The Pack by Dayna Lorentz

his jowl; her touch sent shivers down to his toes.
    â€œI’ll join your pack,” she woofed. She flicked her snout toward where the others were piled in the shadows. “Looks like you could use another real dog to balance out all those yappers.”
    Shep’s tail wagged in circles, though he tried to keep a serious look on his muzzle. “Well, that’d be very good. I mean, good. I mean, I’m glad to have you.” He licked his jowls.
    â€œYou can call me Blaze.”
    â€œBlaze,” he sighed.
    She curled back up on the floor, grinning. “Good night, Shepherd.”
    â€œShepherd,” he sighed, standing. “I mean, good night.”
    Shep stumbled over sleeping dogs as he made his way toward the front of the bus. He felt dizzy and fur-brained and needed a sniff of fresh air. He also figured some dog should keep a watch out for water lizards or anything else that might surface in the night. Just as he was about to stick his snout through the shattered front window of the bus, Callie strutted out of the shadows.
    â€œWhere were you?” she yapped.
    â€œI went to check out the rest of the bus,” he woofed nervously, though he didn’t know why he felt so nervous. “And to scent out that girldog.”
    â€œSo that’s why you’re all slobber-tongued.”
    â€œI’m not slobber-tongued,” Shep protested, though even he could sense how silly he sounded. “I mean, I thought I should give her a smell, make sure she isn’t wild, you know?”
    â€œReally?” Callie’s brown eyes were like noses sniffing his thoughts.
    â€œShe’s a very nice girldog, in fact,” Shep continued, barks pouring from his jowls like drool, “not wild at all, and I asked her to join our pack, and she said yes.”
    â€œShe called me a yapper,” Callie snapped.
    â€œI’ll tell her to stop saying that, if it bothers you,” Shep woofed.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter if she stops saying it. She’s already barked it! It’s already out there, stinking up the whole den.” Callie was yapping loudly. Dogs were lifting their heads and staring.
    Callie was nearly frothing at the mouth. “In sum,” she snarled, “I don’t like her.” She panted loudly.
    Callie didn’t smell like her usual reasonable self. Shep tilted his head. “You sure that’s what’s itching you?” he asked.
    â€œWhat, that’s not a good enough reason for you? You think that’s nothing, calling some dog a yapper?”
    â€œI just think —”
    â€œWell, don’t think,” Callie snapped. “ I know. Calling me a yapper is as good as calling me a mutt.”
    â€œWhat’s so bad about calling a dog a mutt?” Shep woofed.
    Callie dropped her snout and looked at the floor. “Only a purebred could woof that.”
    Shep crouched in front of Callie and gave her a quick lick on the jowl. “Callie, every dog in this pack thinks you’re made of bacon. Especially me. We’d have lost the Great Wolf’s scent a long time ago without you.”
    Callie looked at Shep. “I hope you tell the new dog that,” she woofed. “She called me a yapper to make me feel unimportant, worthless. To show the pack — to show you that she was better than me.”
    â€œI’m sure she doesn’t think that,” Shep woofed, not at all sure that Blaze didn’t think of Callie as just another dog. Shep knew he should tell Blaze that Callie was the real leader of the pack, but then Blaze would know that Shep was only the doer, the snout out of which Callie barked. He didn’t want Blaze to see him that way. He wanted to be her hero.
    Callie limply scratched at her ear. “Just remember what I said back at the tree: The last thing this pack needs is a power struggle. And that dog smells like she thinks she’s the alpha, not you and me.” She retreated