Doggy Days

Life was fairly easy for Alfred. Living in the world's second largest city, enjoying free hotdogs (and sometimes even hamburgers if he was lucky) in a nearby hotdog stand ran by a cheery Italian, and having the comfiest thrown out sofa in the back alleys at night, Alfred had to admit that he was luckier than most abandoned dogs in New York City. Yes, well, of course there were also those rich, overly pampered poodles walking around the block in their little doggy booties but Alfred would never dream of trading his freedom and gusto of peeing shamelessly anywhere than to live that kind of a self-centered, stable lifestyle. Sure, they had high class meals and annual trips to those ridiculous dog salons but at least he didn't have to go to the vet.

Yep, his life was good compared to those bitches. No pun intended.

Now, you'd think that the reason why he lived like this, being 'aloof' and all, was that usual sob story in which his owner had given him up and abandoned him in the streets of New York to fend for himself. While in the contrary, Alfred had abandoned his master himself. It was a great and happy day the night he finally escaped from his hell hole of a home. Alfred ran as fast as his powerful legs could take him, yipping, and inwardly cheering for his freedom with numerous onlookers gawking at the sight of a large golden retriever promenading in Fifth Avenue. He was lucky he didn't get hit by a car that day, or worse, having the cops or some animal catcher running after him.

Still, the dream of finding a new, better owner constantly prodded his mind. Alfred's dream was to be adopted by loving man, preferably a cowboy who owned a large ranch far away from the city. His ideal owner would let Alfred roam around the country side and herd up some cattle like in one of those western movies he watched sneakily behind a rundown theater. Yes, it was either that or to entertain the humans by becoming one of those Hollywood show dogs.

So imagine his luck when the blue-eyed golden retriever met seventeen year old, Arthur Kirkland. Granted the fact that Arthur was none of those things Alfred dreamed about in an owner.

It was cool evening, the beginning of autumn in fact, when Alfred first encountered the Brit.

Alfred was awoken by the sound of spray paint, the putrid fumes entering his very sensitive nose. The dog's eyes fluttered open and he leaped up instinctively to protect his territory. It wasn't uncommon that the neighborhood dogs would gang up on him while his guard was down for his precious sofa. However, Alfred would beat the hell out of them every time they'd try being the badass alpha dog that he was. Not even waiting for the intruder to react first, Alfred pounced on the suspicious figure a feet or two away from him.

There was a clatter as the stranger dropped the spray cans and uttered a surprised, "Bloody hell!"

Alfred's ear twitched and perked up recognizing the voice of a human rather than a growling of a fellow canine. He immediately withdrew his teeth and scrutinized the man under him. As a matter of fact, it was merely a boy, hardly a man yet from Alfred's standards. Still he'd have to admit, the guy was no ordinary, up to date human.

He had pale, blonde hair with the tips of his bangs dyed green contrasting his eyes which were the same color only permanently laced with sarcasm and unruliness. Not only that but he had quite a lot of piercings; one on his nose, two on his bottom lip, at least five each on both of his ears, and judging from his scowl there was probably one on his tongue. Alfred couldn't blame the boy for frowning and being so cross, after all, he would probably be too if he had those weird, shiny things on his mouth. They looked simply uncomfortable.

Alfred was about to forgive the stranger and make peace with his fellow rebellious brother when the douche bag shoved him off into the cold pavement. The teen angst was spewing out unearthly curses with his unfamiliar way of enunciating words and was animatedly making hand gestures. The blonde was talking so much and for so long that for all Alfred knew, he could've been narrating his whole life story. After a while, Alfred began tuning the boy out until he finally stopped talking and ended with: "….and after all that, I end up in this bloody American city ranting to a retarded mutt!"

Now, Alfred was no Smart Alec but he wasn't stupid – and he still wasn't over the fact that the dude pushed an awesome, lovable, hunk of happiness and joy (he was talking about himself, of course) mercilessly like shit. In return he barked: "Yeah? Well at least I'm not a pathetic, teenager creeping around and vandalizing the city! I oughta tell the cops on you!"

As expected Arthur, as the teen was later called, could not speak dog but that didn't mean he couldn't imagine a response from an animal. "Yes, I bet you're angry I called you a mutt but let's not lie about the fact that you are one seeing as how repulsive you are to look at. Ha! At least, I'm intelligent and don't go sniffing other mutts' arses!"

"You call yourself intelligent? You humans think you're so great. At least I don't go piercing my body for the sheer unattractiveness of it, and the fucking fact that it hurts like a bitch!"

And that was how it went between them; barking insults back and forth without having a clue to what the other was really saying. You can imagine how ridiculous it would have been peering into the minds of Alfred and Arthur. To be frank, the two were just making up what the other was probably saying inside their heads and exploding into their own, senseless rants. In a way, it was probably a one-sided conversation.

"Well at least I'm not American!"

"Well at least, I don't talk to dogs – wait, well yes I do, but I'm not a human so it's not weird to have a friendly chat with the pooches in the park. And at least, I'm an American, you… you… damn, what are you, kid?"

After a while (and a lot of barking), Alfred finally had enough of playing Mister Nice Guy – dog, Mister Nice Dog and bit Arthur's outstretched hand. It was a simple chomp, but Alfred thought the British dude over reacted too much. He jumped back and started shaking Alfred off; so much to the point where the dog was nearly off the ground and had clench his canines tighter onto Arthur's hand to not fly off. As a result, the Brit started to shriek louder, trying to pull his hand from the mutt's slobbering mouth.

Alright already, bro. I'm getting dizzy from all hullabaloo!

Alfred spat out the hand, thankfully not coated with blood. However, the idiot started complaining instead.

"Ahhhh! Rabies! The sodding mutt has rabies! I'm going to die in a few hours, give and take. Damn it all! I haven't even done a gig or even showcased any of my works yet. And I haven't even gotten drunk yet either! If I'm going to die I could have at least been drunk or something. Blasted mongrel!"

Arthur kicked the dog and sprinted off with Alfred trotting after him, biting his heels.