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Aaron felt the warm water running down his broad back as he planted his hands and leaned against the tiled wall.

As soon as they walked through the door, Sandra had ushered him upstairs. She'd left him alone, instructing him to strip and leave his clothes on the landing, then jump straight in the shower. He'd been eager to oblige, almost bounding up the steps two-at-a-time.

He tossed his head back, letting the showerhead blast jets of water right into his equine face; some of it found its way into his snout. He snorted, shaking his head, tossing it from side-to-side, flinging water from his mane onto the glass shower partition.

He looked through the fogging glass at rest of the room. White-walled and tiled, it was obviously the house of a canine family, due to the oversized, shed-friendly drain, and the tiled floor; equine houses tended to have more hoof-friendly floors. This bathroom alone was larger than his first apartment had been, years ago, back in North London. The entire corner was arranged like a wet-room, bordered on three sides with glass, giving a large enough shower cubicle that if he swung his arms, he would only just be able to touch the outer edges while standing in the centre. There was a large basin with two faucets, two mirrors, and even...

A washing machine and drier? In the bathroom? He thought.

He grabbed a bar of soap that was sitting on plastic shelf, and started working it into his white-furred hands to get it to lather.

Now what? He thought. Despite the way they had met, Sandra had been kind enough to help him, when she could just as easily have run him straight off her land. She seemed nice...

He proceeded to clean off his bay-coloured upper arms, and shoulders, before running his hands down to his muscular chest. His left hand stopped at his midriff, a finger running along a ridge in his fur and skin; a long scar. It reminded him that perhaps someone like himself shouldn't have darkened her doorstep; someone so courteous as to welcome a stranger into her home.

Finished with his upper body, he ran his hands down to his groin, taking a moment to wash his equine gifts before proceeding down to his legs, all the way to his white-coloured hooves that clattered on the floor-tiles as he moved.

When he was done, he had made up his mind. He was going to grab some clothes, call a tow-truck, and head back to his car; if he could do so without seeing Sandra again, that would be for the best.

He turned off the shower. Right away he shook himself to remove any excess water and felt the sweltering heat of the humid room. He turned and stepped out of the shower cubicle, only to see that there were no towels.

Surprised, he looked around, but though the bathroom was well-decorated, it was sparse. The shelves and racks were bare; there were no towels, no robes, not even a hand-towel.

Maybe she put some stuff outside? He thought. He walked over to the door and opened it with his left hand, pulling the door to crack the left side open. Sure enough, on the floor was a folded towel. He crouched and stretched out his left hand, holding onto the door-handle with his right. He reached through the gap, but the towel was just that bit too far away. He took a breath, then strained himself, reaching out further while still holding the door as closed as possible, but it was no use.

He repositioned his hooves with a clack-clack on the tiled floor, and inched the door open a touch more. With just enough room to slip his shoulder through, he lunged at the towel, just touching it with his fingertips when-

"Aaron?"

Sandra's voice came from close by, causing him to tense up in surprise. Almost as if on cue, his hooves slid out on the tiled floor, while his damp hand lost its grip on the door-handle. Like a baby foal still learning to walk, his body bowled over, and he landed, stark-naked, out in the middle of the landing.

His head struck the wooden floor with enough force to black out his vision for an instant, and the next thing he knew, Sandra was kneeling at his side, still wearing her shirt and dungarees.

"Whoa there, are you okay?" she asked.

He found himself on his back, staring up at her, past her pudgy belly and ample chest partially obscuring her muzzle.

"I," he started, as he blinked to clear his vision, "I think I'm fine," he added.

As soon as the words left his lips, she turned her head to face the wall, and he could swear he saw a hint of a blush in her furry cheeks.

"You, ah, I..." she said, but trailed off.

"Yes?" he said.

She fished around with her paw until she grabbed his towel and held it up, still staring at the wall.

"Your towel," she said.

Aaron's heart nearly skipped a beat as he remembered that he was in the fur.

"Shit! Oh, oh shit, oh I'm so sorry," he said, snatching the towel away from her and almost leaping off the floor. With a clack-ery run he dived back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He backed into it and fought to calm his breathing. His lungs going like a piston engine. By the time he was done, he was almost dry, but he used the towel to get rid of the last moisture in his mane.

As he hung the towel over a high rail, there was a knock at the door. A wave of embarrassment welled up from his chest as he walked over and stood behind it, then opened it just a bit. Right away, Sandra's sandy-coloured paw shot through, holding a blue garment.

"It's just a spare pair of my work dungarees. I'll put your clothes in the washer as soon as you come out of there, but you can wear these until they're ready."

Aaron took them off her, and her paw shot back through the door, before she pulled it closed from the other side, and he could hear as she made her way downstairs.

He turned over the jeans in his hands and unfolded them, then stepped in and placed the straps over his shoulders. They were short on his leg, going up as high as his calves, while the front pocket barely came up to his breastbone. The straps, which looked like they had been freshly lengthened, were long enough, but they met at the very base of his spine.

He looked up and caught sight of himself in the mirror, and took a moment to examine his Clydesdale body, stuffed into this femme's overalls.

"Spears to ploughshares," he mumbled, doing his best not to think too hard about the origin of those words.

He stepped out onto the landing, but as he made his way downstairs, something caught his eye. One of the bedroom doors was ajar, and through it he could see that the room was piled high with... Well, stuff. All sorts of things. Dozens of rolls of toilet paper, boxes of washer liqui-tablets, a box of soap bars... What looked to be a year's supply of shopping for the bathroom and bedrooms.

I guess, with all the spare rooms, it's convenient? He thought.

He carried on down the stairs, following the sound of Sandra's voice until he reached the doorway to the kitchen. Knowing she was in the next room, he took a moment to ready himself after his earlier exposure, the walked in. She was standing on the other side of a large dining table, and hung up the land-line phone as he entered.

"Steve says he's too busy today, but he can come get you about noon tomorrow," she said.

"The pig at the gas station?" he asked.

She nodded, as she made her way around the table and over to the kitchen counter, and filled a kettle. It was an old-style whistler, and she had to ignite a gas burner to warm it up.

Aaron made his way to that side of the room, and while the water heated up, he had the chance to take stock. Just like the bathroom, the décor here was impeccable, though this one was formed not of tiles, but exceptional joinery and woodwork. It was modern, with cream-coloured closet doors and varnished wood surfaces, but even to his untrained eye, the edges and mitres of the furnishings were exceptional, even stylish.

"You like it?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Paw built this place. He was always good at that stuff. He built most of the houses you'll have passed on your way in; even Steve's gas station."

"You said you've been living alone for two years, I assume..." Aaron didn't want to pry, but felt it necessary to ask.

"Cancer," she said, "but he wasn't a young coyote."

"In England, we'd say he got a good innings," Aaron said. Sandra turned to look at him as he spoke, with a puzzled expression on her face. He added, "y'know, innings. Like Cricket. Or Baseball."

She chuckled. "I think he would've liked that," she said, just as the kettle began to whistle. "Coffee?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely," he answered.

She turned off the burner and opened a high closet near the cooker. As she did so, Aaron noticed that the closet was just like the bed upstairs; filled to bursting with all manner of items, with many duplicates of each. She reached in and pulled out a tin of ground coffee, before closing the door.

"You get your shopping-err, I mean, groceries - you get your groceries delivered by the truckload, or something?"

"It's so I don't have to leave the farm," she replied, "I haven't been to the store in a couple of months." She pulled out a filter-style coffee maker and filled the filter with the grounds.

"Don't like the neighbours?"

"Something like that," she said. Aaron watched as her ears folded back, and her expression changed from her more typical cheery demeanour to a serious countenance; he decided it was probably a personal matter in which he shouldn't pry. She poured the hot water from the kettle into the filter.

Aaron let her response hang as the water filtered through, coming out as espresso coffee in the jug beneath, and soon Sandra was filling out two large cups and topping them up with water. She picked them both up in her paws and passed him one, before sitting at the dining table. Aaron moved over to join her, but just as he sat down, she jumped back up.

"I forgot the milk," she said, "Do you want any?" She had already reached the fridge by the time he answered,

"Yeah, that'd be good."

She came back to the table with a large glass jug of milk. Standing by the table, her chest was only inches from Aaron's snout as she poured a dash of it into her own coffee.

"You'll like this," she said, "it's my milk. Fresher than fresh."

Aaron felt his ears prick up at her words, and as a reflex, he glanced at her bust.

Did she just-

"What?" she said, interrupting his train of thought.

There was an uneasy pause.

"From my cows!" she groaned. "Do I look like a milker to you?"

Aaron looked up at her face.

"I mean, do you really want an answer to that?"

Sandra poured some of the milk into his cup, and for an instant, he could swear that he saw that same blush again in her cheeks.

"I suppose that's a compliment... Of sorts" she said, before returning the milk to the fridge and sitting back at the table. The two of them sipped at their coffee in relative silence. Aaron wasn't one for small-talk, and he had to assume his coyote host didn't get many visitors.

He finished his coffee and set the cup down on the table.

"Sandra," he said, "I haven't really had the chance to thank you. Is there anything I can do, y'know, to make up for the hassle?"

"Well," she said, a smile creeping across her features as her eyes drifted downward. She seemed to stare at his broad shoulders for a moment, then got up from her chair with a scrape of the wooden legs against the wooden floor. "You've come along at the perfect time," she added, giving him a playful wink.

Aaron blinked in surprise.

Is she flirting with me?

She carried on.

"Seeing as though you're stuck here until tomorrow..."

"Oh?" he said, fighting the urge to grin.

"Come on," she said, beckoning for him to follow her as she marched out of the kitchen. She left with such speed that Aaron was left stunned, until her voice called back from the other end of the house.

"You'll need an axe!"

Continues in part 4!