A Wolf And His Man - 2. The Death of a Good Dog

“Hey Buddy.” Oli scanned the view from the front door as he let himself in. Nothing he could see seemed to have been overturned or shredded, but Oli wasn’t sure he trusted his eyes all that much. He sniffed deeply.

No urine, no faeces, no blood. The scent of the wolf though, a thick mesh of yellows, ochre and burnt oranges, was everywhere. Oli leant against the door jamb of his bedroom and raised an eyebrow at the pair of yellow eyes looking back at him from what had been a sort-of neatly made bed.

“So that’s where you got to.” The wolf rolled over to look at him upside down. “You are completely shameless. Come on, time to go in the garden.”

Buddy followed him on three paws, still limping, holding his sprained limb close to his body and moving awkwardly. It would pass, and as long as the wolf rested the affected limb, he shouldn’t suffer any permanent damage. In the garden, Oli sat on the little log bench and kept half an eye on the wolf as he chose a shrub against which to relieve himself. Oli wrinkled his nose, and wondered how and when he would get used to the idea of someone else marking his territory. Poop scooping duties dealt with, Oli washed his hands and got started on dinner. He had four days left of eating nice human food, and he wanted to make the most of it.

“So where did you come from anyway?” Oli asked the wolf. Buddy has taken up a position sitting in the centre of his kitchen, one large triangular ear fixed on wherever Oli was at all times as he passed from stove to fridge to sink to worktop. “Someone bought you as a pet and you got too big and boisterous for them?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a friendly boy. It’s obviously not the first time you’ve been in a house, though no one has fed you in a long time. Been surviving off rabbits?” The wolf huffed softly. “No fat on a rabbit Buddy, no wonder you’re so thin. I’m going to add some chicken skin to your dinner, and one of these.” He held up a small white pill before crushing it with the flat of a butter knife. “Don’t wrinkle your nose at me, it’s a painkiller, you’ll feel way better. Trust me.” Oli placed the bowl on the floor. “Dinner.”

It never occurred to Oli that talking to the wolf like he was a person made him strange. After all, he had always talked to Ruff. For his part, Buddy acted like he was listening, and Oli smiled to think that even though the wolf had no idea what he was saying, he was at least learning the timbre of Oli’s voice. Whilst he ate his own dinner Oli used his phone to search for any missing animal ads. But as far as he could tell, no one across the country had reported missing a wolf, or indeed a big dog which matched Buddy’s description. Oli washed up, and after thirty minutes his kitchen looked exactly as though nothing had ever happened in it.

The pleasures of cooking for one… He sighed.

“Come on Buddy. Let’s get you looking a bit more presentable.”

Oli hadn’t had occasion to use the thick bristled dog brush in a long time, which didn’t stop him from knowing exactly where it was. He sat on the floor in the lounge with his back against the sofa and patted the carpet next to him. Buddy sniffed at his knee, circled the sofa, paced around the room for a while before finally coming to sit down next to Oli. He kept his yellow eyes fixed on the television, there was some food related program on, and Oli realised that some part of the wolf’s psyche needed to show he was disinterested. This was, by the wolf’s behaviour, certainly not the first time a person had ever been good to him, but judging by his condition, it was the first time in a long time.

Oli went slowly, dragging the wooden handled brush through Buddy’s thick grey fur. The wolf was brindled, in some areas his fur was nearly black, and over his chin, chest and belly he was white, a classic pattern. As Oli removed tangles and knots, working gently but firmly to brush out sections nearly matted into felt, he felt the muscles and bones under the skin. Buddy should definitely have been heavier, and though Oli could feel the muscles, they were not large, or plump in the way they should be. He would take some feeding up to put back in proper condition. As he reached the wolf’s neck, he dug his fingers into the thick fur, seeking out the familiar combination of warmth and texture.

*

Oli held on tight to his dog, his best friend. He could barely remember life before Ruff had come to be with them, and now his mother was telling him that Ruff was going to have to leave.

“Oli, darling…” She stroked his hair as he stood next to the stainless steel operating table, his fingers deep into Ruff’s thick mane, “You don’t want him to be in pain do you?”

“No!” Oli sniffed, dragging the back of one hand across his eyes, his vision going blurry. He blinked hard, because he didn’t want to miss any moment of company with his dog. Ruff had always been there, and equally as scary as the prospect of him dying, was the blackness of a future without him in it. Oli leant down and pressed his face to his dog’s fur. “I don’t know what to do boy.”

Ruff, ever responsive to his master, whimpered softly, turned his head and licked Oli’s face softly. Then he sank back into the table with a soft sigh. Oli knew what his mother suggested was the right thing. Ruff was old, he’d gotten arthritis about eight months ago and had been getting slower since. His fur was greying at the muzzle and along his back, and Oli knew he couldn’t force his best friend to live in pain.

At Christmas Ruff had been lying in the garden on his side, and his mother had used her emergency kit to unkink his large intestine and relieve the pressure in his stomach. But it had happened twice more since then, and though each time Oli’s mother had been able to help him, Ruff was getting weaker. That morning when Oli had walked downstairs to let him out, Ruff had been lying on the floor in the living room, too weak to move, and had merely whimpered under Oli’s hands. They had not been able to persuade the big Alsatian to eat anything, and Oli’s father had touched his shoulder and murmured that it was time. Oli was fourteen now, and big enough to carry his best friend all by himself.

“Do you want to stay?” Oli could hear the tears in his mother’s voice, even though she wasn’t crying yet. “You don’t have to.”

“He’s always been there for me.” Oli moved round to the front of the table, his fingers still in the thick fur of the dog’s ruff. “I’ll be there for him.” He put his forehead against Ruff’s and the dog pressed his cold wet nose against his cheek. “I love you.”

Oli didn’t look as his mother prepared the syringe or as she found a vein for the injection and depressed the plunger. He didn’t look up as she left, or at the sound of her tears as she was enfolded in his father’s arms. He simply stayed with his dog, his best friend, breathing in time with him until Ruff didn’t breathe at all. When Oli was finally able to sit up, Ruff’s beautiful fur was wet with tears.

*

Buddy pushed his muzzle under Oli’s chin and whined gently. Oli sniffed and wiped his eyes, hardly realising that he had been crying silently as he brushed the wolf. Buddy’s pelt gleamed, soft and thick and tangle free. He no longer smelt of pond water or pain, and his natural rich orangey scent was laced with cornflower blue tinted sadness.

“Sorry.” Oli stroked the wolf’s ears. “I was just thinking about someone that I miss.”

Buddy pushed closer to him, until he was all but sitting in Oli’s lap, and then nuzzled against the young man’s chest.

“You are a friendly one when you’re not trying to be all aloof, eh? Surely someone must miss you, boy.” Oli might have imagined it, but the wolf seemed to shake his head. Oli put his hand to the back of his neck, feeling under the skin for the familiar and now legally required rice-grain sized microchip. But he couldn’t feel anything. “Maybe not. Do you think you might want to stay with me?”

Buddy wuffed, his tail sweeping across the carpet.

“I gotta tell you something though, boy. I don’t always look like this.” Oli rubbed the pads of his fingers over the wolf’s head. “Every month, I change. It’s soon, gonna happen on Sunday, just for a few days.” Oli smiled, he’d never before gotten to say these words to another living being. “I’m a werewolf.” Buddy huffed again and nuzzled his clavicle. “You’ve no idea what I’m on about, have you?” Oli rolled his eyes. He hoped that when Sunday rolled around the wolf wouldn’t freak out, run away or attack him, and he really hoped that being the same shape would allowed them to communicate more easily. They would at least be speaking the same language.

It was already sort of late, and while Buddy lay on the floor by the sofa, one ear cocked, but mostly asleep, Oli fetched a sketch pad and sat with the book open on his knees, drawing from memory and the reference of the wolf in front of him. They were just little studies, nothing special, but a bit more detailed than the doodles he had been doing at lunch. Oli wondered if he would be able to take the wolf to work with him sometimes, and he daydreamed of Buddy lying under his desk and watching the world of the art department go by while Oli worked. He would be able to reach under the desk and touch his fur, feel safe and comforted by the familiar texture. They could go for walks in the park at lunch, and people would know him as the guy with the huge wolf-dog.

What would it be like to have company when he wore fur, other than the company of his father when he trekked across the Downs? How would it feel to wake in the presence of another, and burrow into Buddy’s thick grey toned fur? Before Oli was aware of what he was doing, his thoughts began to flow out of his pencil and onto the page in front of him. When Buddy next raised his head, yawning with a long creak, Oli stopped and smiled at him.

“You wanna see?” He patted the space on the sofa and watched Buddy as the wolf hopped up onto cushions and whimpered gently. He held his injured paw up and Oli stroked his ankle softly; the swelling had reduced, but not enough for the wolf to walk on it comfortably. “Look, it’s us.”

The large page was taken up by a little comic. The panels showed two wolves, one darker and unmistakeably bearing Buddy’s fur pattern, the other with one ear half-cocked and rather expressive eyebrow spots. In the comic, the two wolves chased each other around the base of an apple tree. Buddy jumped up to grab an apple and fell. In the next panel he was lying on the grass while the other wolf licked at his damaged paw. Then they were snuggled up together, a mass of fur, and in a little thought bubble over the two wolves there floated a tiny heart. When Oli pencilled in the words ‘The End’, Buddy put his head on one side and whined softly.

“My parent’s garden has an apple tree like that.” Oli smiled at the drawing, his fingers stroking Buddy’s soft ears. “Just no hurting yourself OK?” He yawned. “OK, last trip outside, and then bed.”

Oli left his new companion to do his business in the dark, wiped down the worktop and checked that he had lunch gear and all his stuff for the following day ready to go. There was the possibility Buddy would be up for a walk in the morning, and Oli didn’t want to be late for his appointment at the tattoo studio. Retouching the photographs he had was going to take a while, and Oli prided himself on never over running on a job. When you were forced to spend four or five days each month as a wolf, you got really good at keeping on top of your schedule. Buddy trotted back in two minutes later, and Oli shut the backdoor, locked it, and put down some fresh water for his wolf.

Your wolf? You have any idea how angry you’d be if someone called you that?

Oli rolled his eyes. It was hardly the same situation. Buddy was obviously a tame wolf. Someone had once loved him and cared for him. He was obviously house trained and understood human contact. No wild wolf would have allowed himself to be brushed at length, regardless of his injuries. Oli knew that his scent helped, all dogs were attracted to a werewolf in human form because they smelt familiar and safe. Werewolves smelt like leaders, like the past, the connection between men and canines that had lasted for millennia. But whoever had loved Buddy had abandoned him. Perhaps they’d moved across the country, or perhaps Buddy had just been dumped when he’d gotten too big or boisterous. Oli remembered reading about a husky that had been dumped after four years of faithful adoration because its owner’s wife became pregnant and was convinced that the dog would harm the baby. Oli was sure, even after only a day, that whatever had happened, it hadn’t been Buddy’s fault.

He finished up brushing his teeth and went looking for the wolf.

“That’s my bed.” Buddy looked at him with his tongue lolling out, exactly as if he understood. “Oh no, I am not sharing my quilt with you. Come on.”

Oli took a collection of blankets from the chest his father had made for him as a leaving home present and made up a nest on the sofa. Buddy obviously liked sleeping on soft things, unlike Oli, who when he was a wolf preferred to pass out splayed on the cool tile of the kitchen floor, and Oli clicked his tongue to the wolf, who jumped gingerly up onto the sofa.

“Stay.” He ruffled the wolf’s ears. “See you in the morning Buddy.”

Oli didn’t sleep dressed, and he stripped off, threw his underwear into the hamper and straightened out his quilt and pillows. It would only end up in a mess again, a habit which made his very infrequent bed mates rather annoyed. He’d had a call from Stuart the previous day, but his on and off again lover wasn’t coming into town until the beginning of next week, by which time, Oli would be wolf shaped and therefore unavailable. Stuart only came into town every three or four months, and he was the closest thing Oli had to an actual relationship. The memory of Stuart’s last visit made him instantly aroused under the covers. They’d spent the whole weekend in bed and lazing around the house naked; watching silly films and playing video games, reading, drinking and fucking with abandon. Like all Oli’s small handful of lover’s, Stuart was none the wiser about Oli’s supernatural tendencies. It was a mutually convenient arrangement, and as long as it suited them both, Oli saw no reason to try and change it. He didn’t go on dates after all, and the idea of trusting someone with his secret was totally alien. He’d tried once to maintain a normal relationship, but with all the sneaking around and the lying, his ex had decided that Oli was cheating on him and moved on. Oli couldn’t blame him.

Oli bit his lip had he began to stroke himself, his mind building up an image of himself and Stuart fucking over the edge of the sofa. Stuart was the kind of corporate executive who loved the gym, and was hard, chiselled and shaved under his clothes. Oli was rather different, and if he was honest, he preferred his guys a bit more natural, but beggars couldn’t be choosy in their partners, and the remembered fantasy was a good one. Oli groaned low as he threw back the covers and brought himself pleasure.

Warm breath in his ear distracted him, and Oli shook his head and opened his eyes to find Buddy’s muzzle resting on the mattress, watching him intently.

“Fuck!” Oli reluctantly let his erection go. “Go away Buddy. Back to bed.”

The wolf whined.

“No. Go away.” Oli growled and pushed at the wolf’s fluffy chest. “Shoo!”

The big wolf vanished, and Oli returned to the task at hand. He was way too horny to be distracted, and it had been much too long since he’d had more company than just his hand. He deserved to enjoy his masturbation. When he opened his eyes again, Buddy was back, but standing in the doorway, too far away to be physically removed. Oli grabbed his pillow and stood it up so that he couldn’t see the wolf watching him, but he was way too far gone to stop, and chased his orgasm down like a man with purpose. Afterwards, he cleaned himself up with a tissue, lobbed it into the bin from where he lay, and pulled the covers up. Yawning, Oli rolled over, and fell asleep.

*

“Oli? Could you come downstairs?” His mother’s voice distracted him from the vague warm and inappropriate thoughts he was harbouring for Charlie Hunnam. His parents hadn’t realised that the only reason Oli had asked for a television and a video player in his room was so that he could watch the manually copied video of Queer As Folk he’d bought from another boy at school.

“Oli!”

Oli growled, killed the TV and forced his hands away from the growing warmth in his jeans, rubbed his palms over his knees and prayed that his mother wouldn’t be able to tell what he’d been thinking about doing. His father was away on other custom delivery, so at least Oli didn’t have to worry about being chewed out by him. Oli didn’t know what it was, but his father always seemed to be able to tell. More than once he’d tried to corner his son into embarrassing conversations that Oli really didn’t want to have, and involved feelings he wasn’t really sure he was ready to put into words either.

“Mum?”

“Hey sweetie. Take a seat.”

“Umm…” Oli shifted from foot to foot. “I have homework.”

“Sweetie, sit down, we need to talk to you.”

Oli blinked.

“We?”

“Your dad and I. He came back early.”

Oli instantly brightened and glanced around the room stupidly, expecting to see the big shape of his father. He was a veritable bear of a man, and at just fourteen, Oli wasn’t close yet to matching him in height or stature. He turned back to his mother with a frown.

“Darling, he’s here.” His mother called out, and Oli turned around to watch a large brown wolf walk in through the door from the kitchen. “Oli… try not to freak out.”

“Mum?!” Oli watched as the wolf walked past him and laid its huge head in his mother’s lap. “What’s going on?”

“Darling, your father is a werewolf.”

Oli blinked again, his brain trying to process the six words into a reasonable sentence. He failed.

“What?”

“Your father is a werewolf. He has been his whole life. You are too.” She paused to stroke the head of the big brown wolf. “You’d best explain it to him sweetie, should be any minute now right?”

The wolf nodded, stepped away from where Oli’s mother sat, and came to sit in front of Oli. The boy backed away nervously.

“Mum…?”

“Don’t worry sweetie, it’s just your dad.”

“But-!”

Oli was interrupted by a short bark from the wolf, and then a sick crunching of bone and cartilage. Oli couldn’t really focus on what he saw, but half a sweaty, painful minute later, his father knelt, naked, on the floor in front of him.

“Perhaps you should put some clothes on hun…” Was the last thing Oli heard his mother say before he fainted.

*

Oli woke at the movement of the wolf jumping onto the bed. It was dark, very early, and Oli was in no mood to be woken up. He grunted and tried to roll over, but his legs were pinned under the weight of the wolf.

“Get off Ruff…” He mumbled. “Ow!” Oli pulled back his hand and stared at Buddy’s yellow eyes in the dark. “You bit me.” The contact of fangs hadn’t even broken the skin, but it was enough to make Oli realise that he had used his old dog’s name. “Sorry.” He rolled onto his side. “Go back to bed Buddy.”

The wolf stood, and turned in a tight circle three times before he settled down in a ball, tucked right up against Oli’s front. Oli shifted slightly, and the natural place for his hand to rest was right on the back of the wolf’s shoulders. His fingers wove into the thick fur automatically, and wolf and man returned to sleep together.