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I was also getting annoyed. I reallywasjust trying to do my goddamn job, and this damn dog-that-wasn’t-a-fucking-dog was making it harder.Andthe little shit was making me feel guilty about it at the same time.
“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do,” I said to the dog, which of course didn’t say a damn thing back, because it was adog. Or in dog form. Either way, not capable of forming syllables.
Then the dog whined.
“If I get you out of here, are you going to shift back and talk to me?”
This one was more a whimper than a whine. I wasn’t sure what the fuck to do with that.
“Is that a goddamn yes or no?” I asked, not really talking to the dog, because it wasn’t going to be able to give me a more reasonable answer than it already had. I sighed. “Okay, we’ll deal with that later. But I do have to get you out of this fucking dumpster. Okay?”
The dog seemed to be studying me.
It was deeply unnerving just how judgmental a dog could be, especially a dog covered in blood cowering in a dumpster.
I’m not sure what made the damn thing decide I passed, but it took one halting step forward, the action a hopping limp.
“Fuck, bud. That’s mostly your blood, isn’t it?”
The dog whined again, louder this time.
“Okay. I’ll try to be gentle. Don’t take my fingers off, okay?”
The dog didn’t respond to that, but it also didn’t attempt to growl or bite me as I eased my way across the unstable garbage so that I could slide a hand under its stomach.
I was surprised at how warm its skin was, soft and a little squishy under my hand. I put one arm around its belly, the other around its chest. His chest. Our little friend was definitely a dude dog.
Well. Probably a dude dog.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever thought about asking a dog for its pronouns. Nor did I have any idea how it would actually be able to answer me that didn’t involve doing something vulgar.
I shook my head a little to push that bizarre set of thoughts out of my mind. I’d figure it out later. Right now, I had a bloody—literally as well as figuratively—dog to get out of a dumpster.
As I tensed to lift the dog, my weight shifted, and something cold and wet slid into my sock.
Ugh.I was going to have to burn this entire outfit. Socks, shoes, pants, shirt, all of it.
The dog was shockingly heavy for something that looked so scrawny. “Shit, doggo.” It wasn’t that I couldn’t lift it—I can carry Ward around, and the damn dog didn’t weigh more than he does—I just wasn’t expecting it to be quite that heavy, and it threw me off, landing me on my ass square in something squelchy. The dog let out a yelp and squirmed.
“Oh,fuck me fucking sideways,” I snarled, somehow managing to keep hold of the dog.
“Do you—”
“Shut up and fuck off, Doc.”
“Just offering to help,” the infuriatingly calm orc replied mildly.
“Just take—” I grunted as I managed to get my feet under me again. “This damn dog from me.”
Doc’s arms appeared over the top of the dumpster, and I somehow managed to get the alarmed animal into his capable green hands.
“You’re okay,” he told the dog, leaving me soaking in whatever horrible stew of rancid gravy and old mayo I’d managed to cover myself with. “Take it easy. Ward, can you come take our new friend, please?”
I sighed. “Tell him to wrap the damn thing in my coat,” I called to Doc, despite the fact that the fucking dog was going to ruin my coat.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I heard Ward croon at the dog.
Fuck me. And fuck my life.
