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The solution to "the Humboldt problem", as I'd internally termed it, came to me surprisingly easily. The hard part was explaining it to the other guys in ways that wouldn't give anything away. On Saturday, I'd assembled a meeting for myself, the "lieutenants" Philippe, Timmons, and Swift, as well as Fournier and Aslanov, who along with Philippe and myself, were next in line to select a freshman as a "little brother". Ostensibly, the meeting was to discuss which freshmen we'd pick, along with the itinerary for Monday's "training", so when I dropped the bombshell on them, they were understandably surprised.

"You mean, when one of them fucks up, they all get punished?" The elk raised an eyebrow from the couch across the room. "How are we supposed to hold each one accountable?"

"You're seeing it backwards, Fournier." Philippe waved a paw to silence him. "For every misstep, there will be four times the consequences. If they care about their classmates, as they should, each will be held even more accountable."

"Coach does the same thing, no?" The brown bear reclined in the easy chair, stroking his belly fur beneath the hem of his shirt thoughtfully. "One man late, whole team does double laps. I like it. If one fucks up, they get punished by us, then punished by classmates!"

"So you're in, Aslanov?" Timmons asked. "'Cause the mall closes in a couple hours, and I gotta get these names in if we're gonna have the tags by Monday."

"One more question. If whole class is treated the same, what about the...how do you say, individual stuff?"

"I'm sorry, the what?" I looked up from my notebook with a quizzical glare.

"You know, like..." He leaned back up, lowering his voice with a slight blush. "The fat thing."

"Oh, there's plenty of room for individual requests, the 'fat thing' included." I chuckled. "So long as it fits the name and the kid, and doesn't deviate too far from the template, anything's fair game if you run it by me first. Depending on who he picks, Philippe has this whole thing planned, with..."

"Same thing Cobalt did to you?" He turned to the lion with a dumbfounded smile.

"Similar..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I still have some of the clothes lying around."

"Nezhenka kitty!" He roared, slapping his thigh as he erupted laughing. "Okay, if I get who I want, I think we can make it work."

"Then it's decided." I closed the notebook and laid it on the table. "Let's draft."

"You first, Cap." Fontaine kicked his hooves up onto the table and stretched back. "Who you think he's gonna go with, Aslanov?"

"The husky boy." The bear grinned toothily. "You don't see Mack with nice, timid little puppy brother?"

"I'm taking Humboldt." I stated flatly, as the elk and bear exchanged hushed glances.

"The husky is mine." Philippe winked. "Or should I say, 'Miley' is mine."

"Knew that soft shit was more your scene anyways." Fournier gave a confident smirk. "Rodriguez seems chill enough. You guys think 'Hotrod' might be too cool if we're trying to break him in?"

"Fine by me." I nodded.

"Pobeda!" Aslanov shot a fist in the air victoriously. "I get chubby rollie-pollie wolf puppy!"

"You wanna call him Rollie?" Timmons cackled. "So what's the big pup's name, Mack?"

"Hummer." As I said it, they each gave me an ambivalent glare. "No, not like that! Humboldt, Hummer...I mean, if the coyote gets a car name too, then why..."

"I just figured you'd be going with, I dunno..." Fournier cut me off. "Smelliot?"

"Maybe Boltie?" Aslanov offered. "Something cutesy, da?"

"I've already decided. It suits him fine, and I have more than enough planned for the kid, believe me."

By the time Monday rolled around, the whole team was aware of the plan, and all the necessary supplies had arrived. As expected, three freshmen showed up early to practice sporting turtleneck undershirts, hoping to save themselves the embarrassment of showing off their collars on the walk across campus. They ducked in quietly and scampered toward their lockers, attempting to avoid the horde of snickering upperclassmen around the room. The fourth, again, showed up slightly later and already dressed, but with the band of black leather conspicuously visible against the fawn-colored fur of his neck.

"Hey." He muttered as he strutted past me, bags in tow. "Meant to ask you; is this alright?"

"The collar?" I pointed.

"Yeah, I mean...you said 'conceal its true nature', but that doesn't mean we have to conceal the thing itself, right?"

"No...I guess not." I humphed. He'd be the first freshman I'd ever seen that wanted his collar seen. I had to admit, though, it didn't look entirely out of place on him; with his black lycra, black shoes, black wristwatch, and black metal tunnel plugs in his ears, the collar only served to help cultivate a dark, masculine energy. "But what are you gonna say if someone asks about it?"

"It's a fashion statement." He chuckled. "Or else I'll tell 'em I'm in some weird sex club."

Practice went about the same as it had on Friday. The freshman squad clicked a bit better during scrimmages, but were only held afloat by more exceptional work on Humboldt's end. When my group faced off against his, I made a point to get Timmons to pass me the puck straight off the faceoff, so I could try my luck at the unbreakable wall yet again. Weaving my way between their forwards, and deking past Rollins easily, I found myself in my usual wheelhouse for slap shots, but decided to mix things up. With my stick wound up high, I swung it downward, but faked out at the last moment and made a nifty switch to a backhand shot as I drew in even closer. The puck lifted off the ice, spinning and wobbling in its path to a clean top shelf goal...

Or, alternatively, right into the center of Humboldt's helmet. Unable to flip his stick around in time to make a conventional save, he'd surged upward while kicking off from one goalpost, just in time for the puck to ricochet off his mask and straight back toward me. With barely ten feet of distance between us, there was nothing I could do but tuck my thighs together and brace for impact as it struck my crotch and clattered back down to the ice. Even with the hard plastic cup in my jockstrap protecting its contents, I dropped to my knees with a face looking like I'd just sucked on a lemon. As the whistle blew, it was all I could do to catch my breath and keep my stomach from turning inside out.

"Guess you weren't kidding about getting some extra cushion down there." Humboldt's eyes conveyed a smirk from behind the grate of his mask. "You alright?"

"I'll live." I waved him away dismissively.

"Barrow down! Barrow down!" Mav announced mirthfully as he rushed toward us from the bench, ice packs in his arms.

"Get outta my face, Mav." I grunted, planting my hands on my knees and heaving myself back up to my feet.

"You're lucky he's good, Humboldt." My brother leaned in to face Humboldt, shooting him a knowing stare. "But I bet you're still gonna pay for that tonight."

As the big dog cocked an eyebrow, I gave Mav a rough shove and dragged my feet back to the faceoff circle.

Sure enough, come 10 o'clock, he and the other freshmen were indeed in trouble, though it wasn't because of what happened on the ice. A staple of the training process was quizzing them on information from the packet we'd given them, far too much to accurately remember line-for-line. Having already received a "welcome" paddling from each of the eighteen upperclassmen, the four canines remained on their hands and knees in the basement, collars chained to their posts, and Frisk, Denis, Bergstein, and Grey were standing behind each of them, hockey stick in paw.

"Rollins, which year was the Newts' inaugural season?" I asked, thumbing through my copy of the team history packet.

"Um...nineteen-sixty...nine?" A thunderous crack filled the room as Frisk let his stick fly, and the wolf cried out in a high whine when the blade collided with his thick glutes.

"1968, Brother Mack Barrow!" Miles called out triumphantly from beside him.

"You'll speak when you're spoken to!" I barked as Bergstein launched his stick down onto the husky's ass, eliciting a pained yelp.

"Rodriguez, who was first in points in 1968?" I inquired.

"Uh..." The coyote hesitated, but in the relative silence of the basement, I could make out a faint whisper coming from somewhere within the circle. Lowering my ear toward their heads, I identified the source as Miles.

"Miles!" I roared. "Shut the fuck up until I call your name! And Rodriguez, I'm a busy man; I don't have time to listen to you pretend to think about it." Simultaneously, Bergstein and Grey fired at their targets, forcing a searing groan from the coyote and another shameful yip from the husky.

"Humboldt, who was first in goals in 1968?"

"Trevor Miller." His voice boomed, and after a moment of silence, he added, "Brother Mack Barrow."

"Hmm. And who was first in assists?"

"Trevor Miller, Brother Mack Barrow."

"So, using a bit of math, do you think you could tell us who was first in points?"

"Trevor Miller, Brother Mack Barrow."

"And who was the captain?"

"Trevor Miller, Brother Mack Barrow."

"Seriously? Only Humboldt picked up on this? The name on top of the first page of the packet didn't stand out to you other three?"

"It's scrimmages all over again." Swift tutted. "Humboldt's working his ass off, and the others are just pawing off. I'd be pissed off if I was him"

"Maybe this will get 'em going: from here on, if one of you answers wrong or fucks up, you all get paddled. You are a unit, and you can only ever be as strong as your weakest link. Understood?"

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow!" They resounded.

I proceeded with more of the same for a while longer, learning that Humboldt's reading comprehension started to drop off around the early 70's. To his credit, it was impressive he'd been able to memorize that much in a weekend, but an essential part of the training is to accept nothing less than perfection. When all four of them were reduced to sniffling, quivering messes, it was time to begin the next act of the performance.

"Alright." I sighed. "It's clear that you guys have got the brains and the constitutions of a bunch of newborn puppies. In four years on this team, I've never seen a more disappointing class of freshmen. Luckily for you, I've decided to assign each of you a big brother, someone who might have a shot of encouraging some improvement in your lives. You should be grateful that anyone was willing to stick their necks out for you at all, if you ask me."

The four paddlers stepped aside, as Philippe, Fontaine, Aslanov, and I formed a line. Polished silver tags in hand, the other three looked back at me to give them the okay, and with a nod, the lion stepped into the ring.

"Your big brothers have gotten you each a gift, and I expect you know what to do when you receive it."

Philippe hunched down and gripped Miles' jaw gently, turning his head up until his tear-blurred eyes met those of his new big brother, and attached the tag to the front of the collar.

"Th...Thank you, Brother Jean-Jacques Philippe!" He stammered, head immediately returning to a bow once the fingers left his face.

The elk and bear received similar reactions from their little brothers, and finally, I took my place in the middle. Knowing he was last, Humboldt's head reared as soon as he saw my feet before him. I was almost shaken out of character by the expression on his face: not one of pain or distress, but confusingly neutral, almost meditative.

"Thank you, Brother Mack Barrow." He smiled, and looked back down as I righted my posture.

"Look at the names on your collars now. Whenever you are within this house, or among the company of teammates, these are your names." I instructed, waiting for them to reach a paw to their necks and read what was printed on their tags. "If you haven't noticed, there's a bit of a theme here. Since the four of you, collectively, have proven you're nowhere close to being considered men by the brothers of this team, I take it that eighteen years wasn't enough time for you to develop. So, it looks like I have to start from scratch."

Taking a step out of the circle, I began to slowly amble around them while I continued my monologue.

"For the four puppies I've been tasked to grow into proper adult canines, I've spared no detail. Puppy names, puppy training classes, big brothers to keep puppies in line, puppy collars...But I think I'm forgetting something crucial. Miley!"

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow?"

"If you were a parent of a newborn pup, just leaving the hospital, what's something you'd want to be sure you had a lot of at home?"

"A car seat, Brother Mack Barrow!" He jumped the gun, and I grabbed a stick out of Malakar's paws to correct the husky with a harsh smack to the behind.

"Wouldn't be much use at home, now would it? Try again."

"Baby monitors, Brother Mack Barrow?" Another paddling was more than deserved.

"Why would you need more than two?" I shook my head as the stick fell. "Hummer, any guesses?"

He hesitated for a moment, then drew in a deep breath. From across the crowd of upperclassmen in the basement, I watched Wagner cut through with two hefty plastic packages of orange and grey in his arms, and four rolls of white duct tape.

"Diapers, Brother Mack Barrow." He sighed dejectedly.

"Right again." Wagner dropped the delivery at my feet and gave a goofy salute, which I responded to in kind. I poked a claw into the plastic of each bag, hoping I'd accurately pegged Humboldt and Rollins as size large, and the other two as medium. I pulled three out to toss to the big brothers, and kept one in my paws, regarding its bulky padding and the noisy crinkle of its plastic.

"Listen good, pups, because there's a hell of a lot of rules, and if you break even a single one, you'll have way more to worry about than just a paddling. Am I being clear?"

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow!"

"Then let's get started." I unfolded the diaper and tossed it between their heads. "Until one of us tells you otherwise, these are your underwear, your toilet, and whenever you set foot in this house, the only clothing you're allowed to wear."

"Toilet?" Rodriguez protested. "Woah, man, you mean I gotta use these things?"

"Cool it, Hotrod." I growled, stepping behind him and lifting the hockey stick threateningly.

"Fuck that, man, I ain't shitting my pants! This ain't..." His bellyaching was cut short by a startled cry as I whipped the stick down onto his butt.

"No one's forcing you to stay on the team, pup." I bent down to speak straight into his ear. "But if you wanna keep your scholarship, be a Newt, and join this brotherhood, I suggest you follow your classmates' lead, and behave like a good boy."

Waiting a few moments for any objections, all I received was an ambivalent huff from the coyote.

"As I was saying, puppies can't be trusted to change their own diapers; that duty goes to your big brothers. We'll be marking and taping over each change to make sure they stay where they belong, and we'll be doing random checks to be doubly sure, either by picture message or in person. You can earn up to four changes per day, but it's completely at your big brother's discretion, and any attempts to cheat or take your diapers off will mean you forfeit all changes for twenty-four hours. You will be allowed to shower in between changes once per day, either here or at the rink, but that's the only time you'll get without a diaper on, unless one of us instructs you otherwise. Understood?"

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow." The four puppies grumbled, obviously less than pleased.

"Much like with your collars, you're to conceal the true nature of why you're in diapers. If anyone sees or smells them, and asks you why you're wearing them, you're to say, 'I have to wear diapers, because I have accidents like a little puppy.' In fact, let's get some practice in. What do you have to wear?"

"I have to wear diapers, because I have accidents like a little puppy." The four of them groveled uncomfortably, not quite in unison.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"I have to wear diapers, because I have accidents like a little puppy!" They resounded louder this time.

"Alright then, puppies." One by one, I unclipped their collars from their chains. "Let's get you diapered before you piddle all over my floor. You'll all be back down here in five minutes."

Up the stairs we lead our little brothers, diapers and tape in hand, until the others had retreated to their rooms, and Humboldt and I walked alone toward mine.

"Did I do something wrong?" The large dog inquired as I locked the door. I turned to see a genuinely pained expression on his face, paws shoved in his pockets and shoulders slumped. "Because it seems like you're doing this to punish me, in particular."

"Quite the opposite, actually." I laid the diaper out at the foot of my bed, and opened my nightstand drawer to pull out a bottle of baby powder and a pack of wet wipes. "At some point during the training process, you were all gonna get stripped down to your skivvies, or asked to wear something...unusual under your clothes. This saves you the trouble of having to explain those pull-ups to anyone. Plus, if I were targeting you, why would I pick something that you're already used to?"

"But why do any of that at all?" He sounded exasperated. "What happened to, 'hazing is just childish nonsense meant to humiliate'?"

"I stand by that." I sat beside the diaper and patted its soft filling, watching as Humboldt stepped toward me reluctantly. "You ever taken a bus to play an away game?"

"Obviously." He huffed, looking away as he tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down and revealed the crisp white paper of his pull-up, immaculate but for a silver dollar-sized spot of yellow right in the crotch.

"Well then, you must have encountered a situation where someone uses the bathroom in the back and stinks up the whole bus for the rest of the ride." He toyed with the stretchy fabric of the garment's sides between his fingers, but I gently pushed his paws away and slid a claw down each seam.

"But how would...y'know, doing that in one of these make it any better?" He inhaled sharply as the damp pull-up thudded to the floor, and the cool air of the room hit the short fur of his sheath and balls.

"If they're made to sit in their own mess every time they go, puppies might eventually learn to hold it for long enough to wait 'til they're in a more appropriate place." I pulled a wipe out of the package and delicately began glossing over his crotch, making sure to pay extra attention to the pointy bit of red flesh poking from the end of his sheath. I looked up at his blushing cheeks. "If they're able to hold it, that is."

"Hey, I haven't had one of those accidents in, like, ten years!" He stammered, a shiver travelling down his spine as I took another wipe and reached back to go between the supple globes of his butt.

"Then you should have nothing to worry about." I smirked, tossing both wipes into the trash and standing up. "Furthermore, the whole thing should help teach you to trust your teammates, even when you're vulnerable or ashamed."

Gingerly, he spread his legs and lowered himself onto the diaper, his stubby tail poking through the hole in the back. His paws reached to grab the tapes and line up his fit, but I brushed them aside and opened the bottle of powder.

"Can I ask, why this brand?" His hands fidgeted anxiously on his chest as I shook a flurry of powder across his crotch, sliding my free hand under the small of his back as a sign to lift his rear.

"They're thick and loud enough to remind you what you're wearing, and shouldn't leak on you too often if you remember to ask for changes in time." I teased as I set the powder down and began lining the bottom tapes up. "Why, do you have any recommendations?"

"No, actually; these are what I've been wearing to bed and practice for a while now."

"Then I'm glad to have your approval." I prodded a finger beneath the leak guards on his inner thighs to test the tightness, and satisfied with how it felt, I moved on to the top tapes. "Four changes a day should be enough, right? I'd be willing to grab something to boost the absorbency a little if you think you'd need it"

"Should be enough." With the all four tapes symmetrical and holding tight, I adjusted the elastic waist on the front until it covered his navel, and stepped back to admire my handiwork. He moved to get off the bed, but I placed a paw on his stomach as I grabbed the tape and pulled a marker from my nightstand.

"Good. But just because you've got your own stash of these doesn't mean you can change them yourself." Taking a length of from the white roll that would stretch across the top tapes, I yanked it free and smoothed it across the surface of his diaper, effectively sealing him in. With the marker, I wrote across the tape, "Hummer - 9/10/18 - #1".

"Been doing this myself since I was 6." He grumbled, and I let out a hearty laugh as I capped the marker and let him get up.

"What, is that supposed to make you sound mature?" As he stood up, I gave his butt a firm pat, watching a small puff of powder jet out the top of the waistband. "Come on, let's go. Oh, and the shirt comes off too. You can put your clothes back on when you leave."

He poked around the waistband and leak guards with a surprised look, clearly not expecting my expertise, but stripped down as instructed and followed me. We made our way down to the kitchen in silence, where the other three pups looked far more uncomfortable in their new attire than Humboldt, thighs spread and tails held perfectly still in a futile attempt to minimize the loud crinkling of the plastic. I opened the basement door and led them down. As soon as they became visible to the upperclassmen, the whole room erupted in a roar of laughter, taunting, and shouting.

"Aww, wook at the widdle puppies!" Bissonnette cackled as they walked past.

"Does baby wanna sit on Uncle Artie's lap?" Donatelli snickered as he delivered a harsh smack to Miles' well-padded behind. The husky shrunk away from the horse with a faint whimper.

"How long you think you can keep those Pampers dry, huh, pups?" Dumont bellowed menacingly.

The crowd continued as the big brothers and I lowered the pups into their positions and reattached the chains to their collars. A hushed whine and sniffling could be heard as I clipped Rollins in, and someone called out, "Aww, look! Puppy's a little crybaby!"

"Get used to it, puppies." I gave a reassuring rub to the wolf's butt, watching his tail flag as the plastic rustled beneath my claws. "This is your place on the team until I say otherwise."