He'd been a pup when she'd gotten him. All gold tipped black fur, smugly laughing gold eyes, and too big feet. That'd been nearly seven years ago.
Now, now he was massive. The top of the Akita's head came up to her waist and he tipped the scales at nearly two hundred pounds. From the tip of his nose to the tight-as-hell triple curl over of his tail, Ohoda was a prime specimen. And his time had run down.
Too many adventures, too many shifts in climate and energy. Too many battles with beasts bent on harming the woman he'd accepted as his equal and pack leader. Too many cold, damp nights climbing up flights of stairs. And even knowing he was wearing out and running down, he had few complaints.
True, he'd have liked it better, in the beginning at least, had there not been others of his kind to take up even a small portion of her time. His pack brother, Ohetika had gone with the eldest of his woman's children when they'd left the safety of their den, but there'd been others who'd needed her as surely as he had. Now though, he was rather pleased that the pack was bigger. Larger. Better able to protect the den and their territory around it.
Better able to protect the woman than one alone, even he, would have been.
He'd been destined for someone's cook pot when she'd traded for him all those seasons ago. The Satyr had told him so, and her as well. Many times.
Despite the confusing scents, actions and reactions of the myriad of peoples on this world, he'd protected her with the whole of his heart. Except for those rare times when she'd sent him away for his safety. Left him and the pack out of her hunts against those huge flying lizard things that just smelled all kinds of not right.
When he'd been young being left behind had galled him, rubbed his fur and pride the wrong way. How was he to keep her safe when he couldn't be by her side?
There were no regrets really, none that he could do anything to change or balance out. Humans often said that dogs didn't think like they did, and while that was partially true, that wasn't the whole of it. At least, not for all dogs. The depths of Ohoda's thoughts were his alone to know, his worries the same. He simply didn't fret over the things that could not be changed. Didn't let the inevitable drag him down and sink its teeth into his throat.
Stretched luxuriously on the woman's bed, the bun-tight curl of his tail wiggling in the closest thing he could, or would, to joyful, don't-worry wagging, he sneezed his amusement at her doting and hovering. And couldn't be upset. Couldn't wish for the time that wasn't to be.
And when her fingers dug so very lightly, with just the right amount of pressure in just the right place on his neck, he was content.
Now, now he was massive. The top of the Akita's head came up to her waist and he tipped the scales at nearly two hundred pounds. From the tip of his nose to the tight-as-hell triple curl over of his tail, Ohoda was a prime specimen. And his time had run down.
Too many adventures, too many shifts in climate and energy. Too many battles with beasts bent on harming the woman he'd accepted as his equal and pack leader. Too many cold, damp nights climbing up flights of stairs. And even knowing he was wearing out and running down, he had few complaints.
True, he'd have liked it better, in the beginning at least, had there not been others of his kind to take up even a small portion of her time. His pack brother, Ohetika had gone with the eldest of his woman's children when they'd left the safety of their den, but there'd been others who'd needed her as surely as he had. Now though, he was rather pleased that the pack was bigger. Larger. Better able to protect the den and their territory around it.
Better able to protect the woman than one alone, even he, would have been.
He'd been destined for someone's cook pot when she'd traded for him all those seasons ago. The Satyr had told him so, and her as well. Many times.
Despite the confusing scents, actions and reactions of the myriad of peoples on this world, he'd protected her with the whole of his heart. Except for those rare times when she'd sent him away for his safety. Left him and the pack out of her hunts against those huge flying lizard things that just smelled all kinds of not right.
When he'd been young being left behind had galled him, rubbed his fur and pride the wrong way. How was he to keep her safe when he couldn't be by her side?
There were no regrets really, none that he could do anything to change or balance out. Humans often said that dogs didn't think like they did, and while that was partially true, that wasn't the whole of it. At least, not for all dogs. The depths of Ohoda's thoughts were his alone to know, his worries the same. He simply didn't fret over the things that could not be changed. Didn't let the inevitable drag him down and sink its teeth into his throat.
Stretched luxuriously on the woman's bed, the bun-tight curl of his tail wiggling in the closest thing he could, or would, to joyful, don't-worry wagging, he sneezed his amusement at her doting and hovering. And couldn't be upset. Couldn't wish for the time that wasn't to be.
And when her fingers dug so very lightly, with just the right amount of pressure in just the right place on his neck, he was content.