"So, uhm..." I began, searching for something to say to make the mutual washing process less awkward. “Doesn’t this mess with your… hrmm,” I tried to recall what I knew about huskies. “Hydrophobic coating?”

  “It kind of does,” she shrugged. “Normally, baths are unnecessary for me, unless I get engine oil all over my coat or something. The problem is–dust and dirt isn’t ordinary anymore. Some of this shit needs to come off asap, it’s REALLY screwing with me… it smells wrong, is giving me bad dreams. I think that bits of dirt on me are… ehh… What did Calvin call it… Entropic, gradually decaying something vital from me the longer it stays in my mane. That’s why I need your help to get it all out from the spots I can’t see.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well then, let me make sure it’s all out.”

  “Thanks.” She nodded.

  “So… is this normal for you?”

  “What’s normal?”

  “People who just met… washing each other without any... I don't know, hesitation?"

  She tilted her head, considering. "Pradavarians are definitely more communal than humans. Grooming is social for us. Builds trust." She hesitated. "It's also me. I've always been... What did Mrs. Abernathy call it? Ah. ‘Extra-oblivious to human personal boundaries!'"

  I snorted. "You don't say."

  "Got me sent to the principal's office in third grade," she continued, leaning into my touch as I worked the sponge around her left ear. "Kept sniffing other kids' lunches without asking. Jacob Porter pushed me over it, and I bit him."

  The casual admission of biting someone made me pause briefly, but I resumed my task. "Did you get in trouble?"

  "Nah. Principal Hartwell—he was this old Saint Bernard—understood it was just puppy behavior. Made me apologize though."

  I tried to imagine a world where the school principal was a Saint Bernard in a suit and tie, perhaps wearing glasses perched on his broad muzzle. The mental image was so absurd I almost laughed aloud.

  "What's so funny?" Nessy asked, her ears swiveling back toward me though she kept her face forward.

  "Just... trying to picture your world," I admitted.

  "It was nice," she said softly. "Normal. Boring, even. I took it all for granted. Now everything is weird and terrible. Except you. You’re the same. No… better! ‘Cus I can shower you with all of my best jokes and stories all over again!”

  “Uh-huh.” I moved the sponge to her other ear, noting the way she leaned slightly into my touch. "I took my world for granted too," I said. "Didn't appreciate the little things. Simple stuff like... walking down the street without worrying about being disemboweled by playground equipment."

  “Yess.” She chuckled, the sound vibrating through her back. "The simple pleasures!"

  We fell into a comfortable silence as I finished washing her head, careful to keep soap away from her eyes. When I was done, she poured a bucket of water over both of us and shook herself vigorously, spraying water in all directions.

  "Hey!" I protested, shielding my face too late.

  "Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Reflex." She turned to face me, her expression suddenly serious. "Thank you."

  "For what? Getting water all over myself?"

  "For helping. For not... rejecting me. For trying to understand." Her ears flattened slightly, vulnerability flashing across her features. "I know I'm a lot to deal with."

  Something in her tone made my chest tighten. Beneath her exuberant exterior, I caught a glimpse of insecurity—a deep fear of abandonment that explained so much of her behavior.

  "You are a lot," I agreed, finding it impossible to lie to those big, earnest blue eyes. "But I'm slowly getting used to it… I think.”

  “Good, ‘cus I’m moving in,” she leaned back against me.

  "Moving in to... where?"

  "I dunno," she shrugged. "Where can I move into? What rooms do you have available and what are the rates?"

  I pretended to consider this seriously. "I might be persuaded to offer a special rate. Payment accepted in the form of not licking my face when excited."

  "No deal," she shot back immediately. "Face-licking is non-negotiable. It's in the dog contract."

  "There's a dog contract?"

  "Oh absolutely," she nodded solemnly. "We all stamp it with our paw at birth. Article 3, Section 2 clearly states 'All faces must be thoroughly licked upon reunion with pack members.' It's very official."

  "And I suppose there's a clause about invading personal space too?" I asked, gesturing to our current situation—her still leaning against me in a kiddie pool.

  "Article 5!" she confirmed cheerfully. "Personal space is a myth perpetuated by cats."

  Despite myself, I laughed heartily. There was something disarmingly genuine about her—a complete lack of self-consciousness that made it hard to maintain any real annoyance.

  "See? Bonding!" Nessy declared. "This is quality pack bonding time! The stronger the bond, the stronger the pack!”

  “A human and a dog counts as a pack?” I wondered.

  “Always has been,” she said, pointing at the wall with a gun-hand gesture. "Man and dog are a particular type of a pack called ‘Synergistic’! It's the oldest one in history."

  "Synergistic, huh?" I repeated, testing the word. "Like teamwork."

  "Exactly!" She bounced slightly with excitement, causing small waves in the kiddie pool. "A Syn-pack! Humans provide the strategy and tool-making, dogs provide the nose, strength, speed and instinct. Together we conquered the planet!" She raised her wet paw in triumph. "First the wild, then civilization, then space!"

  "Space?" I raised an eyebrow.

  "Of course! The Lunar Landing Pack of 1969!" She announced, almost smacking me in the chin with an elbow as she stood up and spun around to face me. “Neil Armstrong and Kira Pawstrong!”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Her chest was right in front of my eyes now.

  “United States Lunar Mission had a dual command structure—one human, one pradavarian dog. It was symbolic, representing the ancient partnership that built civilization." She gestured animatedly as she spoke, water droplets flying from her fur. "Kira was a Border Collie, selected for her intelligence and problem-solving abilities. She trained for three years alongside her pack leader Armstrong…”

  I tried to focus on her words, I really did, but her animated gestures were causing certain… round and pointy areas... to bounce distractingly close to my face. The fur covering her chest did little to diminish the effect of gravity on her very mammalian anatomy.

  “...inseparable during training!” Nessy continued enthusiastically. “The first lunar pawprint based on the famous photo is showcased in the Smithsonian along with the first bootprint!"

  “Pawprint… in space?” I repeated.

  “Kira’s space suit had stylized paw pads, duh,” Nessy clarified. “Agh! Getting distracted! Gotta wash you. Wash, wash, wash.” She hummed, grabbing the sponge from my hand and proceeded to do exactly that.

  “What’s this face you’re making now?” She wondered sniffing. “Still embarrassed? Ha! You humans are so weird about bodies! See, we dogs only wear clothes for practical purposes or fashion, not this strange shame thing."

  "Great, so I'm the weird one for wanting some basic modesty," I grumbled.

  "Basically, yeah," she nodded solemnly, then ruined the effect by giggling. "You should see your face right now. So much blushing! Ha! It's the exact same expression you had when Principal Hartwell caught us climbing on the school roof to release those paper airplanes."

  "That wasn't—"

  "Wasn't you?" She waved dismissively. "Still funny though."

  I could almost picture my young self throwing paper airplanes with a younger, skinnier, smaller Nessy. The memory was sharp, funny. I smiled.

  Great, she was incepting memories into my head now.

  Nessy finally took pity on me and stepped out of the kiddie pool, grabbing a white towel and beginning to dry herself. I used the opportunity to quickly finish washing myself, keenly aware of her presence.

  With the towel wrapped around herself, she padded over to check on her bib overalls.

  "Still pretty damp," she reported, poking at the blue fabric. "Guess I'll be towel-clad till I discover which box has clothes. Hope this doesn't scandalize your silly human sensibilities too much."

  I got up from the air mattress, stretching to hide my discomfort. "I'll live," I said dryly.

  Nessy flopped onto the air mattress with a dramatic sigh, adjusting her towel as she sprawled across the rumpled blankets. Her damp fur left dark patches on the fabric, but she seemed unconcerned, stretching her limbs out.

  “Hey that song you were singing earlier…” I began.

  “Another tune I wrote four months ago,” she replied with a sigh. “A sad one. About calling you over and over and never getting a response. Did you like it?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “It was sad but catchy.”

  “Aww thanks.”

  “There was something about a gun in it,” I said. “You can shoot?”

  “I’m a small-town belle, you know. I had a whole stash of guns.”

  “Those would be pretty useful right now, no?”

  “They would,” she pursed her lips. “Had one in a belt holster and the rest in my backpack. All of em’ plus the cans and bullets got ripped right off me by a living magnet shaped like a giant lynx with legs made from junkyard crane bits. Barely got away from the fucker with my fur intact.”

  “Damn,” I let out. “That sucks.”

  “Eh,” she shrugged. “It’s not that big a loss… I can always find new guns with my nose. You know what's been the absolute worst?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling. "Gradually losing my Syn-pack. When you started to pull away from me, I started to go nuts.”

  "Wasn't me," I said, settling on the edge of the mattress, careful to maintain a respectful distance despite her casual positioning.

  She propped herself up on one elbow to look at me. "A human-dog pack isn't just a random pair that happens to cooperate—there's a whole psychological framework to it. We complement each other's strengths and weaknesses."

  She sat up fully now, her towel slipping slightly before she adjusted it. Her expression had shifted from playful to earnest, ears forward in what I was beginning to recognize as her "serious discussion" pose.

  "Every pradavarian dog is taught from puppyhood that finding your syn-pack is one of life's most important achievements," she continued. "Some have multiple pack members, some just one. But going packless..." she shuddered visibly, "it's like missing a limb. Like being half a person."

  I found myself unexpectedly moved by the vulnerability in her voice. "You were packless after... your Alec stopped responding?"

  She nodded, her ears drooping slightly. "Technically, no. The bond doesn't break just because we're apart. But functionally?" She shrugged. "Yeah. Might as well have been. Four years of barely any contact, and then none at all. Awful. Infinity out of ten, would not recommend.”

  Her paw traced abstract patterns on the blanket, claws catching occasionally on loose threads. "When everything went to hell with the System, that feeling got even worse. It wasn't just emotional anymore—it was extra-physical. Like an actual unbearable pain in my chest. That's why I had to find you." She looked up, her blue eyes locking with mine. "And why I'm so stupidly happy to have my syn-pack back, even if it's... complicated."

  I eyed her.

  "Yes, yes," she waved a dismissive hand. "You think that you are someone else.”

  “Nessy,” I began.

  “According to your own words you died and bloomed back to life in a bathtub,” she said. “My dude, you got reconstituted from rotting flesh, fungal matter and humidity somehow turned into embryonic fluid or whatever. Yet you thought of me as a fake, System-manifested thing!”

  “Because it seemed like the simplest explanation at the time,” I said. “Yes, I drew the line at a dog-person from another world. My bad for trying to stay sane in an insane situation.”

  “Uh-huh. And now you have redrawn it at… being my Alec,” she said.

  “Explain then how I am your Alec when I don't recall you or any other pradavarians in my life!” I said, thinking that she would once again resort to the ‘head injury’ logic or something.

  “My nose doesn't lie,” she said, eyes digging into mine. “Especially when using Scrutiosmia. If you are an Alec that bloomed from a dead version of you over God knows how long, then maybe your soul or your current body is more like… a tree.”

  “A tree?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “A tree of Alec-ness. One of the roots or branches of which was in a world where you and I formed a pack!”

  “Huh,” I mused. “I… It sounds like you are trying to rationalize things, but it is an interesting theory.”

  “You are the boy I lost,” she smiled softly, wrapping herself around me. “Lost and found. You have to be. He's in you, I'm certain of it now. You might not remember our promises, but I do. I remember it all for you, because you are my pack leader. Forever and ever.”

  So much for letting go of her Alec. And here I thought that we made some progress yesterday.

  I sighed.

  “You have serious abandonment issues,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  Her bluntness level was high. I fell silent for a minute.

  “So do you,” her wet nose poked my neck, the tightness of her hug intensifying. “Sorry I wasn't here for you and you had to deal with a less sapient doggo.”

  Her head slid across my cheek, rubbing her wet fuzz against me.

  “You're…”

  “Being very clingy?” She concluded for me. “I know. And I'll keep doing it because that's how I roll. I need this… like plants need sunlight and water. I lost you for four years because I clearly wasn't clingy enough.”

  The fuck kind of logic is that.

  “Now I'm going to be like a vice."

  Did she mean vise like a metal clamp or was this some metaphor about people being unable to escape their vices?

  "Forever at your side, guarding your every move, taking good care of your mental state,” she added. “I was supposed to be your protector and I failed you. I will not fail you again, Alec!”

  Great. We've arrived at ‘Annie Wilkes: I will take good care of you. I'm your number one fan.’ vibes now. At least Nessy seemed well-meaning, unlike the antagonist from the 90s movie Misery.

  “I should have gone with you to the city, shouldn't have listened to your order to stay in Ferguson! I should have been there for you! I don't know what happened, but now that I had some rest and bonding time, I realize that you couldn't have betrayed me, couldn't have left me on your own. Someone must have done something to you,” she growled. “And if and when I find who did it, there will be hell to pay!”