Lost and Hound

There in the whisper-quiet woods, dried leaves crinkled under cautious boot. The fur-lined ears of the young Kynkin perked, twitching in apprehension.

He had fair cause for concern.

A mongrel pack roamed the remote property, and while every dog was his kin, of a sort, their short, sharp snarls made clear that his presence was merely tolerated. For now, at least.

As he approached the ramshackle cabin, a hirsute human, nearly as hairy as the hounds, lay slumped in a wooden chair on the front porch, with a black leather slouch hat resting across his face. Beside the man, another canine—a shepherd with fetching brown eyes and a round, handsome snout—gnawed on a thick Kappa thighbone. His fur, much like the youth’s own, was tinged with the familiar russet hues of dawning daylight.

“Excuse me,” the Youth creaked, clutching the strap of his travel satchel with both hands. “Is this the headquarters of Problem Solving Services?”

“The one and only.” The man intoned beneath the hat. He raised the brim with his thumb, revealing a bearded face with one eye. “No job is too big or too small. Absolute discretion guaranteed.”

The one-eyed man flashed a grin that sent a chill down the Youth’s back. He was still getting used to humans and their strange habits, such as the bewildering custom of bearing fangs as a sign of friendship and geniality. Though something in those curled lips seemed anything but…

“Name’s Lemmy. And this is Remmy.” The man gestured to the dog, who did not bother to look up. “My business partner.”

“Oh, uh, a pleasure.” The Youth bowed. “I’m Dash.”

The moment lingered and the man’s predator gaze with it. Truth told, the Youth felt safer with the dogs. Well, more so than usual.

“You came all this way, lad. What can we do for you?”

Or rather, Lemmy idly pondered, what can you do for us?

He’d been aware of the youth’s approach, long before his arrival. A single howl acted as herald’s trumpet. Such was just one of the many benefits of owning the greatest perimeter defense system known to man: fifteen to twenty half-trained mutts.

(Truth told, the actual number of mutts varied day to day. They had a habit of wandering off.)

“I’m looking for someone,” Dash said. “I’ve been looking for him for a long time…”

“Search and Track Services.” Lemmy twirled the hat on his finger. “One of our specialties. Will you be needing Acquisition and Reclamation on top?”

“Um.”

“We do conscious and unconscious.”

“No. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“You’re the boss.”

Dash looked between the man and the dog. Could this really be the place?

“Alright, so give us details: physical description, known acquaintances, girls he’s shagged. Pony up.”

Thoughts spun through Dash’s mind. Where could he possibly start? “Um, well, he’s hairy and, uh…my mother.”

“He’s your hairy mother?”

Remmy stopped chewing the bone and tilted his head.

“No! He shagged my hairy mother! I mean—” Dash trailed off, flustered.

Lemmy smirked. “And why are you looking for your momma’s shagger?”

“He’s my father. I think.”

Remmy glanced between Dash and Lemmy.

Lemmy nodded. “Figured as much. It had to be that or revenge. Sometimes it’s both.” He pointed. “You lookin’ for revenge?”

“No,” Dash said in a firm voice. Perhaps too firm.

Lemmy held up a hand. “No judgment if you are lad. Revenge is good business. Truth told, we get your type a lot. Lookin’ for the Old Man.” A smirk played on his lips. “You should be careful, you know? You might not like what you find.”

“I know.”

Remmy let out a whine.

“You got that big bone!” Lemmy swiped at the dog with his hat. " What more you want!" He set it back on his head. “Anyway, what’s he do for money? Every man has to make a living.”

“I asked some people in the nearby town.” Dash said. “They say he’s a jack of all trades. Does almost anything for anybody. No scruples.”

Lemmy rubbed his chin. “Sounds like fierce competition.”

Remmy stared at his master with a blend of disbelief and weary exasperation.

“They say he lives out in the woods with a furry business partner.” Dash went on. “And a lot of dogs.”

Lemmy nodded along. “You hear that Remmy? Someone’s angling in on us somethin’ fier—” He noticed that both Remmy and Dash were staring at him. With intent.

Lemmy cleared his throat. “I see. Right, well, I guess you won’t be needing our Search and Track Services then.”

“No.” Dash said.

“So, speakin’ hypothetically, if you did meet this Pappy of yours, what would you want from him?” Lemmy rested a hand on his hip. Next to his hunting knife holster. “Hypothetically, of course.”

Dash took a deep breath. “I want my father to come home.”

Lemmy raised his brow. “That so?”

Dash nodded. “My father should meet the children he’s sired.”

“Children?” Lemmy repeated in surprised. There was little doubt, in anyone’s mind, that the incorrigible cad known far and wide as Leminus “Lemmy” Attemus had a hundred or so bastards running loose in this world. But Ol’ Lemmy was, if nothing else, a firm believer in the traditional one night stand.

(A night to remember and the right to loathe him in the morning—that was the gentleman’s way.)

“Let me guess,” he said. “Momma’s a Beastkin. Like you.”

“Kynkin.” Dash corrected, his ears twitching in agitation.

That explains it, Lemmy thought. You plug one of these animal chicks and you’ve got a litter running around in no time.

“My mother’s been telling me stories about my father for so long…” Dash mumbled. “And all this time he’s just been…” The Youth wandered over to Remmy and pet the dog on the head. In turn, Remmy licked his hand.

“Listen, lad. I’m sure your Momma’s a swell lass. Unforgettable.” For the life of him, Lemmy couldn’t begin to remember what Dash’s mother looked like. Even limiting himself to beastkin dog-girls, he had shagged damn near every breed imaginable.

(The dachshund dames were the kinkiest bitches, by a long mile.)

Dash slumped, nestling his head against Remmy. “I just want my father to come home. If only to visit…”

Remmy whined and Lemmy, against his better judgment, felt a tug on his old, corroded heartstrings.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Go back with this kid. Meet his brothers and sisters. Embrace this mongrel half-human, half-dog family—give up the mercenary business and live a life buried in the warm fur of adoring puppies. Yeah, why not? Settled down. Get a job. Toil the years away, working like a mule for some cheap, penny-pinching bastard. Barely scrape by. Have more kids and more mouths to feed cause momma pops out an army every time she gets plowed. More fur, more fur, more dogshit, more debt. Dog kids grow up to be ungrateful dog teenagers, snarling, barking away. “You don’t understand me, Dad!” Of course, I don’t understand. Dogs greet each other by sniffing asses. The hell is that? Wife turns into a wornout, frumpy old bitch. Go to a loanshark while the puppies cry and howl. Walls of fur, a mile high, all sides, closing in. Suffocating. Can’t get out. No escape. No escape. No esc—

Lemmy leapt out of his chair. “Hell no!”

Remmy and Dash startled.

“Sorry, kid.” Lemmy held up a hand. “I can’t do it. I got my own path to follow. I know you love your momma and it’s hard to understand, but one day you will.”

Remmy and Dash shared a confused glance. “Understand what?” Dash asked.

“A man’s just gotta live his own way.” Lemmy gazed off into the distance, thumbing the brim of his hat as he delivered the line. He might have been a deadbeat dad, but by God, he was an inspirational deadbeat dad.

Dash canted his head. “Huh?”

Lemmy sighed. “I’m saying I can’t go back with you, son. I can’t do it.”

“Son?” Dash blinked. “You’re not my dad.”

“I’m not?” A staggering wave of relief washed over Lemmy.

“No.” Dash pointed at Remmy. “He’s my dad.”

Remmy nodded along until he snapped his head, ears pinned back, snout twisted in panic. “Bwuuuh?” Ω