy, right?

  The Hard Part

Like potty training a puppy to go outdoors, this took time and effort, even more so than regular potty training. When I am potty training a puppy to go outside, all I have to do is take him out and release him into a yard. The puppy can run off a distance away and relieve himself.

With indoor potty training you can’t take the dog outside (after all, it is indoors where you want him to go), you have to take him on leash to that ONE spot and wait for him to go potty there. Often, I had dogs that would hold their bladders for hours and hours not wanting to go potty inside. And, I had dogs that would refuse to poop for over 24 hours for the same reason.

It took time and consistency taking the dog to the same spot inside and not wavering. Every 2 hours, sometimes more, I would walk the dog to the shower and ask him to go potty and then wait. Just like outdoor potty training, I couldn’t then allow the dog to run off leash in the house or he would likely find his own place to relieve himself; which of course was what we were trying to avoid.

Imagine from the dog’s perspective being confused and just wanting a moment to get away so he could relieve himself. Not one moment of being by himself was allowed. If he was restless, he was taken to the grassy spot in the shower, no exceptions.

We knew, as trainers, how bad it would be if the dog were to poop or pee anywhere he wanted.  20 years ago Guide and Service Dogs were much less accepted and an incident like that could ban dogs on all other cruises.  Heck, I remember the story of the “Service Pig” that pooped all over a plane and the desire people had to stop letting service  animals on planes.

  Therein Lies Some Differences

But, therein lies the difference, we were dog trainers; we knew the importance of consistency! We knew there were no exceptions. We could not allow the dog to have accidents in the house or give way to taking him outside (let’s admit I considered this several times).

  Training Your Dog To Use a Potty Pad

Sometimes, the inside of your house or apartment is all you have access to. Like I said previously, training your potty to use a pee pad isn’t the best idea, but if that’s all you have, then that’s what you have to roll with. It can lead to accidents elsewhere. However, training your dog to use only the pee pad is possible, it’s just extremely difficult.

There are a few things that can make using puppy training pads easier, one of which is the type of training pads that you’re using.

  Potty Training Puppy Pad Options

For dogs, newspaper on the ground may not be obvious enough. Why is it ok to pee on this spot but not this spot? Why can I pee on this newspaper but not that magazine? Giving your puppy a distinct spot to do their business is key for successful puppy pad training.

There are a lot of options for training your puppy to pee in a specific spot inside. You can try:

Classic Potty Pads: Puppy pads are traditionally composed of layered, spongy material that absorbs wetness and is leak-proof.

Dog Litter Boxes: You heard that right – litter boxes aren’t just for dogs! These boxes are filled with recycled paper pellets that absorb your dog’s messes.

Grass Mats: Grass potty mats can be made with real or artificial grass. They are an especially good choice for owners who plan on graduating their dogs to outdoor house training, serving as an easy and natural stepping stone.

It’s worth noting that litter boxes with pellets and fake grass mats have huge advantages because they are more distinct from your floor than classic potty pads. They take advantage of your dog’s natural instincts to help them potty in the right place.

Here are some steps that you should take if you’re trying to teach your adult dog to use a potty pad:

  Crate Train Your Dog

Training an older dog to use a potty pad is similar to training a puppy. If your dog is already crate trained, then great! You can skip to step 2.

Dogs don’t like to pee or poop where they sleep, so giving your dog a smaller space can help teach her to hold her pee. When you are just starting out, use a crate for your puppy. Be sure to take her to the potty pad as soon as you let her out, but whenever you’re not watching her, she should be in the crate.

You’ll want to make sure that you properly crate-train your dog well so that the crate is a safe, happy space to be and not a scary punishment.

When your pup is being kept in her crate for potty training, make sure to take your pup to the potty pad very often.

Remember, puppies cannot hold their potty for very long when they’re little. You’ll want to take your pup to the potty pad as often as possible. Take your pup to the potty area 10 minutes after eating, playing or drinking. Basically, whenever humanly possible!

The more you take her to the pad, the better chance you’ll have of her relieving herself there. When your puppy does go potty in the right place, be sure to lavish him with tons of treats and praise. We suggest using super high-value training treats, like hot dogs!

Also keep in mind:

Puppies that are 2-3 months old need to pee every 2 hours.

Add 1 hour of time for each month after that (for example, a 5 month old dog can hold her potty for 5 hours). So, with your older dog, it’s likely that it won’t need to use the puppy pad very frequently.

Don’t leave your dog without access to a bathroom for more than 8 hours, even if she’s 10 months old.

  Positive Reinforcement

During the initial puppy pad training stage, you want to make sure not to leave your puppy unattended. If you’re going to praise your pup for good potty behavior, you need to be there to provide positive reinforcement.

It can be pretty frustrating just hanging around in hopes of catching your dog poop on a pad, but it’s absolutely essential if you want to properly train your dog. Once you get to stage 2 and 3, you can begin leaving your dog alone, but until then you’ll have to be patient!

This method also works for older dogs. The chances are that your dog has already completed crate training. If you have a younger dog, then you may still need to worry about crate training. You probably won’t have to worry about training your dog to hold it, either. The bigger issue is acclimation. For this reason, you should keep your dog in the kennel except for when you’re taking it to the pad. Much like with a puppy, you’ll need to hang out while your dog is going potty so that you can encourage him.

Also, positive reinforcement is essential throughout the training process, no matter what you’re training your dog to do. Remember that your dog is seeking approval, and it’s much better to reward positive behavior than to simply punish bad behavior.

  Try Using A Larger Area

One your dog is doing well with crate training, you can graduate to a larger space. Instead of leaving your pup in a crate, you will now create a small area within your house for your pup to roam.

Pick where you want the potty pads to go, then confine your pup in a small area including the potty pads. This can be done with x-pens, indoor dog gates, or by closing room doors.

Give your pup just enough room for a cozy puppy bed, potty pads, plus some water and toys. Instinctively, she won’t want to potty in her toys, water, or bed – so that just leaves the puppy pads! Giving her fewer choices makes it easier to make the right one.

As always, when you catch her using the puppy pads, provide ample treats and confirmation. Also make sure to clean up messes immediately so that your dog never faces the temptation to eat her own poop!

  Increase Space Over Time

Once your dog has learned how to use the puppy pad in an enclosed space, you can gradually expand the area. Eventually, you’ll have a free-roaming, potty-trained pro!

At this stage, your pup can finally be left unattended.

  How to React When Accidents Happen

Your dog is bound to make mistakes – it’s natural and normal.

Don’t scold your pup, or you may end up confusing your dog and teaching her that it’s not ok to pee in your presence. When your pup makes a mess, simply take her to the pad. If he goes there, reward her handsomely!

If she doesn’t, don’t take it personally and do your best to reward her when she does it right next time!

  Cleanup

You’ll want to clean up messy mistakes immediately to reduce stain and smell. Dogs have a tendency to pee in the same spot over and over, so eliminating the odor in inappropriate bathroom areas is key.

There are a lot of products available to clean pet messes. We recommend looking for products that are eco-friendly and pet-safe!

If your dog is doing business in the litterbox, grass mat, or potty pad and you do your part to clean regularly, the smell should not be too terrible. These products are engineered to reduce smell!

For disposing of messy pads, most puppy pads usually get tossed in the trash, while grass pads can be biodegradable, but check the instruction details of the products you use for specific disposal details.

  This is What Potty Training Comes Down to

Yes, I do think it is important early the in training of your puppy to decide are you an indoor or outdoor potty person and stick with it until  you have your first goal (later you can get your dog ready for a cruise).

But It doesn’t matter, indoor or outdoor, what does matter is YOUR consistency and YOUR willingness to not take your eyes off of a learning dog or puppy (use a crate when you can’t) and not accept any exceptions.

After all, your dog’s life might just depend on it one day!

===================

5 Reasons I Hate Potty Pads, But if You Have to Teach Your Dog To Go Indoors, Here’s How

It’s true, I’ve said it, I’ve written about it, and I HATE potty pads!

Here’s Why:

1) You Give Up

Most people go to the store and buy potty pads and think they are some kind of miracle.

Place the potty pads in designated areas and sit back and let your puppy find them and use them.

Walla! He is now potty trained! (Not Really)

It is like potty pads are a license to give up on actual potty training.

The truth is, they are not a miracle, they are detrimental to your potty training at best.

Teaching a dog or a puppy to go potty outside is WORK!

It is your job to make sure your puppy gets outside right after he wakes, 20 minutes after he drinks or pees, after he exercises and about every two hours in the beginning.

It is your job to make sure he can’t wander off and throughout your house without being constantly accompanied or watched by you!

It is your job to catch him in the act of having an accident, and calmly and kindly get him outside so that he can be conditioned to where he should relieve himself.

99% of dogs will have accidents in the house, it is our job as owners and partners to kindly (no beating, no rubbing of noses) catch them and teach them where to go.

It isn’t easy!

If it was, no one would have problems and I wouldn’t get this question several times per week.

After all, dogs aren’t born with our rules and social norms, they have no problem going potty in their space, until they are taught and given other options.

2) They Are Confusing at Best

Let’s look at it from your puppy or dog’s stand point…

You scatter these things all over in the house, they have one or several attractive smells (like ammonia) and encourage your dog to use them to urinate and defecate.

At least in the “old days”, newspaper had a very unique and different smell and feel.

Nothing else in your house smells like or feels like newspaper, not your laundry, not your carpet, not your rugs, which is the big reason that newspaper often worked but potty pads create more of a problem than they are worth.

Because…

3) It Teaches Your Dog to Potty Indoors

Either you want your dog to potty indoors, or you don’t!

When you have a puppy, encouraging or allowing both is confusing.

I mean how does your puppy know that your intention is to actually have him going potty outdoors full time?

It is especially confusing  if you aren’t teaching him, I mean can  you honestly say you are taking him outside or to his indoor spot as often as he needs to go and you aren’t allowing him to wander alone?

In the beginning, I recommend that you either choose to potty train your dog for outdoors or indoors!  Once he is older and conditioned to the path that you have chosen (indoor or outdoor) THEN you can teach him another way!

That way you can train your dog for one or the other and condition him.  I have found in my years of dog training, that usually what a dog learns first becomes his default in times of stress.

After all, teaching a human toddler potty training is difficult enough, imagine having different rules in different places!

4) It is Hard to Distinguish a Potty Pad from Your Things

For your dog, it is often hard to distinguish a potty pad from your other things.

Think about it; potty pads are soft and plush and smell like ammonia.

Carpet is also soft and plush.

Bathroom rugs are also plush and soft and smell like our human (ammonia scent).

Human sweat and urine often smells like ammonia (even to us in some circumstances) now remember that your dog’s nose is thousands of times more powerful and sensitive than your own nose.

No wonder these dogs pull down towels, and pee on laundry and carpet; because of course by using ammonia scented potty pads we are in fact teaching him to do so!

Interesting thought right?

I mean, most people don’t realize how stinky we are (to our dogs) and how our own odor can increase the likelihood of our dogs using our things as a place to mark or put their own scent and relieve himself.

Heck, he figures you did!

We alleviate this when we teach our dog that outside is the only place to use to relieve himself.

5) It is a Main Cause of Euthanasia

A large majority of dogs end up in shelters because people either can’t or won’t potty train their dogs.

After years of accidents, or new carpet or flooring people decide to get rid of their problem dog.

Most of these discarded dogs never make it out of the shelter.

After all, who wants a dog that they KNOW will soil their house?

And, the hard part is that bad habits or poor conditioning (a behavior that has become a habit) is hard to change!

When all of that can be avoided if the people would just devote the time and effort it takes to potty train their dogs.

Potty training is more about the person getting the dog out (or in to an appropriate spot) and not allowing bad habits to form than it is about the puppy or the dog.

I Used to Teach Dogs to Potty in the Bathtub!

What if You NEED Your Dog to Potty Inside?

So what if you need your dog or your puppy to go potty indoors?

Occasionally there is a person who can’t take their dog out; or perhaps they work such long hours that they simply need their dog to go potty indoors!

It CAN be done!

But, I will tell you it is even more difficult, in most respects, than potty training outdoors can be.

20 years ago, before there were ever indoor grass potty spots, I was teaching dogs to pee and poop in the bathtub!

Yes, it is true!

I trained Service Dogs, and a couple of my clients wanted to take their dogs with them on a cruise ship.

As you can probably imagine, a cruise ship is not set up to have grass for dogs to poop and pee.

Yet the physically disabled partner relies on his/her Service Dog!  And, they should be allowed to travel together!

So before there were indoor doggy patches, we were using grass carpeting in the shower/tub (of course it was easier to clean up here).

In the beginning, we used a very large piece of grass carpeting, and slowly as the dog became used to going potty in the shower; we could cut it down to a tiny piece that could simply be tossed into any shower.

Sounds easy right?

The Hard Part

Like potty training a puppy to go outdoors, this took time and effort, even more so than regular potty training.

When I am potty training a puppy to go outside, all I have to do is take him out and release him into a yard.

The puppy can run off a distance away and relieve himself.

With indoor potty training you can’t take the dog outside (after all, it is indoors where you want him to go), you have to take him on leash to that ONE spot and wait for him to go potty there.

Often I had dogs that would hold their bladders for hours and hours not wanting to go potty inside.

And, I had dogs that would refuse to poop for over 24 hours for the same reason.

It took time and consistency taking the dog to the same spot inside and not wavering.

Every 2 hours, sometimes more, I would walk the dog to the shower and ask him to go potty and then wait.

Just like outdoor potty training, I couldn’t then allow the dog to run off leash in the house or he would likely find his own place to relieve himself; which of course was what we were trying to avoid.

Imagine from the dog’s perspective being confused and just wanting a moment to get away so he could relieve himself.

Not one moment of being by himself was allowed.

If he was restless he was taken to the grassy spot in the shower, no exceptions.

We knew, as trainers, how bad it would be if the dog were to poop or pee anywhere he wanted.  20 years ago Guide and Service Dogs were much less accepted and an incident like that could ban dogs on all other cruises.  Heck, I remember the story of the “Service Pig” that pooped all over a plane and the desire people had to stop letting service  animals on planes.

Therein Lies Some Difference

But, therein lies the difference, we were dog trainers; we knew the importance of consistency!

We knew there were no exceptions.

We could not allow the dog to have accidents in the house, or give way to taking him outside (let’s admit I considered this several times).

This is What Potty Training Comes Down to

Yes, I do think it is important early the in training of your puppy to decide are you an indoor or outdoor potty person and stick with it until  you have your first goal (later you can get your dog ready for a cruise).

But it doesn’t matter, indoor or outdoor, what does matter is YOUR consistency and YOUR willingness to not take your eyes off of a learning dog or puppy (use a crate when you can’t) and not accept any exceptions.

After all, your dog’s life might just depend on it one day!

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[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2018 - Worst Film

I read quite a few thoughts from people on the internet decrying the idea of a “Worst Films” list as overly-negative. Those people have likely never seen The Emoji Movie. Here are the Aarons for Worst Film:

#10. The 15:17 to Paris 

Clint Eastwood’s late career need to commemorate every possible act of American heroism he can get his hands on and his inflexible attitude towards efficient filmmaking, no matter whether another take is called for, reached a breaking point in The 15:17 to Paris. Eastwood’s decision to cast the real-life military men that stopped the attack is admirable, but misguided, as each gives a performance more wooden than the fake baby from American Sniper. The film is clearly desperately reaching for some insightful commentary on heroism and sacrifice, but with its indifferent filmmaking of insignificant events designed to pad the runtime (a scene of the trio eating gelato takes over twice as long as the foiled attack), The 15:17 to Paris is too far off-track.

#9. Show Dogs

As a dog returns to their vomit, so too does a studio decide that Raja Gosnell should have another chance to direct a talking dog movie following Beverly Hills Chihuahua and the two Scooby-Doo films. The movie’s antics contain the same poor CGI, confusing world building, and lazy jokes expected from bottom-barrel family entertainment, but Gosnell has bred something truly abominable in Show Dogs thanks to the decidedly not family-friendly content littered throughout. Gosnell’s first show-stopper is grinding the ostensible kid’s movie to a halt in order to discuss the nature of sexual consent among animals; the second, in quite the reversal, was cut complete out of the film a week into release due to its unseemly implications. If you’re looking for an entertaining talking dog picture this year, maybe put this one down and pick up Wes Anderson’s instead.

#8. The Hurricane Heist

The Fast and the Furious series excelled once it began to play fast and loose with the laws of physics, but none of that franchise’s absurdity can break one’s sense of reality quite like finding out that The Hurricane Heist, which hails from The Fast and The Furious director Rob Cohen, revolves around a sentient storm. Yes, to repeat, the hurricane in The Hurricane Heist is seemingly alive and determined to hunt down a single family over a period of years. It’s the sole unpredictable element in an otherwise rote heist film, riddled with stock characters, hammy dialogue, and repeated visits to the same low-budget sets. Certainly the most predictable part of the cheap and confusing adventure though is that a franchise is certainly not on the forecast.

#7. Slender Man

The boogeyman of internet chat boards everywhere finally crept his way onto the big screen in 2018 by way of middle-aged filmmakers who don’t seem to understand how the internet works. The laughable writing of the teenage girl protagonists indicate an ignorance of the film’s target audience, but beyond that is the film palpable disinterest in its eponymous foe. The Slender Man is a non-entity in his own feature; his undistinguishing features are lost among low-lit cinematography that makes it hard to visually distinguish anything at all. His mythos is missing and the editing is choppy. The man may be slender, but so are the plot, the frights, and almost certainly the sequel count of this forgettable feature.

#6. The Clapper

Humans are socially conditioned to recognize the smacking of two hands together in rhythmic fashion as an expression of praise. Dito Monteil, director of The Clapper, has likely been socially conditioned by years of indie rom-coms to believe that smacking together a socially-stunted male character and a female character with a quirky job will result in an affable picture. But The Clapper is embarrassingly uncoordinated, failing to prop up its quirk with any actual humor or its romance with any actual human openness, resulting in a listless (and thus on this list!) film that flails into a third-act misunderstanding involving not-unfounded stalking allegations and an overall lazy disregard for the love interest’s personhood. So, give The Clapper a hand, everyone; it needs all the help it can get.

#5. Flower

Zoey Deutch is a charismatic actor and, following a great performance in Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some!!, a rising star, which makes it all the more upsetting that her efforts to find exciting roles was hijacked by the gross male power fantasy that Flower grows into. For the first two acts of the coming-of-age drama, its provocation and plundering of “strong female character” archetypes seems to be in pursuit of something profound, before a sudden tonal and plot shift sends the film floundering through successively icky developments. It’s sad seeing Deutch craft such a compelling character only for the film to weed out its good elements and reveal its sensitivity was all a charade for irritating wish fullfillment, leaving Flower to wither and die.

#4. Mute

Mute is the most painful entry to place on this list, as the passion project of the proficient Duncan Jones and the spiritual sequel to his superlative sci-fi film Moon, but just like with his big-budget Warcraft adaptation, Jones trades the sublime simplicity of his early works for confounding worldbuilding and bland characters. The director’s standard visual polish is overshadowed by the film’s discount Blade Runner aesthetic, but even that stands-out against star Alexander Skarsgård, who shrugs his way through his cipher of a character. The film doesn’t appear to care much about him either, choosing to spend an inordinate amount of time following a pedophilic character to no real purpose, just as its noir-influenced mystery comes to a dud of a conclusion. Here’s hoping Duncan Jones can return to form with his next feature, and we never have to speak of Mute again.

#3. The Open House

The infamous reputation of horror films in the January Dumping Grounds has shifted to a new low with the influx of streaming services. The same craving for endless content that led Netflix to finance beautiful works like Roma also leads them to crank out cheap, dispassionate works like The Open House. The Open House’s algorithm driven production is measurable; it’s designed to draw viewers in with a likeable enough lead and the promise of thrills… and then puts no other thought or effort into itself. Dylan Minette bumbles around an empty house and an empty town, with the occasional sharp noise or shifty side character to suggest, but never genuinely achieve, tension. Its ninety minutes of nothing, culminating in a climax that is dependent on none of that nothing, giving an early and clear sign that it’s not worth visiting everything that Netflix puts on the market.

#2. How It Ends

Like The Open House, How It Ends ends where most other movies would begin. Or, at least, movies that put any effort into their conception beyond taking a cheap, marketable genre (here, the apocalyptic road trip) and hiring a recognizable actor who is nevertheless not a big box office draw. How It Ends has nothing to say about the fragility of society, no insight into taunt relationships between men, no twist or turn that hasn’t been ransacked from better films. It’s, again, ninety minutes of nothing, designed to be easily accessible, unchallenging, and instantly forgotten. And how does that ninety minutes end? With manufactured conflict rooted in hardcore toxic masculinity and an anticlimactic cliffhanger. This is how one’s faith in streaming services’ forays into filmmaking ends.

AND THE WORST FILM OF 2018 IS...

1. Seven in Heaven

If the in-house productions of streaming services’ relentless pursuit of content are lethargic, their acquisitions of theatrical studio’s misfires are a never-ending source of fascination. Netflix had several high-profile purchases from other vendors, such as The Cloverfield Paradox and Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle, as well as several dumped onto the service with no warning or fanfare, such as this year’ s worst film, Blumhouse’s Seven in Heaven. Likely, Netflix had as little of an idea how to market the film as its initial owner Universal. It must be hard, after all, to know how to tell viewers what a film is about, when the film’s plotting is so aimless, its rules so arbitrary, its structure so faulty, that as the film rushes to its conclusion, the characters have a lengthy conversation trying to piece together what exactly mattered and what didn’t matter during their adventure. Seven in Heaven, as far as one can discern, sees two teens accidentally travel to a world where everyone follows their worst impulses. This alternate world is, of course, represented by the fact that everyone there is super into heavy metal and black clothing. This is, of course, to contrast with the normal world of non-worst impulses, where the wives in town collectively make a deck of pornographic playing cards for their husbands and then bond with their sons over them. The filmmaker’s worse impulse? Choosing to fill half of its run time cutting back from its central concept of alternate dimension mayhem for a plotline about partying teens waiting out the police that contains no horror elements or intrigue of any kind. It’s all underdeveloped, unbelievable, unagreeable, unmarketable. It’s impossible to make out what exactly they wanted Seven in Heaven to be.

NEXT UP: THE 2018 AARON FOR BEST DIRECTOR!

[hikertracks]

The West Highland Way

(Originally posted here on June 3rd 2018 as well as on VPO.CA.)

The view from atop Conic Hill, overlooking famous Loch Lomond.

In April 2018, I thru-hiked the West Highland Way, a 154.5 kilometre (or 96 mile) trail which runs from Milngavie (pronounced ‘Mulguy,’) just north of Glasgow to spectacular mountain town Fort William, which sits at western end of the Great Glen Fault, at the mouth of Loch Linnhe. The trail traverses through picturesque Scottish farmland, over mighty Conic Hill then along the lushly forested shores of famous Loch Lomond. From there, it cuts north into the West Highlands, where vast open spaces are spotted with snowy white sheep and broken with shimmering deep black creeks. Mountains ring the trail; waterfalls and heather are everywhere. After nearly touching Loch Tulla, the trail cuts north across Rannoch Moor, following an ancient road bed to Glencoe. The trail climbs over a pass, dips to Kinlochleven, then finally ends after a mountain trek in Glen Nevis, at the foot of the United Kingdom’s tallest peak, Ben Nevis. It’s a fantastic trail which is riddled in history, natural beauty, and a lot of water.

Arklet Waterfall at Inversnaid on Loch Lomond, which was the prettiest waterfall on the trail; note the invasive rhododendron surrounding it.

Don’t forget your Gore-tex here! Not only is Scotland derisive of weather forecasts, but with very few trees, it is also an incredibly windy country, with gusts which threatened to push me off trail. If you ever choose to follow in my footsteps on the Way, or even just visit Scotland in general, I’d recommend a full set of waterproof layers – Scotland is just that wet. At one point, I felt foolish for carrying more than two litres of drinking water in my pack, since generally, every few hundred metres or so there’s a water source, so bring a lightweight filter so that you can fill up at your convenience. Water is literally almost everywhere in this country!

The ruins of an old farm near Glen Nevis.

As far as adventures go, the West Highland Way falls somewhere between a great cultural experience such as the El Camino de Santiago and a wilderness adventure, however, if you’re seeking solitude, this isn’t the place to find it. While Scotland is stunningly beautiful, on the West Highland Way you can expect to encounter civilization rather frequently, meaning that you’re never far away from people or town. Locals use it as a foot path; an artery for dog walking, trail running and just getting outside. The trail is also frequently a road walk, although you’ll come to appreciate these flat(ish) sections after several hours of Loch Lomond’s shoreline. There’s always somebody nearby, so help is always close at hand if you happen to run into trouble – if you’re looking for a place to shout without anyone hearing you, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a great way to experience Scotland, to really see its landscape and talk to its wonderfully friendly people, this is it!

This is a great adventure for solo and female travellers. Scotland is a very safe country with people who are generally trustworthy and absolutely no large predators. There’s no bears here to steal your Cliff Bars – in fact, there’s hardly even any squirrels, the Eurasian red squirrel happening to be an endangered species.

Perhaps because I have been hiking all of my life, I found it hilarious that people dread these gentle switchbacks going up the so-called Devil’s Staircase. I found the ascent to Conic Hill and some of the stuff along Loch Lomond much more gruelling!

Scotland was almost completely deforested hundreds of years ago, so with animal life which was adapted to the vanished forest, the Highlands can be eerily quiet. There’s deer to be seen here, and the odd bird, but compared to Scotland’s patches of lush forest, the Highlands lay silent, the wind which rushes through the deceptive peaks sounding lonely, as if remembering the trees which once stood in the mountains’ shadows. There’s no wolves here to sing in the cold of night, no lynxes to pad its mossy forest floor in search of hares or mice – you might see the odd fox, but of the great beasts which once roamed this land, there’s nothing left. The haunting empty landscape of the Way made me appreciate the biodiversity of British Columbia all the more – here, we still have our predators.

Scotland may not have wolves anymore, but it does have hordes of deer; here, two young Red Deer stags attempt to prove who is more manly near Loch Tulla.

There’s also hordes of feral goats on the West Highland Way, found along Loch Lomond.

The Way is riddled with history – the paths and roads which you stride are the work of soldiers and drovers long gone. At every turn, there’s some reminder that this place is old – that western civilization has been here far longer than one can completely fathom, even knowing the facts. As I walked the Way, I discovered moss covered ruins hidden in the green depths of the forest, minute graveyards on tiny hills, and the crumbling remains of little farms in windswept glens. I walked across the site of a battlefield, climbed to the remnant of an ancient hill fort which was once literally melted in an intense fire eons ago, and padded by a pile of stones representing a memorial to a slaughtered Scottish clan.

Mhm, steep trail side drop offs into deep lochs are super fun, especially when you’re wearing a 40 lb pack!

The next morning I made the terrible discovery that this campsite I picked on Loch Lomond was absolutely full of teensy, super gross baby ticks. I’m still suspicious whenever I see dark specks!

In Scotland, the people have the Right to Roam, so on my trek of the Way, I wild camped as much as I could. Leave no trace principles apply, but basically, so long as you follow the rules, you can camp just about anywhere. Although I loved the secret campsites which I found, I really don’t recommend this tactic for hiking the Way. Instead, do the smart thing – day hike it from town to town. There’s just not enough wilderness on the Way to justify wild camping, so do yourself a favour by carrying just a light pack instead. There’s luggage moving services in plenty, so you don’t have to worry about your suitcase. This makes the trail awesome for just about anybody, although this certainly isn’t a trail for those who aren’t reasonably fit. There’s some very technical sections with uneven trail, challenging obstacles and elevation gain (although nothing comparing to some of the steep trails which we can roam here in British Columbia!) At the very least, you must be able to climb over the rickety wooden stile gates which separate the expansive sheep pastures which you will travel through.

This is a stile; there are many different varieties of them to be found on the West Highland Way, all of them rather doubtful in their sheep-proofness and safety. Note the mud; mud was everywhere.

These sheep would like you to know that you will encounter thousands of their brethren if you hike the West Highland Way. According to the Scots I encountered, sheep are enormously lacking in intelligence and should never be trusted not to kill themselves in some ridiculous way. This duo was encountered near Drymen.

There are also many cows on the West Highland Way; I maintain that cows are scarier than bears. This one is wondering about the other cows in the pasture behind me, since she was all alone for some reason.

I found that food can be scarce, so it is best if you bring a supply with you and if you wild camp like I did, you’ll have to pick up fuel in Glasgow at a store like Tiso, since isobutane canisters cannot be transported via airplane. Believe it or not, despite the United Kingdom’s reputation for being expensive, food can be found cheaply if you stock up at stores like Lidl, where it’s relatively cheap, even with conversion. On trail, there’s excellent chow to be found in places like Balmaha and in Tyndrum, which boasts the outstanding Real Food Café. Along the Way you’ll find several places with Honesty Boxes, little unmanned stands where I found everything from tasty homemade Scottish tablet to local favourite soft drink IRN BRU to fresh fruit from Spain to bottles of water and Mars Bars. I came to love these boxes, and I always kept a few Pounds Sterling handy for the joyful occasion of finding them!

Scottish tablet, one of the most delicious substances on the entire planet.

In closing, here’s a summary of this outstanding trail, which definitely belongs on your bucket list:

Length: 154.6 km (96 miles) Runs between: Milngavie and Fort William Best hiked: south to north (for best elevation gain situation – I would never consider hiking Conic Hill north to south, but I considered it enjoyable south to north!) Months to hike it: April to October Most people hike it: May Biggest complaint: besides rain and wind, people dread the midges (which are tiny bitey swarming insects,) but you should also beware of ticks, so bring tweezers as well as repellent. There’s tons along Loch Lomond! Biggest danger: with rain and wind comes the danger of hypothermia, which should never be underestimated. Layer accordingly and be prepared, no matter how you walk the trail. Scotland loves its inclement weather and it laughs at the weatherman! Recommendations: At the very least, bring a map or a smartphone with a GPS app like ViewRanger. Map tiles for the GPS can be downloaded in advance, so you don’t need to worry about wifi. While the Way is generally well marked, there are patches where it isn’t, especially on the first day and I was grateful that I had something to refer to when I wasn’t sure where to go next. Research the trail through the great website, Walkhighlands.co.uk, which has a wonderful page entirely dedicated to the West Highland Way. Bring your trekking poles!

The West Highland Way - the purple starred marks are where I camped. Screenshot from ViewRanger. I did the trail in seven days, one day faster than most people despite my heavy pack.

An exhausted dork (i.e. me,) takes her victory bow at the finish line in Fort William. Note Trekking Pole; Trekking Pole was my bestest friend. Note the haggard expression - my body had just remembered that it was tired, and that parts of it hurt. A lot. And didn’t stop hurting for several days.