FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Now, I finally understood why curiosity killed the cat. As someone who was farm raised by chickens, I was never somebody who looked down on cats. Looking back at it, as a wolf, I always bristled at any comparison to cats, even if I was ignorant of the reasons why. I never minded any comparison to my adoptive rooster father, but any joking association with cats always made me... catty. Everyone laughed it off as characteristic of my species, but I found that rather offensive. After all, I was one who subscribed to the philosophy of nurture rather than nature. Sure I grew up on a farm, raised by farmer chickens. Despite my father's quiet demeanor, he had been a colonel in the army. My mother, despite her now motherly demeanour, actually had been an avid underground street racer as a teenager. They raised me to be inquisitive and adventurous. They raised me to never back down or let my own insecurities or fears hold me back from experiences that would help me grow into a well adjusted adult. If only I had been raised just a little bit differently, then perhaps I wouldn't have let my curiosity answer that call from an unknown number that fateful day.

If I had been raised just a little bit differently, I imagine I would have been less curious and less willing to take risks. I would still be comfortably ensconced in the cityscape, comforted by the ambient traffic noise and street sounds of the home I had built for myself in my adulthood. Instead, I was deep in the country, feeling stifled by the deafening silence that crushed me underneath my own, regretful thoughts. There had been a reason why I had left the countryside behind. I regretted the reason why I had come back.

The loud, hard, snore at my bedside pierced through the morning silence. I flinched at the sound and barely managed to suppress the groan that escaped my lips. I tried very hard to resist the urge to turn and look at the sleeping body next to me, to no avail. The morning light seeping through the cracks in the curtain danced on his muscular, furry back. His orange fur looked like fire in the dimly lit room. I sighed quietly and squeezed my eyes shut tightly, wishing for the memories of the past few days to fade away. Last night, I had made bold attempts to erase these memories with alcohol. Instead, these attempts resulted in even more regret and a massive hangover.

It was quite the struggle to leave the bed. Not only due to the persistent nausea that threatened to topple me over at any moment, but also the countless empty beer cans that littered the floor. I had wanted to leave as quickly and as quietly as possible. I wanted to make sure to leave my one night lover, and relative stranger, to his sleep without being witness to my shame that had been brought to light in the morning sun. The love making had been passionate and wild. I had never met anyone who's knot lasted so long and who had painted my insides with a copious amount of cum so often in just one night. He had been vocal and rough in the best way possible. He had done things with his tongue that I had never experienced before. Hell, I had done things with my tongue that I had never done before. Things that I likely would never do again sober and sane. But anger, disappointment, and grief was the perfect cocktail for bad decisions.

But the worst decision of all was still the fact that I had taken that call. If I hadn't taken that call, I wouldn't have left my comfortable apartment. I wouldn't have left the city that I loved. I wouldn't have driven a whole day south into the countryside. I wouldn't have lied to my friends about where I was or what I was doing. I would only have the parents I grew up with as my family.

Instead I was out in the southern boondocks where everyone wore flannel, listened to an absurd amount of gospel and country music, and drank an excessive amount of awful tasting alcohol, even while driving their unnecessarily massive pickup trucks. I had thought I knew what it was like living in the country, having been raised in an organic, fair-trade, cruelty free farm. But the countryside I found myself in was a whole new world altogether. Any other day and for any other reason, I would have found this to be an opportunity for adventure. But the funeral of my birth mother was hardly an adventure.

The quick bus ride back to my motel felt far too long. It didn't help that I likely looked as shitty as I felt. An old badger on the bus actually clutched her pearls at the sight of me and pulled out a rosary from her tacky leopard print purse. A juvenile fox repeatedly threw hard candy at me while his, clearly, overwrought mother did everything to ignore her child's poor behaviour. A labrador couple at the far end of the bus kept shaking their heads at the sight of me. Considering their sensitivity to smell, I'm sure my alcohol and cum covered fur wasn't entirely pleasant to their noses. And I had sat on gum.

The moment I had returned to the hotel, I suppose I could have left. I could have easily packed my bags and went straight home, never to think of the ordeal of the past few days ever again. Instead I washed myself thoroughly, making sure to be rid of the excessive musk and the stench of cum off my body, and dressed appropriately for a funeral. Then I drove to the edges of this small, backwoods town to what was, apparently, my ancestral home.

Large and old, made with dark, petrified wood, it stood stark like an ominous monolith atop a grassy plain. A single willow tree dotted the landscape beside a large pond where some children were swimming. Even from a distance, I could hear their laughter ringing in the air amidst the distant splashing of water. I would have parked closer to the house, but I had had enough people commenting on the "fucked up" image of a wolf driving a Goggomobil T250. It was already bad enough that I had to walk through a dirt path in Italian loafers and a custom navy Brioni. I never could understand why some preferred dirt roads to paved ones.

Out of habit, my strides were sure and even. My body still bore a confidence that had diminished in the past few days. I had never been so uncertain of the wisdom of a decision in my life. Doubt was a tiny, pointed prickling at the back of my mind. It was almost as annoying as the pebbles that found themselves in my loafers with almost every step.

"Did your baby car break down, Bugsy?" one of the little ones called out from within the water.

I frowned at the name.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"That's your name isn't it, Dellybug?" the kid asked innocently.

"It's Deely." I huffed out in frustration at the liberties these people had taken with my name.

"I can push it in if you need it, Bugsy," another child offered. "It's pretty small! I can do it!"

"It's Deely. And it's not broken," I griped, briefly stopping to empty my shoes of pebbles.

"Your baby car is really cute," the first girl giggled. "You should come swim with us Bugsy!"

"It's a funeral, Daisy," I replied dryly, surprised at the girl's suggestion. Frankly, I was surprised to find the house livelier than it should be.

"Meemaw's already dead. She can't go swimmin' no more," one of the rowdy boys replied matter of factly before dunking another child's head under the water with force.

"She couldn't swim when she was alive neither. She would always just kinda float, you know?" Daisy explained.

"'Cause she was fat!" One of the children exclaimed before cannonballing from a tree branch into the water.

"Bless her heart," Daisy said solemnly before disappearing into the water.

"Whatever," I replied quietly, unable to think of a response, and moved towards the unusually loud house.

I couldn't help but sigh deeply as I looked up the massive, wooden house. It was one of the last remaining plantation houses in the area, and time had been unkind to it. Even from afar, one could tell that the rafters needed significant repair. Once, the paint must've been a vivid, scarlet red, but now looked more a muddied brown from dirt and age. There were holes in the stairs that lead up to a landing that once must've been made of stone. But either due to neglect or circumstance, most of it had been replaced with wood that had rotted through in patches over the decades. Only the columns seemingly stood stalwart against the steady march of time. They dotted the edges of the house, like bones supporting a rotting carcass.

I quickly bent my head out of the way as a blender whizzed past my face followed by the screeching of a shrill voice.

"You good for nuthin', hairless horned-toad!" A voice screeched within the house.

"Don't you be callin' me no toad, woman!" A deep, masculine voice yelled back.

"Worthless as gum on a boot heel!" the voice screeched again as I casually dodged another piece of flying kitchen appliance.

I walked through the large, wooden double doors and into the landing. Inside, similarly dressed people chatted lively and laughed with one another despite the din of two individual's manic argument. A woman in a short, floral dress pulled me aside as a butter knife whizzed by and embedded itself into one of the open doors.

"Hi, Bugsy," she greeted sweetly, smiling widely with a well manicured clutching the stem of a full wine glass.

"It's Deely," I replied monotonously. "Debby, how're you?"

"It's Debby Jean," she replied. "And I'm good. I know how you are."

"Sorry, I didn't know your name was hyphenated," I said, just a little bit flustered by southern naming conventions.

"It's not," she replied matter-of-factly.

"So, wouldn't that just be Debby?" I asked.

"That's not my name. It's Debby Jean. You don't need the hyphen," she explained.

"So is the Jean a middle name?"

"No, that's Sussie-Cher," she answered. "That's hyphenated."

"So your name's Debby Jean Susie-Cher Collins?" I said with a raised brow.

"No, that's my maiden name. I married the lovely Mr. Dawson last year."

"So, Debby Jean Susie-Cher Collins Dawson?"

"No, it's Debby Jean Susie-Cher Collins McKenzie-Dawson," she explained. "I divorced Jack McKenzie last year after he knocked up his prison bitch at Killborn. You know, that prison over in the next county where everyone dances for exercise? He's in there for two more years for smuggling unpasturized bull semen to Guatamalan Quetzals. That asshole knocked up a fox with a receding hairline. Can you imagine that? It's so embarrassing, I almost threw myself off the quarry."

"Okay." I replied to the bombarded of useless information.

"Well, everyone's talking about you," she said conspiratorially, looking up at me under long, fake lashes. "I mean everyone."

"And what's everyone saying?" I asked, playing along, forcing a plastic smile on my face to match her own. Quickly, I scanned the room and was surprised to find that most everyone was taking quick looks towards my direction.

She giggled at my reaction before taking another swig of the wine. "My, what big teeth you have."

"The city has good dentists," I replied, suddenly feeling self conscious at the realization of the curious attention I seemed to be getting.

"You were mighty drunk last night," she laughed.

"How would you know?" I asked curiously, trying to think back on the blur that was yesterday evening. I barely remembered a bar, the sound of worn bedsprings, and fur everywhere.

"Honey, there's only one bar in town that everyone goes to. Boy you were wasted, I tell you what," she giggled before taking a large swig of the wine, almost drinking it all.

"What?" I couldn't help but ask as two angry voices interrupted our conversation.

"When I'm done with you, there won't be enough left of you to snore!" the angry voice in the other room screeched.

"We gots come-pany, woman! Where the hell are your manners?" the other voice yelled back as equally angry.

But Debby Jean's stride remained unbroken as she prattled on without giving the loud argument a second's thought.

"They said you had a really good singing voice. Apparently it's enough to make a she-wolf jealous," she giggled playfully to my consternation. She then proceeded to run one of her well manicured fingernails across my chest. "I'd like to hear it sometime. Can you sing me a song too?"

"Ugh," I stammered.

"Debby Jean, get your claws off that poor boy before you give him scabies." A deep voiced woman snapped as she waddled towards us.

"Momma Delia, don't be rude! I'm just getting to know some city folk!" Debby Jean whined, waving her empty wine glass in the air in frustration.

"Oh, I know what your 'getting to know' is. You don't need no 'getting to knows'. You just need to get!" Delia lectured, motion Debby Jean away with her pudgy fingers. "Shoo! Before Jesus brings this house down over your head."

Debby Jean jutted out her lower lip childishly before turning to smile up at me with heavy lidded eyes. "I'll see you later Bugs."

"It's Deely." I called out loudly as she walked away. But it was drowned out as the two voices still screamed at each other in the background. I looked at Delia who was studying me with warm eyes.

"I'm glad you're still here." She said with a smile. "You look good."

I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, still thrown by my conversation with Debby Jean, the drunken laughter around me, the screeching people in the background, and the atmosphere that was far too jovial for a wake.

"Deely, child, come with me for a second." Delia said as she pulled me along with that strong grip of hers. She quickly ushered me over to the other side of the house. On the way, we passed by the large kitchen where I briefly saw my recently discovered cousin, Bucky, arguing with his wife.

"Who the hell goes hunting before a funeral? You think I was born yesterday? I swear, if you knock up that little whore of yours I'm gonna dig in there and cut your dick off with rusty shears!" The woman, who I think was named Emma, threatened Bucky.

"I said I was hunting, woman! What the hell are you talking about? Don't you see the meat?" He yelled back, motioning to the pile of meat on the kitchen counter.

"You think I can't smell grocery meat apart from fresh ones you dumb asshole?" She screeched back before I was pulled into an empty study by Momma Delia.

"Listen, baby." The woman began and she pushed me down onto a large leather back chair that smelled of old cigar smoke. "We haven't had much to time to talk what with the funeral and all, and I apologize for that. It's no good that I send you a letter and here you show up expecting answers, but the best one to give 'em to you is about to be buried."

I could imagine this study had been elegant in its prime. As it stood, the fireplace looked dirty and unused for some time. The large, elaborate carpet on the floor had cigarette holes, mud, and countless other stains upon it. The walls were lined with plaques, pictures, and trophy heads that had been hunted so long ago. There was a lingering musk of cigar smoke and mould that filled the room. My gaze lingered on the pictures on the walls. They were of men and women who bore a similar face to my own. They were strangers who looked so much like what I saw in the mirror every morning.

"It's fine," I replied automatically, trying to shrug off her words as I pulled my eyes away from the portrait of a family I never knew I had.

"No, no. It ain't alright," she insisted with a vehement shake of her head. "And I shoulda told the whole family from the start. But I didn't even know if you wanted that, or what. I just didn't know how to go about it. Hell, I didn't know you existed until my sister told me before she died."

"Well, what's another dirty little secret before a funeral?" I laughed. "Besides, honestly, I don't even really know what I want. I came here looking for something I always thought I had."

"Looking for family? Well, you have it now, baby, I promise." She insisted with a smile.

"No, I already have one," I replied awkwardly. Despite my strained relationship with my parents, I still loved them. It was just due to familiarity and obligation from being adopted. I thought them genuinely good parents who loved me wholeheartedly despite their provincial quirks.

"Right, of course. But you could have two families now, I suppose. Back in my day it wasn't the thing for chickens to raise wolves, so I'm just struggling a bit wrapping my head around it, to be honest." She replied bashfully.

"They are good parents," I insisted. "They are my parents. But, I admit, I have always been curious about this side of me. About why I was given up? About what she was like..."

"I hope we're not too much of a disappointment." Delia said warmly. "We're good people too. For the most part."

"A bit loud," I confessed as I thought back over the past few days. "The smell's definitely different."

At her disappointed sight, I quickly added a denial.

"It's not bad! Just different. Something to get used to, I suppose. There's a lot more family than I'm used to. Back home there were just the three of us. Now, I got all these brothers, sisters, cousins, and nieces and nephews that I don't know what to do with. And..."

Delia finished my sentence for me as my voice trailed off in the end, "and they never knew you existed."

Delia sighed at the look of me. I wondered if she understood the confusion I had been feeling the past few days. I had struggled trying to reconcile my decision to answer the letter and come versus the need I really had to know and understand my biological family.

"Momma, you better get out here!" Another one of my cousins barged in with a concerned cry. "The natives are getting restless."

"For heaven's sake, like they've never been to a damn funeral before." Delia muttered with frustration before forcing her great weight up and out of her seat to stomp out of the door.

"Heya Bugsy. You should come with! It's about to start." The cousin who's name I couldn't remember motioned for me to follow.

"What're we doing now?" I asked curiously, completely unaware of the traditions of this family. "What're we supposed to be doi-..."

I began but my voice cut off as I ran into a solid brick wall. Well, less of a brick wall as much as it was a large, well-muscled mountain of fur. A mountain of familiar looking orange fur.

"Well, well. How're ya now?" The large orange wolf towering over me asked, his tail wagging happily.

"Heya Bubba!" My unnamed cousin greeted the large wolf happily. "You know Bugsy?"

"It's Deely," I insisted quietly.

"Yeah, you could say we're acquainted. Acquainted real good," he smirked cockily.

I suppressed an embarrassed groan from escaping my list and instead worked to plaster and maintain a plastic smile on my face.

"From the bar, right?" I asked, making something up offhandedly. My memory of last night was far too hazy to be certain of what had happened.

"This is my cousin, Bubba Joe. He's one of Momma Doris' boys. He likes muscle cars and noodlin' in the crick." My unnamed cousin explained to my wide eyed surprise.

His words shot through me like a nail through glass.

"Bubba Joe," the tall, smug, wolf replied, taking my hands into his own large paw. "Never did get your name. Deely, right?"

"Really? I thought it was Bugsy?"

"Um, ugh..." I stammered, still looking at the massive wolf in front of me, my heart pounding hard in my chest. "You're one of Momma Doris' boys?"

"Yessir," he replied with a wide smile, still holding my hand with his own.

"You're one of the sons of the lady who's getting buried today?" I said.

"Well, I suppose. Only for the last thirty five years or so," he laughed before finally letting go of my hand.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I cursed out loud with wide eyes before quickly stalking away.

"Damn boy, you got a mouth on ya! Doncha knows it's a funeral? Pipe down! That's un-necessarily ru-oood language, now." Bucky lectured as I passed by the kitchen.

"Heya Bugsy, wanna get out of here?" a sweet voice asked.

"Not now Debby Jean!" I said rather harshly as I continued my march towards the front door.

"... now I gots something to tell all of you," I heard Delia say as I moved into the massive front hallway. She stood midway to the top of the stairs looking down at the large group of people gathered in the aging house.

I tried to leave quickly, but her voice calling out my name stopped me before I crossed the threshold.

"Deely! Boy, come here!" She called out with a wide smile.

"Ugh, no, it's alright," I insisted as I tried to wave her off while slowly walking backwards towards the doorway.

"Boy, get up here!" She insisted with a wide smile before turning her attention back on all the people who were either still looking at her or staring at me. "Now, I know ya'll been wondering who this is."

"It's Bugsy, isn't it?" one of the kids from earlier called out as I washed pushed up the aged stairs by who's hands, I didn't know.

Delia gripped my shoulders firmly as she faced the crowd below us. Most had faces plastered with curiosity or confusion, wondering why I had been pulled up there with the now, remaining elderly matriarch of the family. At the edges of the room, I saw Bubba looking up at me with a lascivious smile before he took a deep swig of a large can of beer.

Oh, shit. I remember cussing in my head.

"Now, I ain't gonna beat around the bush. This family has had enough secrets, and this boy ain't gonna be one of them," Delia said with a nod.

"What's that Momma?" Debby Jean asked curiously, seemingly on behalf of everyone.

"This here's one of Momma Doris' boys. Now, she gave him up when he was just a pup. Y'all don't know this. I never knew about this neither. But here he is, and I say he really is blood. So don't think of him as no dirty little secret. Think of him as family."

"Family? What?" Bubba's familiar voice asked flatly from the distance.

"That's right, Bubba," Delia said with that deep saccharine voice of hers. "This here's your brother. I'm sure y'all gonna get along famously."