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sian22redux · 5 years ago

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A Puppy in the Family-ch 2

Finally! @theycallmebecca has been so patient. Travelling for work this month is done and I can concentrate. This has taken so long it is consolation for her and @nomadicpixel ‘s Bosox and my Indians being out (:( how many injuries can one team take). Here you go my dear. Fenway and Dodger await the big day! Boy are they in for a surprise.

You can find Chapter 1 here. Rated G--for gooey tooth-rotting fluff. (Don’t say you haven’t been warned) and real warning: Mild description of labour pains. Jealousy. Vague comments about new baby poop.

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It’s really puzzling how they don’t know.

The sloppy ‘brella weather has turned to sunshiny and mostly fair and we’re out for a long, slow waddle as the warm sun rays kiss my fur.

Dodger is trotting on ahead at the end of his bungee leash. I am circling Chris and Y/N stealthily as they walk hand in hand, trying my very best to trap them with my lead because if I do they'll have to kiss. It’s the law.

They kiss twice before we make it back to Lorel home and as I bound indoors I take a good long sniff.

Still happy. Still expecting. Really expecting in fact. Y/N is pink-cheeked and pretty and even, I think, a little rounder in the tummy. She is working from the household today. Usually my mission is to allow as little wurk as possible, but not these days. Chris is home and she wants to be ‘fficient’, keep wurk quick while he reads a top secret Superhero script (for a superhero he sure gets banged up a lot).

I am good. I give her time, and though she says she’ll “stop soon” her wurk must be fun. She talks excitedly on the phone a lot, tapping on the ‘puter. Dodger, who says it’s boring, sneaks up on the big white couch to keep Chris’s bare feet warm. I do have a strategy. I flop over to show my better side and think really hard.

But still she doesn’t get it.

For some weird reason when her smell gets strong it makes her sleepy. Dodger and Chris catch her snoozling after wurk and Chris stands there, hands on hips, brows crashed together. “Babe, you ok?”

Y/N yawns and sleepily pats my head. “Yeah. It’s just a little bit too much right now, you know?”

Chris isn’t sure he knows. He worries. A lot. It’s the job of the alpha dad. “Maybe,” he frowns, sitting down on a sliver of couch to put a hand on her head. “You sure you aren’t getting sick?”

Sick??? Good grief. <Expecting!!!!!!> I yip, a bit louder than maybe I should but its making me crazy because they don’t know!

This goes on for weeks. Y/N snoozles at funny times and Chris frowns and frets and sometimes he completely forgets to throw Dodger’s frisbee. I don’t know how much Dodger or I can take but finally, finally, Y/N goes into the bedroom bathroom and comes out through the screen.

She’s waving a little white wand (it’s far too small for cooling much) and trying hard to speak through tumbling tears and then Chris is crying too.

“For real?” he asks. He’s brushing the tears off her cheeks and I can smell him panicking and happy and well, everything.

“A baby?”

Y/N just nods cuz her words are watered out. Chris is crying and laughing and hugging her so hard. “A baby! Oh my god this is best birthday present ever!”

It is his birthday-- I know cuz there is cake where I shouldn’t touch. Both Y/N and Chris are talking quick and excited and he spins her faster than even a duper hug before setting her down so gentle and apologizing.

She says it is ok. Dodger and I wag our tails but we are most definitely ignored.

<That’s how it is going to be.>

<Yup. Bitch gets all the attention and extra food.>

He’s right. In the weeks to come it seems they talk super fast all the time. It’s a little exhausting. And mysterious.

I’m not sure why this is, but now there’s a picture of a tadpole on the fridge.

****

Then, we wait.

Growing human puppies takes a really, really long time.

Chris is happy and stressed and angsty a bit like me. Y/N is happy and sleepy and a little loopy. The best thing I can do is watch. I set the perimeter threat to grey and investigate every little thing that moves. Or doesn’t. The grape under the fridge stays there for weeks getting drier and smaller each time I check. It hasn’t moved so I think that it’s ok, but the big yellow floppy moth that infiltrates the household is another thing. It doesn’t seem to want any trouble and I think it may be lonely, so I follow it around, slowly and carefully, waiting to make friends.

Much of the next hot months are spent outside by the pool. I decide that petting lazily with a foot only counts as half so I try to climb onto Chris’s lap (not Y/N’s. I don’t want to squash the puppy).

“Fenway! You great big oaf. You don’t fit!” Chris laughs but I do! It’s magic. Dodger corners a red squirrel in the tree and it chitters down at him from halfway up. I race over to help but I am too big to leap so high. I wave my frondy tail while Dodger almost gets it.

These are mostly good times. The great thing about puppy waiting is that we get waffles more. And ice cream. And cinnamon bunds. The not so great thing is that the hoomans feel angsty and a little confused at times.

Sometimes I will go outside only to realize it is inside that I wanted all along. Y/N’s like that, she doesn’t know what she wants or not. Those nights we are out in the car late at night with Chris. The days she knows—she really knows.

Ice cream is good but not coffee. Or orange juice. And definitely not eggs.

Puppy waiting is Not Quick. 68 days. So many X’s. Y/N gets wider and tireder. She’s sick, and grumpy, and weepy, and there are days we (and Chris) just didn’t know what to do. Dodger and I try to pretend we need to tell a secret and when Y/N leans in close, we lick her ear instead. That makes her smile, but only for a while. Sometimes my snuggles help and sometimes I make her too hot and sometimes I make it worse. I may be bigger (almost full grown!) but my desire to be held is constant.

“Fenway.”

“Fenway!”

“Fenway!!”

When Y’N’s weepy I put my snout upon her lap and wuff out warm happy breath while she strokes my fur. I will look up to be sure it’s working and get confused because it makes her cry more.

Dodger sighs and thumps his tail on the carpet. <Don’t worry, Fenway. It’s ‘mones.>

Oh. The things that Chris says (when we have snuck away to the park) make her grumpy too.

They are very powerful. When she’s grumpy I bring her my squeaky hotdog, and blanket, and then, cuz I am getting really worried, my comb. She brushes all my fur hard and sleeks the feathers in my tail but it never works for long.

I don’t get it and Chris doesn’t either but he keeps trying

I don’t always work but neither do the duper hugs.

One time she even barked at him.

***

The too too hot summer, becomes just hot fall. I have toasted my coat enough. It’s the time of parties and mmmm pumpkin and TIFF (whatever that is).

At the Hello ‘Ween party Y/N the Witch bumps into Jeremy’s back (he’s just himself cuz time) with her tum. She blushes red like a tomato and Jeremy laughs and says

“You’re just like Fenway. He doesn’t know where his body is either.”

(I yip ‘oopsie’ but secretly I am proud.)

***

After that things change really FAST.

Y/N and Chris go out for ‘classes’ and sometimes when they get home, Y/N goes right to bed (it takes energy to make a puppy) and Chris takes his fancy glass and fancy yellow water and sits down on the ‘ounge chair. He looks kinda scared and kinda worried, sighing a little bit, just looking at the moon

I sit down beside and lean in hard as I can, thinking <everything. is going to be alright. Because guess I love you.>

“Thanks pal.”

The second office gets made over into the puppy’s room. It’s white and bright and has lots of small colours everywhere. I knock over a packing box—<oopsie> that holds a tall thing that looks like a robot.

“Yikes,” says Chris. “Better you do that now than when it’s full.

Full? Of what?!

No one answers. Dodger doesn’t know. He’s trying to help by biting at the packing tape and I take the other end.

Y/N is exasperated. “FENWAY you are NOT HELPING!”

I go lie by the door and supervise, crossing my paws cuz i’ figure feeling fancy will make the moving faster.

The Baby’s room has SO MUCH STUFF. There’s a sleeping jail and a travel sleeping jail; bouncing things that make noise, rattles that make noise (but nothing squeaky like my hot dog), cupboards for tiny clothes, tons and tons of tiny sausage covers. I am not sure why Chris and Y/N want their puppy covered like a sausage but they are there, white and green and I think <oh well, maybe it makes them feel comfy like my crate?>

The little socks won’t fit even on my nose.

I wander later all through the piles of stuff getting a little worried.

<Relax, Fenway> says Dodger, where he lies on his side upon the floor in front of the hallway mystery hole. (It’s our favourite place to flop cuz it blows cool air over us. It won’t be not-hot until Santa time.)

< oh yeah.> he says, scritching a sudden scratch. <A puppy can’t howl like I do with Lion. It can’t give licks like you. We’ll be teaching them everything we know.>

<Right.>

Right. I feel better and go back to watching the grape all shrivel up.

-------

Fri Nov 23.

It’s Y/N’s birthday month and we have good times. Chris takes us for lots of walks. Y/N sits everywhere, puppy is heavy and she has no lap. Lots of friends visit and slip us treats—its hard but somebody has to do it

One morning we wake up and there are few X’s left on the fridge. The circled big red X is days away and oh boy Y/N seems extra, extra fussy cause she washes EVERYTHING

(I hide, out of the way under the big front bush. My hotdog tastes like soap.)

Dodger is not too concerned. We trot in from the yard to find Chris pacing, hair sticking straight up and looking really stressed.

“Mom, oh god, do you think this could be it?!”

Whatever Lisa says, it helps. He waits, carefully, while Y/N cleans around and I go sit beside The Bag that’s been waiting excitedly by the front door.

<I’m ready too!> I think to them both but nothing happens.

Two more days. Ugh, two more of soap, and then, Y/N just doesn’t get up??

??!!

I follow Dodger out. Chris is in the backyard and we are pacing with him, round and round, but he’s nearly shaking, talking to everyone on the telephone and not seeming very happy.

Y/N isn’t either. We check. She’s whining sometimes, sitting in the big bed and kinda looking hot but she doesn’t want us near so we go back to the living room.

<We need a distraction.> says Dodger watching Chris pace. He hasn’t stopped and the phone may be growing into his beard.

I offer.

<Naw.. too short.>

<Frisbee?>

<Naw, too tricky.>

Dodger settles for bringing him the slobbery Bosox ball.

“Sorry pal, not now.”

Hoo boy, this is serious.

By the time I get back from burying the ball below the hedge, Y/N is up and they are walking around the back yard-- Y/N in front, Chris behind. We waddle along. I am patrolling in front for intruders and spiders cuz Chris hates them and Dodger has the rear.

We do five circuits and then we are walking shower on the path (even it is really clean) and suddenly Y/N is gasping, bending right over to her knees. (This is really hard with a big puppy up in front). Chris murmurs soothing noises and presses his big warm hands on the center of her lower back. I have no idea why, but it must help because Y’N’s whining is a little less at first, but then it changes. She’s whining and growling and keening.

Whelping sounds like it hurts.

The crisis ends. Y/N flops down on the ‘ounge chair panting hard and I lay my muzzle along her thigh, whining helpfully in sympathy, licking at her hand. I hate to see her in pain. So does Dodger.

“You’re both good boys,” she says through a small half smile.

This happens—walk-gasp-keen-flop—lots of times. We’re getting tired. Chris is getting tired. Y/N is more tired than I’ve ever seen.

Finally the two-bell sounds

Scott and his new boyfriend come right in and the friend (Dirk? why is he named for a knife?) bounces up to us and says hi while Chris carries Y/N through the hall. Scott takes The Bag and puts it in the trunk. Y/N sits up front with the seat pushed way far back, eyes closed and concentrating. She whines and Chris, who is standing in the driveway, whines too, before trying to sit down.

Scott blocks the driver seat, hand out, shaking his head.

“Nope. Give me your keys, man. You are waay too freaked out to drive.”

<You are> adds Dodger, wisely from the front step

Scott glares at Chris until he shakes himself, opens the back door and folds into the tiny backseat.

Y/N would laugh but she’s too busy gasping

Finally the biggest, most leaping, exciting day arrives.

The puppy is coming home.

My feets are a tippy tappin’. I am bouncing and so is Dodger. We know not to trip Chris up but still our hearts are way too full.

“Dodger, Fenway, down!”

We both sit at once. Y/N steps in and she looks very, very tired but so, so happy to be home. Chris has a special puppy seat and is holding it like a glass. There’s a pink blankie, and a cover and we can’t really see.

He sets the seat on the floor and crouches down, one hand in our furs to keep us back.

“Hey guys, say hi to Lily.”

What kind of name is that?

<A flower name> whispers Dodger, <because the puppy is a bitch.>

Ohhhh. It’s hard to see much of anything but pink hat and nose and wrap. I tip toe everywhere, hushed and quiet like a Good Boy, but inside I am all excited. Chris says MomLisa is coming soon, but for now it is our time.

“Hey baby” says Y/N. At the couch Chris lays her ever so gentle on Y/N’s lap lengthwise. I sniff and wiggle in excitement. She smells new and happy and good and…

then the wrappings come off.

Wut?

She’s bald.

And tiny.

And looks nothing the little person next door at Gina’s.

<Is there something wrong?> I ask Dodger anxiously. I would HATE for there to be a problem.

He thinks carefully and cocks his head. <Human puppies look a bit like Hairless Cats.>

They do? Weird. < How do you know?>

Oh. Ohhh. The Book. It is part of Y/N these days.

I am thinking maybe even Dodger doesn’t really know but it’s ok because when she gets bigger she will be our fren, and throw sticks and balls and…

It’s hard to imagine because in the weeks to come she smells milky and poopy and sometimes both.

Chris is being super careful. His hands are big. He trips over Dodger twice; loses where his feet are and we see that he is tired.

Midnight and early morning snacks for all don’t give the hoomans enough rest.

Chris gets so tired one morning he puts kibble into my water. (Actually it wasn’t so bad…so I didn’t say anything.).

Y/N never seems to put Lily down and it makes me angsty.. a bit like she doesn’t want me anymore. Dodger gets to be closer—he’s better at holding himself safe. I watch from a body length away, trying to be soo good, her big brother, littermate, but it feels a little sad.

(I did, when Y/N wasn’t looking, lick one of her little feets.)

Dodger tells me not to worry. They are so happy. There’s soft music and tons of visits and tons of presents and Dodger and I get a picture proudly sitting by her jail-bed.

Sometimes she cries and sometimes she toots and sometimes we go hours without a pat.

I am sad. And worrying. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I can’t hold still? What if she never gets big enough to play?

One day when Lily lies (just like a sausage) on a blankie (and I am near, within what Chris calls the ‘blast radius’??) I can’t take it anymore.

I Woof. Not loud, but real, because I’ve been sooo good and quiet for so long.

No one scolds.

Lily is wriggling like a wriggly worm and giggling and she smells new and fresh and I want to get a better look. I shuffle forward on my tummy, stop near her blankie’s edge where if I stretch my neck I might be close enough to lick.

I woof again. She turns her (bald!) head and looks at me. Blue eyes a little blurry, frowning as she focuses. Y/N and Chris giggle when a little (strong!) hand bops me on my nose, and I blink in surprise.

Pink wriggle-worm fingers have grabbed a hank of fur.

She holds me. Hard. Smiling and cooing. And then I know it.

I am gonna be her fren. Her fren and best protector and biggest brother. And now I am grown and better at remembering I am just right. I will give rides and warm cuddles and snuggles and…

be her everything.

I think that I’m love.

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tagging: @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @pegasusdragontiger @arizonapoppy @mycapt-ohcapt @3Dsaunt @heather-lynn @neutralchaos1

#dodger #fenway #apuppyinthefamily #hefollowedmehome #chris evans #x reader #baseball is life

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