Looking back, I had to question if I should have chased my puppy. If I hadn't, all the madness that followed might have never happened. My world wouldn't have turned upside down, and I wouldn't have been thrust into the middle of a strange realm straight out of a fantasy video game.

But I had gone after the damn dog. That damn. Adorable. Lovable. Seven-pounds-of-stubborn-attitude-Chihuahua. And now, I was in for the fight of my life that would drive even the staunchest Puritan to hit the bottle.

***

"Don't even think about it," I said, yanking Slash's leash. It didn't take much. The Chihuahua weighed less than the case of microbrew I'd brought home before heading out for the walk. I gave the leash another tug, this time slighter. "Come on. It's cold and I've had a shitty day."

Slash was nearly absorbed by the bush he was investigating. At seven pounds, that's hardly shocking. Night had already fallen, doing little to highlight the tiny dog's black coat. The only parts of the small body not covered in black fur were his undercarriage and the two dots of tan above his eyes. Under the bush, none of that was evident now. When Slash investigated, nothing stopped him except for his stifling fear. Of everything.

I looked up at the night sky, thinking of all the heat the planet was losing into that vast emptiness above and ignoring the urge to rush the walk to beat the worst of it and get my little buddy home. The dog needed this. Deserved this. He'd sat at home all day, alone, while I worked my dead-end job. He'd waited for me. Suffered through hours of bad Nineties grunge I'd left playing on my speaker to keep him company. I didn't have the money, room, or energy for another dog, even one of Slash's size, which meant he was alone every day. Work filled my life, as sad as that is to admit.

No, I wouldn't win any fur-baby-parent-of-the-year awards any time soon.

A drizzle misted my face. Typical Pacific Northwest weather eleven months of the year, of which I was smack dab in the middle of.

Still buried in the bush, Slash growled at something, yelped, and scurried backward. A flapping in the darkness above the yellow glow of the park's lights briefly distracted me from my munchkin's efforts.

"What is it, buddy?" I asked, half-heartedly bending to peer under the bush, knowing damn well he most likely didn't even see anything. The Chihuahua had a habit of freaking out over everything. "See something?"

Slash looked up at me with teeny dark eyes rimmed with a seal of wet tears. He shook, but Slash, like all Chihuahuas, always shook. All. The. Time.

I shook my head. "Nope. Not picking you up."

He looked up, one fang exposed because his muzzle always dries out and his lips constantly snag a tooth. The shiver moved down to his hind legs. He sat.

"Put that away," I said, glimpsing his tiny manhood, standing proudly. "Whatever you think you saw under that bush isn't worth getting that excited about."

Slash just blinked, the two spots of tan fur above each of his eyes flicking up and down as he shivered.

In my hand, my phone's screen brightened with the notification of a new message. It was Dee. My most recent ex-girlfriend in a long line of coulda-woulda-shoulda beens. Dee was different, though. She was one of the few who didn't hate me for my inability to commit to a life of knick-knack shopping on weekends. Dee was good people. Just because we didn't work out changed none of that. The relationship disintegrated, not because of anything she did or was. Or me, for that matter. We didn't work because we were two people at different points in our lives when things went to crap. The cool thing? Both of us understood that, which went a long way toward explaining how we could be the envy of all failed relationships in town. Well, at least within our own circles, small as they were.

'Sup, Cowboy?

I shook my head, smirking.

Sup.

Plans?

Walking the pup.

Awww, how's my wee man?

Just like old times. As easy to shoot the shit with Dee now, months after our breakup, as it was when things were good.

MY wee man is doing well. Though, I swear, I don't know how something his size can piss so much.

Because you're always feeding him booze.

Lies.

I chuckled at loud.

Anyway. Give him a belly rub for me.

You got it. What's up?

Don't know. Just wanted to check on you.

Everything okay?

My gut. Something's weird.

Like?

Don't know. Just creeped. Didn't help that I saw a bat when I was trying to get into the apartment. I haven't run that fast in a long time.

I snorted. I've seen Dee run. It's not pretty.

Must have been a sight.

Don't laugh. It's not funny. You'd appreciate that if you had hair.

I have hair.

Ha! You got out of the military two years ago and could still pass inspection with that high and tight you're sporting.

Touche.

Can you imagine getting a bat tangled in the nest I'm sporting?

Humidity get to you today?

You know it.

Well, I promise, I'm good and safe. Heading home after he finds a place to shit.

You can't rush perfection. One must poo only in the perfect spot.

Obviously.

Check in when you get home?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I squinted at the luminous screen. This was odd for Dee. Other girlfriends? Sure. Some of them could crank the annoyance level to twelve in the blink of an eye, but not her. She was sweet and caring and considerate. If she needed five seconds of my time when I got home just to let her know I'd made it safe, I'd give it to her. Even if there was absolutely no reason for her to act like this. Talking to her was one of the few things I 'had' to do that never felt like an obligation.

Promise. I'll check in the minute I get in the door and get the wee man's leash off.

Thanks. Be safe.

Roger.

Don't do that. I'm not your drill sergeant.

We didn't have drill sergeants in the Air Force.

Home. Check in. Got it? Over n out. #ListenToYourEx. #SheKnows #WomenRRight #DontPlay

Bye.

Bye.

I tapped the screen. The phone went dark even before I slid it into my pocket.

Slash loosed a series of high-pitched barks in rapid-fire mode, pulling toward the bushes on the far side of the park. He might weigh less than some dumps I took, especially after buffet night, but his sudden movement coupled with the fact that I was still sliding my phone in my pocket and only half paying attention was the perfect opportunity for his sudden liberation.

The retractable leash housing smacked the gray concrete sidewalk and bounced up into Slash's tail. The little dog yelped, pulling his hind legs up to avoid the attack from behind by his own damn leash, and nearly face-planted. Spooked, he did the last thing I needed or wanted him to do at that moment.

He burst across the park, giving me the wonderful opportunity to get in an evening workout after ten hours of sitting in a cubicle answering customer complaints.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Stop!"

Who was I fooling? There was no stopping that tiny ball of energy once he set his mind to something.

The transition from concrete to slick grass was hardly glorious. My right foot hit the grass, slid out from underneath me, and kicked back. My weight shifted before I was ready and I met a cruel, humiliating, and chilling fate when I crashed to the turf.

I glanced up and growled. Slash's yaps filled the night air, along with the distinct flapping of way too many bat wings. His already diminutive form bounced away with a briskness that stopped my heart. Love the little guy to death, but he was a pain in the ass. There was no stopping him until he either ran into a wall, a good samaritan, or the street. I didn't like my odds with any of them. Call me possessive—I'm not, unless it comes to my pup—but I couldn't stop the thumping in my chest even if I wanted to. Not while my little buddy was hauling ass after something he wouldn't confront on his most confident day.

Life had already thrown enough diarrhea in my face. I didn't get kicked out of the military, but I didn't have the most glowing record to show for my time. During the eight years I served, I never got around to finishing my degree, like all my friends. While they sat around western Washington, supported by friends and family, I deployed around the world or the military moved me around every couple of years. And women? Don't get me started. What smart woman wanted a guy staring down his thirtieth loop around the sun, one without a college degree? One who only possessed a ridiculously small apartment with an even more ridiculously high rent? One with a savings account with too many zeroes on the wrong side of the decimal? A guy with a job that offered long hours, crap pay, and an unscrupulous boss?

No, the last thing life was going to do to me was take my goddamn excitable puppy away. I'd just adopted the little guy last summer, giving him his forever home. But at this rate of father failure-ness, my name was about to be plastered all over dog adoption blacklists for the rest of eternity.

I grunted and was on my feet, taking each step with slightly more care this time.

Slash was faster. He floated across the park, disappearing behind the row of trees which served as the line of demarcation between the park and the spot where the city of Olympia inserted itself in everyone's face like an obnoxious, drunken uncle at a holiday gathering.

This was it. I was really going to lose the little dude. Sure, I had him micro-chipped, but sorry-not-sorry, I don't trust people enough to think that whoever found him would also turn him in. In eight years in the Air Force, I met enough people from around the world to know that trusting strangers to do the right thing was a fool's folly.

Those thoughts fired my momentum. I was just warming up, I realized, as I raced across the open park toward the trees.

In the distance, Slash's barks cut through the night. Aggressive. Pitched.

Scared.

My thighs burned, but damn, I felt like I was flying across the grass. The trees rushed toward me instead of the other way around.

Above, something flapped, sounding far larger than any bat I'd ever heard whizz above in the blanket of the night sky.

The misting rain lashed at my face. Houses and buildings, rising above the treeline, blurred into malformed squares of light. The screech of the nighttime airborne creatures morphed with the power of the Doppler effect.

Right now, I could have barreled through a wall if it meant getting to Slash and cutting cut off whatever had him so scared that I was sure he'd already pissed down his legs in the manliest of streams that puny guy could produce.

My fists clenched as I sprinted through the last third of the park and into the trees. "I'm coming, little buddy. Hang on."

I surged forward to save my puppy.

As I closed, I inched forward, my arm extended to my little black and tan pup. It would have made a slobbering and probably embarrassing reunification moment for anyone watching if I'd lifted him into my protective embrace, but I didn't dare at the moment.

I'd broken through the tree line. The park stood behind me, as silent and cold as my mother's disapproval when I told her I was joining the military. Before me, my tiny Chihuahua stood with his four legs forming the widest base six inches of sinew, ligaments, fur, and bone could. A quarter-sized tuft of hair stood at his withers.

"What do you see, buddy?" I leaned slightly, not reaching to pet and calm him. Touching the Chihuahua would fail miserably. Instead, laying a hand on his scrawny back would likely send him shooting into the bush he was now flexing on like a twenty-something with failed professional sports aspirations.

A rumble of a growl sounded from Slash's gut. Adorable, if only the air didn't hold an unnerving feeling. Cursing Dee for freaking me out, I peered into the dark shadows of the large bush. The park lights barely touched it. The street was fifty yards in the opposite direction, and its lights didn't help.

"Maybe we should just go?"

Slash acted like he hadn't heard me. Braced and ready to bolt if something came out of the bush, he acted as if I hadn't spoken at all.

"There's nothing in there." Even my glib laugh didn't seem to ease him. I slowly reached down for his leash. "Come on, wee man. Let's get home."

My hand was almost at the leash grip when Slash dashed sideways, freaked out by my movement. He yipped and yapped, his tiny eyes wide and his hackles raised as he vocally assaulted the bush. His leash's cumbersome grip and leash housing bounced along behind him as he tried to avoid it, the bush, and my intrusive hand. Once it bounced against his leg, I knew there was no catching this turkey, not as determined to freak himself out as he was.

When Slash gets like this, I learned the only way to get back in his good graces and get him under control was by posing as a non-threat. I mean, it makes sense. I'm six-one and two hundred and ten pounds of relatively decent muscle. My presence had to be intimidating, especially to a dog already intimidated by most of life. So I did the one thing that would calm him to calm down enough to come slinking back within my reach so I could snag his leash. I sat down.

"Happy?" I asked my pup.

Slash had stopped darting all over the place, even though he continued snapping his head around to ensure he wouldn't fall victim to another attack by his retractable leash.

A wet ass was a small price to pay to comfort the little guy. "I really want to get home. I'm cold. My ass is wet. And I'm hungry." Tonight seemed oddly quiet, though. Even the cloud cover seemed stilled, as if painted on the sky. "What do you say we get home and get a beefy treat?"

Slash bowed his head and sniffed at the grass, slinking forward. He was almost within reach when he stopped again, his head snapping up at the cracking of a branch.

My head flashed around and prickles rose on my arms.

Slash yapped and growled, growled and yapped, as he hunkered lower at the hidden presence.

I lowered my voice. "It's okay, buddy. We're going to go home and get a nice, meaty snack. Maybe two. Okay?"

The branches of the bush shook. I bolted upright. Slash yipped and shuffled back, farther away from me and whoever was fucking around in the shrubbery.

"Tonight's not the night," I said to the bushes, scanning the long row for any signs of movement. "I'm serious, dude. Just let me get my dog."

Watching the shrubbery, I felt a slight nudge against my calf. I looked down to see Slash cuddling against me. He looked up, his eyes shimmering as he shivered.

I smiled. "You've got to be freezing, wee man. What do you say we head home?"

He snapped his head at the bush he was developing a perpetual hatred for. His ears, never the sharply angled type possessed by domineering dogs, flopped forward, bent in half. He raised one, but it only peaked for a second before flopping over again. His front paws, recently planted in the wet earth like he planned on pinning it down, convulsed. His growl sounded like a road roller smoothing out blacktop on a highway project.

Just as I was about to snap him up, a sudden burst of light knocked me backward. So powerful it set the entire area alight, like someone had turned on stadium lights. And we don't have stadiums in Olympia.