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Description
The next morning, Ford awoke to the sound of his adult roommates smooching in bed. And judging by the mess on the floor, they’d gone to bed yet again unclothed. Sometimes, he thought, movies had more realistic adults than the ones in his own life.

“Ready for another day in the country?” Mitts inquired as she adjusted her guitar picks, then proceeded to realize that she’d gotten her cheek fur stick in the strings.

“I guess. Is your mom gonna take us for that hike?” Eurydice replied while looking under her shirt. Huh, that rub does work. And I smell like old guacamole. Nice!

“When she gets back from work. So, whaddya wanna do first?”
“Eat.”
They laughed at the irony of escaping routine, and grabbed their music gear.
“Mitts, why do your folks live here?”
“It’s, well… it’s enough. Pretty quiet, bare essentials. Good for their age. Why?”
“It’s just… a lot of your songs mention these kinda towns; lame schools, homophobe churches… you don’t even provide a fake name. Why come back? Why not, like, petition to bomb this place?”

Mitts had finally freed her cheek and was now blessed with a face of lesser width. “Because… I guess.. you take all the bad memories with the good ones. And my goodies outnumber the baddies. Mostly!”
“Right right, good and bad, tastes great.”

The two began plucking their twangers, and sang their latest melody “Grind My Head Through The Blender Of Throbbing Heartache” which involved forty-seven kinds of foreign profanity and some thin metaphors about chainsaws and the bourgeois’ downfall. The harmony was wonky, rather inconsistent with a flat B sharp, but the two musicians felt so in key, united in their feelings of standing out (and the unfortunate attraction it sometimes brought). The mostly improvised song proved its worth far more than some commercial gobbledygook could.

Knashford felt it best to leave before they decided to do an encore remix, and hurried downstairs before he could feel his ears crying for mercy. Bump, bump, trod on the tail, thump, down the stairs to find sanctuary. Like most toddlers, the fun factor in journey between destinations was massive. A smell of oat bran came from the kitchen floor. A plate of pancakes with mayonnaise was set out, just for him. Ford, being a being of near-limitless metabolism, devoured it before Manfred could open the cutlery drawer for him.

The old wolf stood before Ford, who had licked the plate clean enough to crack it. Manfred felt quite selfish admitting it, but it was nice to tower over someone again. Not as a figure of authority, mind you, just as someone you could look up to.

“Hi there, pal. Mitten’s mother had made those for you before she left.”
Immediate cracking saucer eyes. “MITTENS’ MOMMY RAN AWAY?!?
Manfred frowned. “No?!? No… she’s just at work…why would you think that?”

“I.. I made her sad.
“What, what’d you do?!?” It wasn’t as bad as when the metalheads reacted to him, this big wolf man was still trying to sound calm at the bare minimum.

“Cause I…I… I broke a plate.”

“Oh. Oh, that. Well, it was a family heirloom, but, no big deal… still, can’t see why it would make her sleep downstairs… err, listen… I need a break from drawing, so I’m going to go fish out in the lake ok? You’re welcome to come… but I’m sure you’d be happier-“

*KreeeZONNGFGFG wahwahhh”IREALLYHATEYOUFIIIIIIIDOOOOOOskree*

“I WANNA GO!” Knashford screeched.
At least I don’t have to worry about him drowning, Manfred relieved, as he took the boy by the hand (or tried to, Ford had to leap for it)) and lead him towards the boat.

Continued...

Description
The next morning, Ford awoke to the sound of his adult roommates smooching in bed. And judging by the mess on the floor, they’d gone to bed yet again unclothed. Sometimes, he thought, movies had more realistic adults than the ones in his own life.

“Ready for another day in the country?” Mitts inquired as she adjusted her guitar picks, then proceeded to realize that she’d gotten her cheek fur stick in the strings.

“I guess. Is your mom gonna take us for that hike?” Eurydice replied while looking under her shirt. Huh, that rub does work. And I smell like old guacamole. Nice!

“When she gets back from work. So, whaddya wanna do first?”
“Eat.”
They laughed at the irony of escaping routine, and grabbed their music gear.
“Mitts, why do your folks live here?”
“It’s, well… it’s enough. Pretty quiet, bare essentials. Good for their age. Why?”
“It’s just… a lot of your songs mention these kinda towns; lame schools, homophobe churches… you don’t even provide a fake name. Why come back? Why not, like, petition to bomb this place?”

Mitts had finally freed her cheek and was now blessed with a face of lesser width. “Because… I guess.. you take all the bad memories with the good ones. And my goodies outnumber the baddies. Mostly!”
“Right right, good and bad, tastes great.”

The two began plucking their twangers, and sang their latest melody “Grind My Head Through The Blender Of Throbbing Heartache” which involved forty-seven kinds of foreign profanity and some thin metaphors about chainsaws and the bourgeois’ downfall. The harmony was wonky, rather inconsistent with a flat B sharp, but the two musicians felt so in key, united in their feelings of standing out (and the unfortunate attraction it sometimes brought). The mostly improvised song proved its worth far more than some commercial gobbledygook could.

Knashford felt it best to leave before they decided to do an encore remix, and hurried downstairs before he could feel his ears crying for mercy. Bump, bump, trod on the tail, thump, down the stairs to find sanctuary. Like most toddlers, the fun factor in journey between destinations was massive. A smell of oat bran came from the kitchen floor. A plate of pancakes with mayonnaise was set out, just for him. Ford, being a being of near-limitless metabolism, devoured it before Manfred could open the cutlery drawer for him.

The old wolf stood before Ford, who had licked the plate clean enough to crack it. Manfred felt quite selfish admitting it, but it was nice to tower over someone again. Not as a figure of authority, mind you, just as someone you could look up to.

“Hi there, pal. Mitten’s mother had made those for you before she left.”
Immediate cracking saucer eyes. “MITTENS’ MOMMY RAN AWAY?!?
Manfred frowned. “No?!? No… she’s just at work…why would you think that?”

“I.. I made her sad.
“What, what’d you do?!?” It wasn’t as bad as when the metalheads reacted to him, this big wolf man was still trying to sound calm at the bare minimum.

“Cause I…I… I broke a plate.”

“Oh. Oh, that. Well, it was a family heirloom, but, no big deal… still, can’t see why it would make her sleep downstairs… err, listen… I need a break from drawing, so I’m going to go fish out in the lake ok? You’re welcome to come… but I’m sure you’d be happier-“

*KreeeZONNGFGFG wahwahhh”IREALLYHATEYOUFIIIIIIIDOOOOOOskree*

“I WANNA GO!” Knashford screeched.
At least I don’t have to worry about him drowning, Manfred relieved, as he took the boy by the hand (or tried to, Ford had to leap for it)) and lead him towards the boat.

Continued...