My Family

Let me tell you about my family. Not my pack. I'll save that for another night. 

Jack and Sherry are the husband and wife. Sherry is 44 and a hotty, curly blond hair and a killer body. She walks like a dancer. Were I the wrong kind of dog I might be prone to humping her leg at times. Only problem with that plan is that Jack would kick my ass. Literally. She works as a nurse. She tells me I am handsome. She has good taste. 

Jack is 46, over six foot, and over two hundred pounds. He lifts weights, pounds a heavy bag. He carries kitchen knives like he is heading into a fight, along his forearm, concealed. He is a former Army Ranger. Knows what he is doing. He might even last half a minute with a werewolf. That's a long time for a human. He is also the kind of guy that goes out of his way to save baby bunnies. Long story.

Sven and Rick are their sons, my boys. They are both 12, almost 13, sixth grade. Both are tall. Sven is slender and fast. Rick is thick and powerful. Sven plays basketball. Rick plays football. Both are smart, Honor Roll.  But, they watch too much TV, cartoons, and play too much SPS. They should take me for more walks. It's hard to stay in shape to fight werewolves when your boys won't take you for walks but once or twice a week. I lay down each night in Rick's room. Flecka sleeps in Sven's room.

Braden is nineteen and in Iraq. I should be there with him. I worry about him. He is a tall, athletic and smart. But he is still a kid. I have no idea if he has a good squad leader or platoon sergeant. But, Jack taught him to shoot and hunt, and to track, to scan up and down, all around, not just down at the ground in front of your feet. They used to take me with them to watch Braden play baseball. He was a damn good shortstop. But, never basketball. No dogs in gyms. He is in the 82nd. At least there is that. The more elite a unit is the less casualties they tend to sustain. And who knows, maybe all those combat video games actually help him over there. Wish I was there to watch his back.

 

Flecka is my girlfriend. Well, not really. She is my buddy. I would do anything for her. She is a 10 year old black lab, about eighty pounds. She is not all together there, mentally, due to something that happened when she was a small pup. She has two bad wheels, he left front and right rear legs. She moves with a limp. So, she is a little slow. She has the biggest heart of any dog, human, or weredog I know. I would do anything for her. Woe to the werewolf that messes with my Flecka.

Bella is our alpha. Kinda. She is the oldest dog, at 12 years, and she is a little neurotic. She is a black lab mix, 45 pounds, white chest, high-strung. I let her be boss because it is just not worth it to do otherwise. And to be honest, I would rather face a pack of werewolves than face off with a pissed off Bella. She's crazy when she gets crazy, which is much of the time.

Hailey is the cat. Our cat. Wait. I know what you are thinking. That all cats are evil, spawns of satan. But, it's not like that with Hailey. Really. She is  small, back cat, about 15 pounds.  She and Bella struggle for dominance. She and I touch noses sometimes. I like her. She does not fear easily. 

I am tired. Up all night last night, searching for wolf scent, and no chance to nap today. I need to sleep. Flecka is looking very warm. I think I will change and snuggle up next to her.