Clearview Valley

An average morning in March. The only sound breaking the silence of the new sunrise was birdsong and cicadas. An average start in the Panhandle, at least, near Cliff Springs Acres. A cozy farm, found surrounded by woods, yet only about two miles north from the nearest town. That was how he liked it. It was too overstimulating there anyway: the scents, the sounds. As far as he knew, the only thing he had to worry about was the occasional coyote pack wandering too close by the farm.

Bruce. The name suited him well. An Anatolian shepherd, born into a litter of three pups. Never knew what happened to his siblings or parents. One ran off, the other given away to another family. Never knew his father, and his mother grew old.

The humans always talked about how he was always on the larger side. Hundred and fifty five pounds, but was also at least 5 inches taller.

Of course, he wasn’t living the aristocratic lifestyle of the average lap dog. Six years of collecting scars, a missing eye, and an amputated right forepaw. He adapted. It wasn't hard. If he didn’t, that meant he would have to end up like those pampered pups.

And he hated being around others. Humans and dogs included.

Sure, he’d mind his manners around the children and elderly. He always obeyed his master. It was just easier to be alone. Just who he was.

And who he wanted to be.

Until the truck.

The day started normally enough. Waking in the small shack his owners called a “house” for him, smelling the fresh air. It was his first time being able to sleep outside again: during the late fall and through winter he was “allowed”— although it felt more like “was forced”— to sleep indoors with them. He hated that small room, but at least he got the fireplace for himself.

He rose to his paws, quietly licking his chops. No scent of anything feral. Maybe a field mouse. That wasn’t his problem.

Instead, he quietly paced off to where he learned was the sheep pen, his only forepaw landing on the top of the fence. Learned that trick once while smuggling some of the scraps from his owners. With how tall he was, there was no reason to use it anymore.

Asleep. Of course all of those lazy, walking clouds were. He scanned the tree line, hackles rising at a low hum. Only one of them was pacing around.

Big Bertha. Only ewe in the flock with horns. Impossible to miss. She barely took a moment’s rest since her lamb disappeared. As far as he knew, the little one could be anywhere by now, most likely dead.

He pushed off of the fence, padding off towards the barn itself. His owner was probably awake by now. He usually woke up at this time, refilling his food and water, as well as for the livestock.

The scent of gasoline filled his nostrils immediately. A tattered pickup idled nearby, sputtering smoke, startling him with its sudden presence. A rather large man was there, along with a more slimmer man, his owner. He managed to make out their conversation.

“—ordered any later and someone else would’ve taken them,” the larger man finished. “Just give me a second to get them from the back.”

Markus nodded, not seeming to notice Bruce. The shepherd only lied down, deciding to lick his paws clean. Probably just another supply delivery. Those weren’t uncommon.

“This one here is Pixie,” the delivery man started. Bruce picked his head up immediately. From the back seat, a dark beige she-dog, most likely an American bully, or a bulldog, he decided she was a mix of both breeds, leapt out, before looking back in. The man reached back into the car for a few seconds, before taking out three pups, similar to her, and placing them on the ground.

“Had pups a month ago,” the man finished finally.

The first two pups were plump, similar to their mother. One wearing a blue collar, while the other wore a pink one, accompanied by a rather large bow attached behind it. The third pup? He was bigger than his siblings. Clearly weaned way earlier than them, and took advantage of it.

Curious, Bruce got up. Markus noticed him instantly, gesturing for him to approach.

“C’here, Bruce!”

He then continued, reluctantly. Pixie, the mother of the overweight pups, immediately froze seeing him. Unblinking, she pressed her pups close to her side, eyes tracking Bruce’s every movement. The larger dog only sniffed her, before quietly snorting.

“New scent.”

Afterwards, Pixie took her opportunity to sniff back. She drew her head back slowly, licking her lips.

“Safe?”

They both looked back at the delivery man when he spoke again.

“The big guy in the back is Titan. He’s… skittish.”

The man reached to the back part of the truck, where the top was covered. After waiting a few more seconds, a large, grey dog stumbled his way out. A pittie. Part of his left ear was gone, and his jaw seemed twisted.

The pit pull scrambled backward once he saw Bruce, letting out a half growl, half whine. He nipped at him, causing Bruce to growl himself.

The delivery man stepped between them, arms wide, blocking Titan with his body.

“Don’t! No one’s fighting.”

Markus called Bruce back, and only then did he relax, his gaze lingering on Titan. By now, he had already squeezed himself halfway under the truck.

“He’s a rescue,” the delivery man admitted. “Saved him from an underground dog selling business that shut down a few weeks ago.”

Markus nodded. “He’ll be real comfortable here, right, Bruce?”

He didn’t look up, instead busying himself by scratching his ear. Titan was still very much wedged under the vehicle, nearly tilting it.

The other man nodded, then paused. “I also found one more on my way here.”

He reached towards the driver’s seat, before picking up a small pup, with colors varying from gray, blue and white. A husky or border collie, one ear folded while the other perked up.

“Found her—” he cut off, trying to make sure the pup didn’t climb out of his hands, “— near the side of the road. Probably a stray.”

The new pup wiggled wildly, yipping, her paws battering the man’s vest. Bruised but bright-eyed, she nosed Markus.

“I wouldn’t mind caring for her.”

Soon after the men finished their conversation, and the delivery man finally drove off— which caused Titan to dart off like a headless chicken, Markus put Bruce in charge of showing the other dogs around. He snorted, following his owner instead. From what he knew, he was probably going to fill the extra food bowls.

And Bruce would use the time it took for them to eat to get some alone time.

“This way.”

The small pup, that husky, didn’t bother to hesitate, leaping clumsily to Bruce’s side instantly. Seeing how the larger dog didn’t finch, Pixie approached slowly, gently nudging her own pups forward. Titan followed from behind.

As they reached the porch, a low scratching sound came from beneath the steps. Bruce didn’t flinch, scratching the door himself with his giant paws.

“Copper. Barn cat.”

The other dogs calmed down. The feline didn’t leave the floorboards, deciding she was more comfortable where she was. Bruce envied her. Able to stow away whenever she pleased. Not having to interact with anyone.

He quietly pointed his nose in the direction of the food bowls. The others followed his lead, settling near what they claimed as their own bowls.

Pixie didn’t touch her food, instead tucking into the water. The four pups made a windmill formation, circling one bowl as they each greedily ate whatever mash was in it for them. Clearly, they were far too young for kibble. Titan just sat there.

Bruce stood up, growling lightly.

“You, eat. Now.”

Titan stared, then lowered his head, edged closer, then licked at the food. Bruce snorted, then got up, taking a few laps of water for himself.

He wandered onto the back porch, where screens glinted with rainwater, hungry for a place to rest away from the others. Then something butted into his paw. He turned around.

That collie.

He simply tried to ignore her.

“Go back.”

Instead, she pressed closer, blue and amber eyes wide with curiosity, refusing to give up. Bruce nipped at her, growling low.

“Go back, now.”

The pup still didn’t move.

That left no other option.

Reluctantly, he bent down, and picked her up by the scruff, not caring about how she clawed at his old olive green collar, or his already torn bandana, or his long gone eye, shrieking in a manner only huskies could achieve.

Finally, he set her back on the porch.

“Stay.”

She sat, her head tilted. Her floppy ear drooped away from her face.

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

He paused, then gestured toward the trees, where fresh claw marks gouged the old pine. “Coyotes. They kill. Sheep. Chickens. You.”

“Why?”

Bruce huffed silently.

“Always hungry. So, stay close here, stay safe from them.”

“You leader?”

Bruce stared for a moment, then turned away.

“No.”

“Brother?”

“Never.”

The pup didn’t care. Instead. She clumsy tried to nip at the tip of Bruce’s curled tail, making small growls as she did. Bruce only got up, walking to wherever Markus was. Maybe he could get rid of this mutt, so he could get back to his job.

The human, upon seeing the two, gave a soft chuckle.

“Well, I see you’re enjoying the company of your little sister, huh, Bruce?”

Bruce froze. Little sister? He didn’t sign up for half of what happened. He wasn’t about to be followed around by a pup for the rest of his life!

“Found a name for her. We’ll call you Socks,” the human said. The collie didn’t even respond, clearly the first time she’d been given a name.

For a moment, Bruce only stared at Socks, uncertain what to do next. Then he wandered off, already knowing the small thing would just trail behind him. Again.

Eventually, he got back to his post near the sheep, before sitting down. That pup still didn’t leave, but he had already given up trying to get rid of her.

Instead, Bruce positioned himself between Socks and the sheep, eyes fixed on the shadowy edge of the woods.

“You won’t be spoiled around here, you know.”

Socks looked up. He continued.

“Dangerous around here. You won’t be training for another four months. But when you do you'll have to listen.”

The pup stared at him, then back at the sheep. Afterwards she attempted to squeeze her way under the fence’s mesh, digging around the earth to make it through. Quickly, Bruce lunged forward, grabbing her scruff before she could finish.

“Don’t bother. Only humans can open that. Besides, the moment they spot you, they’ll go stomping in a frenzy.”

Eventually, Socks stopped struggling, her tail wagging as she dangled helplessly from Bruce’s mouth. This was going to be a very long day.

Bruce dropped her gently, keeping one eye on the tree line. It was barely noon.

“You, listen. Go with the other pups. I’ll stay here.”

“But that’s *boring*!”

“Shame. You’ll have to be bored.”

Socks whimpered, trailing after Bruce as he left.

“Why do you get to have fun?”

“I’m not. Gotta watch the flock.”

“That’s not boring.”

Bruce snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Isn’t it?”

The shepherd stared at her for a good moment.

“Fine, you can stay.”

“Really?! I can see the sheep?”

“Only ‘cuz you asked if it was boring, and I wanna prove a point.”

Quietly, Socks settled nearby, tail occasionally wagging as she tried to keep herself from barking every time a sheep so much as lifted an ear.

Of course, she was especially interested in Bertha.

“Wow. She’s scary.”

Bruce nodded. “‘Specially now. Lost her lamb.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Coyotes more than likely took ‘im.”

Socks tilted her head. “Can’t we take him back?”

Bruce froze. “Didn’t you hear me before? You can’t just go and fight a coyote. The ones around here live in groups as well.”

“We don’t have to fight them.”

“‘Course you do. That’s the job around here, kid.”

Bruce then paused. He never actually had to fight coyotes off. Not since his last growth spurt.

“Just… don’t worry about it, and sit still, alright?”

“Why?”

Bruce stood up. “Stop. Asking. “Why”, alright? I’m already annoyed about you following me.”

“Okay.”

The older dog sighed. Finally, he had some peace and quiet.

“Bruce?”

“What now?”

“Did you ever know a coyote?”

Bruce huffed. “Plenty.”

Socks’s ears perked. “Really?”

“Yep. There’s a… a group of them. Usually, they live alone, but these ones decided otherwise.”

“And they ate sheep?!”

“Only one. It was one of the sick ones, though. They find it easier to go after chickens when they wander off.”

“And you fought all of them?” Socks tilted her head with a short whine.

“Where you think my paw and eye went?” The older dog stood, before looking back.

“Were they scary?”

“Eh. Nothin’ too scary for me,” the older dog huffed back.

Socks looked at him. “You think I’ll be a coyote fighter, too?”

“You? In a few months, maybe. Too early for you to start trainin’.”

Socks nodded, then sat down. “You think Bertha’ll ever get her lamb back?”

“Not in one piece, ill tell tou thwt much,” Bruce huffed. “C’mon. It’s time you and the other pups get some shut eye.”

“But, I’m not tired,” Socks protested as the larger dog grabbed her scruff.

“Well, I sure am. And if I’m tired, youre tired as well.”

“Can I sleep by you?”

“Wha— course not, kid! I’m not your ma!”

“Okay… can I sleep with Copper?”

“If she don’t try scratching you up first.”

Socks seemd to take that as an answer.

Good. No more bickering for the rest of the night.