There were neighboring houses close-by, but they weren't as nice as this one. And they had cars parked in their driveways- but this one was serenly empty and open. Bronx's chosen house even had an isolated porch swing and some matching potted plants by the door.

But Bronx wasn't interested in the door. He trotted up the steps and bent down over a paper plate with brown nuggets scattered atop.

Gypsy was ecstatic. She had expected to get into the trash can next to the house, not to find food right on the porch. "Wow!" She looked at him in wonder.

"I've never gotten food like this before. How do you do it?"

Bronx seemed a bit bored with the question. He tapped his tail in a unethusiastic wag against the concrete of the porch. It was cool and familiar underneath Gypsy's paws. Similar to the concrete floors of the Quarantine kennels in the basement of the shelter.

"At first, we were just getting in the trash cans around here." The white female nodded understanding. "But then, the people started leaving plates or bowls of food out for us. Ever since its been easy pickings... First come first serve."

She cocked her head.

"Then how do you get food to your Grand-dog?" Gypsy challenged playfully. Her pink nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air.

"Oh, uh..." The male took another bite full of dog food. He seemed to be thinking as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful.

"I just drag this plate along with it. It's hard work, of course- but it's the only way. If I carry the food in my mouth all the way back, it'll be mushy saliva before the old dog gets to eat it," he said sarcastically.

Gypsy once again nodded understanding as he stepped back to let her eat. When she was done, she waited for Bronx to perform what he had described.

Bronx clumsily knocked half the remaining food off the plate while trying to slide his lips under it. He then raised the entire paper plate itself off the ground with his teeth. But the plate bent and more food spilled.

Seeming not to notice, the dog flicked his head sideways to head for the camp.

His movement caused all the kibble to fly across the porch, scattering atop the smooth cement.

"Well... like I said, it's not easy. Sometimes I get back and there's nothing left on the plate."

Gypsy thought about how dissapointing that must be. How many times had Obelisk seen his grandson coming with a plate, only to look down and see nothing but crumbs? That's why he's so skinny. This method isn't working well enough.

Patiently, the pittie bent her head to pick up the individual pieces of dog food between her teeth. She was careful not to soak them with her saliva, or break them apart accidentally.

Bronx began helping, but she could tell he was becoming frustrated with how quick and jerky he picked up the food.

After they had once again restored a plate full of dog food, the male picked it up. The plate was hit by a gust of wind and flung sideways, however, dumping the food everywhere after just three steps.

With an outraged bark, Bronx flung the entire plate to the ground.

"This is worthless! I'm wasting my patrolling time."

Gypsy felt bad, glancing over at the male sympathetically. "Here, I'll carry it this time. Just help me pick up the food again first."

It's weird how he's only been trying for a few moments; yet has already given up. She thought about asking him how often he really did this.

But that'd make him think I don't trust him. Plus, what if he's just clumsy? Making a clumsy dog, or even an impatient one feel bad isn't gonna help the matter.

After they had searched the porch and grass, finding all of the discarded kibble pieces, Gypsy peered down at the plate.

She'd never done this before, so it was a challenge even deciding the best way to pick up it up. She then noticed that the plate was circular, and obviously bendable as that's how it had dumped the food in the first place.

Experimentally, she stuck her paw behind one of the circles edges and pushed up on it. That edge of the plate bent towards her face, and the food slid sideways.

"We just have to grab it from two edges. Then the food won't be able to slide off; it'll be cradled inside of the plate."

Basically, she had to turn the plate into a makeshift bowl. As she tried to figure it out, Bronx shifted his feet impatiently.

"Here, just let me-"

"Iff got it." Gypsy raised her head in triumph. The hardest part had been grabbing a separate edge of the plate at the same time that her teeth were holding another. The plate was now bent into a taco shape, gently cupping the food in its fold.

"I can't moof my feeth though."

"Your feet? Why?"

"FEEFTH," Gypsy said louder, but still couldn't separate her jowls. If she did, the food would fall down again.

"Lef's go."

The huge male dog nodded and turned his fluffy head back the way they'd came. It was slow pickings- Gypsy stopped and shielded the plate with her body when a gust of wind hit it. By the time they returned to the clearing, and passed through it to reach Obelisk, it was well past noon.

The clearing hadn't been abandoned. North was there with her three pups, nursing them as she laid heavily against a tree. But Gypsy had noticed something.

North's one female pup, Lavender, was nursing in the sheltered crook of her mother's belly. However, the male pups kept getting kicked or shoved away by North's back paws.

"Get back, Lemon!" She snarled to the mottled brown-and-black puppy after a hefty knock in the skull by her back foot.

Without even looking, North was keeping her male pups away from her teats and their sister. The male puppies barked in dismay, and their sister seemed unbothered by the whole ordeal. She paddled her paws against her mother's belly with her eyes closed, suckling. Can't she hear her brother's cries? And... why won't North feed them?

She gathered herself to question the prickly black female. North wouldn't take kindly to someone discussing their opinion of her feeding habits, though.

Gypsy halted. Bronx paused to wait for her as she became enveloped in her thoughts. She supposed the two brothers were just pushy and selfish... so maybe North was allowing Lavender to eat first, before the males took most of the milk.

But wasn't Timber the runt of their litter? Shouldn't he eat first?

Gypsy shook herself. It's not my business anyway. She padded on with the plate still between her teeth, Bronx at her side.

The afternoon light was creating pools of dappled gold upon the forest floor. The trees were towering, extremely thick and protected against bad weather with their lush foliage.

As they reached Obelisk, the old gray-faced male lifted his head feebly. His eyes were milky with age, but they grew brighter and focused as he saw the plate swinging in Gypsy's teeth.

"About time." He smiled and thwacked his tail against the earth as if he enjoyed giving them a hard time.

"The fleas had almost eaten me alive," said the male as he leaned forward eagerly. The plate had hardly touched the ground before he started eating.

Privately, she thought it wasn't enough. I should get him more tomorrow by taking less for myself.

Gypsy was glad that he ate so ravenously, though. It meant she had fed a hungry dog. Her tail wagged, but she made sure to look away so she didn't disrespect the male.

"Well, let's go. I doubt we'll get a thank you when he's done." Bronx turned tail to leave.

"Wait," Gypsy implored. "I want to take him to the Lake so we can try to disturb some of the fleas off of him." She stared at the brown-and-white dog with her head turned. She wouldn't yet leave the old male.

"Umm... well. I need to go patrol." He huffed and widened his eyes as if begging her to dismiss herself.

"What? You two lovebirds want to go off chattering like squirrels away from an old dog like me, huh?" He looked up gruffly with his silvered muzzle.

"That's what it is ain't it? I ain't dumb, though I might look it," he replied huffily with a sputter of laughter. Amusingly, his huff sounded exactly like Bronx's had.

"No, I want to take you to the lake," Gypsy said stubbornly as she turned a sympathetic gaze on Obelisk. His shoulders twitched as the fleas bit them.

"I'll meet up with you later," Gypsy called to a sad-eyed Bronx without pity. She wanted to help this old dog while she got to know him better.

"Okay... I suppose." Bronx's ears sagged lower as he turned away. His form petered out beneath the tree's swathe of shadow.

________________

Bronx