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Standard disclaimer:

This is a furry adult story containing gay males in sexual situations as well as explicit language and descriptions. No kids are allowed so this story is only for those who are 18/21 or whatever the age is at your legislation. If you are not of the legal age, you shouldn't view this story because you might lose your innocence. Also, by browsing this story you have done so by your own consent and wish to view such material. if you do not wish to view such material you should leave this site immediately.

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Hello, and welcome again to reading BOBB, or Bent Over Behind the Barracks Series!

If you like the story, why not take a moment to comment, fav or vote? It will help me to become a better writer.

Dedicated to all my readers, as always.

It's been a while since I posted, so I hope it delivers.

Cheers to everyone!

*

Jack kept shouting at me.

Brockbrockbrockbrockbrockbrock!

I didn't listen.

The fields felt endless around me as I ran along the gravel path. The forest was near, the sun was up and the air smelled of childhood autumns and dirt.

Brockbrockbrockbrockbrockbrock!

Why won't he stop shouting?

I went off the path and into the trail. Some sticks hit my face and my arms for it wasn't very wide a trail. Everything started to smell of pines and moss and my foot paws kicked up pine needles. I made a hell of a rustle but I didn't care. I used to be so fucking careful when I went down this path. Thought I could see some birds if I didn't make a sound or step on some branches. Now I was fucking kicking away every stone and stick and whatever shit there's on the path as I keep running.

Brockbrockbrockbrockbrock!

Jack's voice was like the thrumming of my blood in my ears. I panted, huff, huff, huff, huff. It was a couple of days since I had done proper workout and I must have been out of shape for that. Just going huff huff huff huff and didn't stop running even if I should.

I knew the way, I knew there was just one way down this path.

It's my path.

Brockbrockbrockbrock!

Sweat got into my eyes and it burnt. I tried to blink it away, but I couldn't raise a paw to get rid of it. Had to keep running. Always on the rhythm. I'm the fucking grunt, I even do my tooth washing to the march rhythm. The only thing missing was the flap of my dog tags against my chest.

He won't stop running and he won't stop shouting. Damn Jack.

The path wound from side to side. It felt more narrow than it used to. Maybe it'd grown out, or I'd grown bigger an meaner and generally were more of a fleshy damn Dobie.

Damn Dobie and a daft Dobie.

That's what I called Jack out there in the dairy. It's not like I'm anything less of a dumb guy than he is. Just a goddamned grunt and a bastard and a tail lifter and a fucking moron piece of steaming shit.

I knew it wasn't more than a mile to Lake Crest. It felt like I'd been running for an hour. Can't have been more than a few minutes. I was going so fast my calves hurt. Never was a sprinter, more of a long distance runner. Kept myself going whenever I had to get around. Didn't get to drive the car much before I turned 16. Pa thought I'd wreck it because I was such a stupid grunt.

Still I kept on running. Couldn't hear if Jack was following or not. He wasn't calling anymore, and all the rustling and hitting those damn branches over my face made it impossible to hear his paws fall.

After the next bend, I could finally see some water from between the tall pines. Grass and water and smaller trees. The path was about to come to its end. There wasn't any further to run to. End of the road. Got closer and closer and finally broke the forest.

It isn't a really big lake at all, Lake Crest is not, but it's still bigger than just a small pond. Used to have the boat here so that me and 'Pa could go fishing, and some neighbours had a boat here too. There's a small pier near where the path ends. I caught my first pike there. Pa had this small wicker basket where we could put the fish in and take to 'Ma and she'd fry them on the big wrought iron pan. It'd smell great and my nose barely reached the end of the old wood-burning stove.

I finally stopped at the pier. Old wood creaked under my weight when I came to a halt and just stood there, panting and almost doubled over. My claws dug against my thighs as I stood there and tried to keep the huff, huff, huffs coming steadily. My legs hurt and my head hurt and it didn't taste right in my maw. Was it bile, that taste called? Who the fuck cared.

I blinked and watched the water and the other shore some two hundred yards away. That's where it was more grassy and I knew the shore was less rocky and there was sand. That's where it was the best to swim. It wasn't so good to swim on this side. Too many sharp rocks that'd nick your paws.

I heard him coming, too.

Didn't call my name again, didn't do anything but run over and stop at the end of the small pier, panting like I did before. He kept snorting and huffing and growling with every breath, and I didn't know if he was putting it up or whether it was nerves or he really was out of shape. With the amount of work we had to put on ourselves each day at the base, it didn't feel like that. I don't know shit.

Didn't turn to look at him but knew he looked at me. Those big, wet eyes that look like he's gonna burst into blabber any time and run to ask for mommy because he split a pad. I cut mine once when I was carving something with a knife like some fucking craftsdog on Reader's Digest, all grizzled and born in 1880 and remembering how their 'Pa talked about the Civil War.

Can't remember what I had been trying to do or how old I was.

Jack huffed and thumped his chest with his fist. He had calmed down a little by now, and so was I, though I still breathed hard and harsh through my nose. My ears and my stub kept flicking up and down like as if they had a mind of their own. I wasn't doing it. Dunno if he was doing it by doing all that damn staring at me. I was hoping that Jack didn't look at me that much. Felt like he was seeing things I couldn't see, or didn't want to see. I wonder if he saw anything at all.

"You alright, Brock?" he spoke then, finally, after way too many minutes.

I didn't answer.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Why couldn't he just be quiet?

Still wouldn't turn to look at him. Heard Jack take a step closer. Felt like he was right up to my skin. Felt like he was too close even if he was still seven feet away. Felt like I needed him a mile away just so that I could breath properly. The air is cooler here, with the water and all, and smells a bit like frogs. I dunno why.

"You want to tell me why you tried to break my ribs out there, Brock?"

I don't even know what I was doing back there to be honest.

Just had to squeeze that damn Dobie so damn close it hurt me, too. I know I hurt him, too. He must be damn pissed off for me doing that and doing all that I did, including just running away like some fucking retard.

"Brock, I know I'm a jerk but you're being an even bigger a jerk here. Just tell me what's going on and let's go back to the house or something."

"No," I grunted, and felt my ears flatten as the rough sound left my throat.

Jack snorted behind me. He never did much that, even if I said the most fucked up things to him. He has some nerves, I had to admit that. Never said much even when I showed my cock up his tail out of a whim in some dang smelling corner of the base. Never complained when I bit him.

Now he was complaining because I fucking left him alone for a minute?

Just who the fuck were I kidding. I was a complete fuckup and a crappy doggie gone batshit crazy over some damn shit-smelling old dairy and some damn old stained wallpapers in my old, empty room. Doesn't speak much good of private Brock Stahlman, US Army. If I start doing much of this they're gonna kick me out of the Corps for good. Won't have daftheads in the ranks who'll piss their pants at the tough spot and run straight up to the Commies.

T'least I hadn't pissed myself yet. If I did that, it'd be better to jump off that pier and never come above the surface again, I guess.

My paws were curled into fists as I listened to Jack's breathing again. I knew how hot those breaths felt against my face when I fucked him hard and fast and drooled all over his muzzle. His ears were always flat when I rammed him like that. He didn't complain. Gotta say he was a better Dobie at that than I was. Always complaining about things and generally being an ass. Guess I wasn't smacked over the ears enough times when I needed it. Or maybe too often for it. Whatever was the worse thing, I dunno. Don't suppose however I turned out was the best outcome I guess.

"The boat's gone," I snorted.

There was a quiet silence, before Jack spoke.

"What?"

"There's no boat. We didn't sell it, so it must've been stolen or sank or whatever."

"What's that gotta do with anything, Brock?"

I flicked an ear.

"Just thought you might've wanted to see it."

"Right."

Silence again. My breaths were okay by then, but my hear still jumped in my big chest. Felt like it was hitting off sync every now and then. Maybe it'd stop right now and be off with it.

Or not. It made all my veins bulge on my arms as I flexed my paws. Made me feel good, that. Felt like normal, when I was doing the stuff and putting up my arms and showing off just how big and mean I was. All American boy with a smile so wide you could stick a corn cob between my teeth and I'd look like something out of a Coke ad. Goddamn fucking ace. I wonder if I was ever cute.

"I bet you used to be cute when you were little."

I don't know why I put my goddamned thoughts into words then. Just felt my maw open and speak out with my back still turned to Jack.

Could still see what he looked like after hearing it, even if I didn't actually look at him. My mind did the work on that. He'd frown and tilt his head a little to the side, and his ears would take turns flicking, and he'd look like someone stuck a broomhandle up his damn sweet tail.

"Brock..."

"Yeah, I bet you were kind of a big kid but still cute enough with round cheeks and oversized years that aunties liked to squeeze your cheek and give you a cent to buy a lollipop from the drugstore."

"What the hell are you talking about, Brock?"

I heaved myself over and stood there, full height and with my arms to my side, looking at him. He stood there and I had to fix my mental image a little bit. It was otherwise perfect, down to the tilt of his head, but he had his arms folded over his chest.

"Didn't you hear me, Griggs?" I sniped back to him. "I bet you were such a puppy."

Jack's eyes were heavy on me again.

"I've no idea what you're going on at, Brock, and I don't want to listen to you talking about weird crap. Why don't you just tell me what this is all about?"

I snorted.

Jack rubbed a paw against the back of his neck. I know I bit him there only minutes ago. I wondered if it hurt. I don't think I drew blood. His ears were still flicking one in turn while he kept looking at me and probably thinking if I was going to do something stupid again, like the idiot I was.

"Can't you just tell me why you freaked out there?" he spoke again, more quiet this time.

His voice wasn't as rough as it was before.

"T'wasn't nothing," I replied.

Didn't feel much at lying.

"Hell it was. What's that talk about not knowing where you are, Brock?"

I shrugged.

"Guess it has changed a bit more around here than I thought it would be," I offered.

I knew he wasn't buying a single word that was coming out of my muzzle.

"Still doesn't mean you have to go running without giving any warning!"

I snorted and cocked my head to the side and showed him my teeth for a little while.

"Didn't think you could keep up with me, Griggs?"

"I didn't know where the hell you were going, Brock!" Jack snipped at me.

"It's not like I was asking you to play hide and seek with me, was it?" I huffed.

Jack stopped rubbing his neck and put his arm over the other again, on his chest, and stood there. His footpaws were widely spread and he pushed his shoulders back so that he looked just as big as he was. He was a perfect image of a big Dobie standing like that, except maybe he didn't look mean enough. He wouldn't have ever played a gangster in those old movies were it was always Dobies and Alsatians playing the bad guys with Thompson guns and gangster hats. Dunno what made his face look too kind for that. Maybe it was the ears, or the eyes, or his teeth were too white, or maybe he just carried himself differently to most Dobies. Didn't matter a shit.

"You're not making any sense, Brock," he spoke to me, and I guess he wasn't too wrong in that.

Wasn't really knowing what I was saying anyway. Wasn't really thinking at all. Don't know if I was ever thinking anything much at all. Usually it was just doing exactly what I was told to do by the sergeants. Or I'd let my cock do the thinking. Simple life.

Just didn't feel that there was anything too simple going on at the moment. Jack was blocking the way out of the pier and I'd have to shove him down to the water if I wanted to go past him. That wasn't something I really wanted to do, though. It wasn't very deep here, the water, and he might hurt himself. I always had to wade down the water a lot before it got deep enough to swim at properly. Wasn't sure if Jack knew how to swim. I bet he couldn't swim with his skull cracked wide open after hitting a rock, though.

"Maybe I needed a bit of fresh air. It stinked like shit out there."

"It's a dairy, of course it stinks!" he spoke quickly. "Still didn't mean you had to run off like you had been stung by a bee or something weird like that!"

"You wanna suck the poison out?" I snuffled.

Jack shook his head.

"If you don't start making some sense, I'm going back to the house."

"Fine," I snorted like I didn't care what he'd do.

He didn't move an inch from where he stood. T'was some damn persistent Dobie he was. Sometimes he was even more pigheaded than I was, it seemed. Wonder if he had picked that up from me? It wasn't too grand an idea, that, being an influence. Certainly the world didn't need another Brock Stahlman around. Guess I was messed up like that.

"Okay, so if you're not talking, I'm going," he snuffled. "Want me to make dinner?"

"Whatever," I shrugged.

I turned before I saw him leave and just stood there for a while before I sat down to the edge of the pier, and again the wooden frame creaked. My footpaws almost touched the water below as I sat there, swinging my thick legs around bit as I leaned against my palms on each side of me and simply sat there as if I was one of those poles you put there to tie ropes at, whatever you were meant to call those. Guess it didn't matter what you'd call me now.

It felt good to be sitting like that, and the coolness helped to make my legs feel a bit more normal again. The ache in my calves had turned into a dull, occasional throb and not like the burning, simple pain that coursed through them once I pushed them past my limits.

His pawsteps were loud when he came closer, but he stopped a couple of feet away from me. I was glad for that. Didn't really want him on my skin now. Wasn't feeling good, that, even as an idea. Maybe I looked the part, too, for he didn't try to come closer, or touch me. Wasn't really in the mood to be pawed at by anyone, especially not by Jack.

"So, is this the lake you talked about, then?"

I shrugged again and didn't speak.

I heard his footclaws scrape against the old, greyed wood that had lost almost all of the white paint 'Pa had put on it when he built the new pier. He let me stir the paint with a stick and I was being so damn careful so as not to get my paws dirty.

Of course I got big white blotches everywhere, and over my plaid shirt. Ma had to scrub it with bleach to make it clean and for a year more I wore a shirt with faded colours. Must've been red and white, that stupid shirt. Always liked red and white and 'Ma would always buy me a new one when I grew out of the last one. Except Sundays. Then I had to wear the nice white shirt, even if we didn't always go to the church.

I wondered if I looked I used to do, when I'd sit here with my fishing rod and wonder about the world around me, and all the difficult things at school, and the girls, and football, and how it'd be like to have a brother instead of a sister, or why I was getting these odd tangy hairs between my legs and over my balls. Never had 'Pa talk me about women or what you were meant to do with your dick except take a leak, and shake it before pulling your sheath back up. Told that's how the big boys do it, shake it and all. Had to wonder if Jack's 'Pa told him all the things he needed to turn out okay. Maybe my 'Pa would've told more if he had been around for longer.

I lifted a paw and rubbed it over my chin and my cheek and then put it back down. My ear flicked on its own when the wind caught it quickly, and then it was quiet again.

"Yeah, that's the place," I finally answered his question.

"Came here much?"

"Pretty often, yeah, I guess. Lots of swimming and fishing. Used to skin them near that rock over there."

I lifted a heavy paw and pointed it towards a round, weathered rock that was about thirty yards away from the pier, near the edge of the forest.

"Does it have a good stock?"

"Just pikefish and not much else. It's not a big lake."

"Bet it tasted good though."

"Of course it did. Needed all I could eat to come this big, I guess," I snorted.

"So damn big, too, you did."

I snuffled at his comment.

"Pa was bigger," I replied after a moment.

"Is that true?" he spoke.

I still didn't look back to him.

"Yeah, before he stopped eating."

Wasn't sure why I went there. Just slipped out of my slack mouth, like it seemed so many things just came out without thinking. The silence that followed was worse than the sound.

"He was damn big. Must've weighted over 300 pounds he was," I explained to him, keeping my eyes at the reflection of the treeline on the water in front of me.

"Guess that was the first thing we should've noticed. He stopped having seconds with every meal. Ma actually had leftovers. That was a first. With two Dobies my size or bigger in the family, it never happened before."

I watched a cloud of the reflection move past the waters.

"Pa was always on the move, from the moment he opened his eyes at five am to the moment his head hit the pillow at ten pm. Always going at this or that and whistling. He sure loved to whistle, and he was good at it. Could do tunes, too, things he caught on the radio, or the movies. T'was always a sign of 'Pa approaching, the whistling, or swearing. Pa had a gutter maw. Whatever happened, he'd yell a fuck at you. Except out in company, then he'd just chew n his tongue and be dumb like a mule."

I wasn't sure if anything I spoke made any sense at all, but I guess Jack didn't mind listening. Could as well get it out of the way, so that he didn't need to ask it. It's always worse to ask for things you don't' want to hear but can't stop from asking.

"Didn't go to see the doctor before he had lost forty pounds off his back," I continued. "And that was only after 'Ma told him that it could be the cough, you know, tuberculosis or something like that. Wasn't impossible to get it from the cattle, on bad milk that wasn't heated up or whatever they do to it at the dairy. So 'Ma told him to go in to get his lungs checked out. 'Pa said that it was useless waste of money since he didn't even have a cough. T'wasn't turning 'Ma's head though. So off he went, had the X-rays and the scratch and whatever they do to check for the lung disease, like they did back when we signed up for the draft, right?"

"Right..." he grunted.

"It was that old doctor Johnson, that wolf fella who ran the local clinic. Called up 'Pa on this one afternoon and told he ought to go to the big hospital up there on the big road for another look at the X-rays, and maybe get his belly looked at, too. He thought there were shadows or some shit there."

I felt my ears flatten at the memory of that time, with 'Pa standing on the phone and staring at it with confusion, and 'Ma holding a towel to her paws, because she was just making a casserole for us to eat. I had stood on the doorway wearing my coveralls and with oil stains on my paws from fixing the ol' Deere.

"Guess 'Pa knew that he really had to go there or the old doc wouldn't have called him like that. Remember how 'Ma packed 'Pa's pyjamas into that old suitcase we had, and his shaving kit and his woollen socks and his favourite magazine, about tractors and stuff and all the things he wanted to do with the farm when it'd be better, like he always said it would."

I listened to the silence again and wondered just how long he'd take this thing without saying anything. I knew I had to keep going.

"I drove 'Pa to town and he caught the Greyhound from the old station there, and I drove the car back home and did all the work 'Pa would've had to do. He only phoned up on the next day and talked with 'Ma and we sat on the table at kitchen and 'Ma told that they were talking about something called the pancreas. Had not much idea what it was, not before looking at that big book with all the words in it...encyclopedia, right? Read about that, that it was something inside your belly, that did things. They had told that 'Pa's was gone bad and that they might have to cut it off."

"Your dad needed a surgery?"

"Went up there on the car and there was 'Pa in that big room with plenty of beds and plenty of furs lying on them. Sick furs and 'Pa looked like he was the one fittest out there. At least he was sitting up and talking and didn't smell weird like those others who just laid down in their beds and stared at the ceiling. 'Pa snorted and huffed at us and told that we were wasting our times and that I ought to be at home doing all the work, and should have left 'Ma to come on her own."

Had to snort right there to get the memory of the stench of Lysol of my nose. Think it was called that because 'Ma had a bottle of something that smelled much the same and he used only when he really wanted to clean something up bad.

"We went back on the next day, once 'Pa came back from the surgery, they told us. Never seen him like that, just staring at the ceiling and all bandaged and had his fur shaved all over his belly. Must've been giving him that stuff opium or whatever because he said it wasn't hurting. Just sat there next to his bed and watched him. He was like the others in the other beds now, I guess. Lots of drugs and bandages and those odd kind of eyes...that just weren't kind of there I guess."

"Took him long to get back home?"

Didn't expect him to speak then, but he did.

"They said they didn't get all of it out, but they said there was this new medicine they'd be giving him to get rid of the rest." I continued, not really caring for what he was saying.

T'wasn't stopping the flow now, It seemed.

"Think I'm too daft to remember things like that, but I do. I was listening when the doctor at the big hospital spoke and all. Methotrexate, he said, methotrexate will do it. Then he squeezed 'Pa's paw and told that they'd fix him up in no time, but it'd need a lot of rest and prayers and good heart."

I flicked my ears as if I was listening to those kind words even right now.

"Went back there every Sunday with 'Ma, I did, and every time 'Pa would be different. Again lost another tuff of hair, or from the tightness of his grip, or just...didn't seem right anymore. Ever seen a bald fur, Griggs?"

"Can't say I have."

His voice was tight, like if he was speaking through one of those fucking gas masks.

"Well, 'Pa got close to that. And his skin didn't look right. All..patches, like...like he'd hit himself or something. Lost a couple of teeth, too, and he had this tube on his arm hung to this bottle by him. Said it was something to keep the pain away, but didn't stop the throwing up. Always had that sick bucket next to him, and sometimes he would gag even when nothing came out. Like he was gasping for breath but..."

Still remembered how it smelt like, and how I couldn't wear my letter jacket to school after those visits.

"Once he coughed and his nose started bleeding and didn't stop for the whole time we were there visiting. The nurses told us to leave..."

"How long did that go on?"

A shrugged.

"A couple of months I guess," I snorted. "Then 'Pa came home."

"So he was better?"

"No, they sent him home to die."

Don't have no idea how I could just say it like that. Didn't feel like a thing that was meant to be spoken at all. Still, there it was, spoken just like that, like telling that 'Pa sent a postcard or something. Still didn't make much of a difference, that.

"The nurse, that vixen...Mrs. Phyllis she was called, yeah, she'd come over every morning and evening with her motorbike and give 'Pa an injection with a needle, to his arm. It was full of those red marks, 'Pa's arm...almost no fur left there...could see them all. Didn't stay with him much, even though my sis and my 'Ma did most of the time. Someone had to do the work around here, even if 'Pa was bad. Don't know why they sat there all the time, 'Pa wasn't doing anything, after all. Just slept a lot, you know. Spoke sometimes. He had a fever, I guess, and with all that...pethidine or whatever the nurse kept calling it that she gave him...didn't make much sense, what he said. Always asking if I'd milked the cows and I'd tell him yes, and he'd ask the same thing five minutes later."

I stroked my paw over the side of my muzzle and wondered what Jack was making of all of this. Still I didn't turn my head to look at him. I more felt than knew that he was there, and it was best that way. Could keep watching the water instead of him trying not to look indifferent to my words.

"So, we watched him die for a couple of weeks. Dunno if it's possible to die too fast or too slowly when you gotta die, but I'm not sure if he was still dying fast enough. He threw up everything he ate or drank and would shake and see things that didn't' exist, and speak to people who weren't there. He talked to my uncle, who died in Guadalcanal...Dixon Stahlman he was called, and 'Pa talked to him as if he was there in the room. I guess he thought they were kids again...he talked about football and chasing girls and climbing trees and how grandma could give them a few cents to buy a Coke. That's what you gotta listen, even when the reverend came over and all would hold 'Ma's paw in his over the Bible and they'd speak prayers. Tried praying too, I did, asking for the Almighty to either send an angel to make 'Pa better or collect his soul sooner."

Couldn't help it but feel my breaths catch a little. Never spoke a word of this to anyone before, so I suppose it was meant to really feel in your chest, too, speaking things like that about your own 'Pa.

"Was that life, you think, Griggs? Lying on your own crap and piss and not remembering your own name anymore. Still he kept breathing, and the nurse kept coming and giving two shots instead of one. 'Ma counted them by the small brown bottles she kept throwing into the bin after the nurse visited."

Could hear his breaths become growls, too, when I spoke. Not a wonder, that. Wasn't meant to hear that kind of things any more than I had been meant to see those kind of things. Still, it happened as it did, whoever said anything else.

"T'was a Monday in December when 'Pa died. Happened during the night when we all were sleeping. 'Ma and sis slept in the living room and I slept upstairs. Heard them call me down when 'Ma got up at night to go and turn 'Pa around like the nurse told she should do. 'Pa looked tiny when he laid there on his side with his tongue hanging out of his maw. He wore striped pyjamas...the same good ones 'Ma packed for him to go to the hospital, so that he'd be all fine out there in the big town."

I suppose that with that, I ran out of words and I just sat there for a while, letting the wind brush against my scruff as I tried to listen to the silence that had now fallen after my words ran dry. My tongue felt stiff after talking so much and using all those fine words that I remembered beyond probability at such a thick-headed Dobie like Brock Stahlman ever picking up fancy words like pancreas or methotrexate like that.

Jack was quiet too, once I had finished up my tale, and I knew he still stood there, and was shifting his weight from one paw to another, because I heard the little creaks coming from the pier whenever he did that change from side to side. I gave him a very quick look over my shoulder, and saw that he still stood with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he was protecting himself from something. Maybe he was scared that I'd jump him again, or do something else suitably stupid for a thick Dobie like me.

"Whatever that pancreas is, I don't have much respect for it no more," I snorted, as if to put some emphasis to my tale of pain.

"Brock, I..."

I tipped my head to the side so that I could look to him properly, and my ears flattened.

"Don't say you're sorry, Griggs," I grunted. "It's not worth it."

"But to think..."

"It's life," I snorted. "It happens if it happens, and sometimes it happens. Whoever says death is pretty is wrong. Death's peaceful, yeah, but it's not pretty. Or at least the lead up to it isn't."

I saw his whiskers tremble a little with the flow of air from his nose, as he looked down to me with those big, concerned Dobie eyes.

"So it was thinking about all that that made you run?"

I gave him a quick, glaring look.

"Do I need a reason?"

He shook his head slowly, and looked down to his toes. I followed his gaze, and took in all he was, from the tip of his nosepad to his broad chest, beefy thighs and to his thick legs and his footpaws, and then back up again. Seemed to be as big on both ways, but thankfully he wasn't scowling. Guess he survived the tale.

"So...," I snuffled. "Do you want to cool down a little? Get the sweat off your hide? I bet the water's nice enough."

"You sure it's a good idea?"

I shifted my ass a little so that I could reach the water with a footpaw, and dipped my toes in the water. It was cool but okay, just perfect for a little bit of swimming, as long as you didn't just float around aimlessly. A little bit of swimming would be enough to keep the chill at bay, or so I judged by the quick test of the water.

"Yeah, better than just sitting around here pretending I just didn't tell you about my father lying on a pool of his own piss," I snorted.

Jack flinched at my spat words, but he didn't bring it up again. Instead he just watched as I got up and stripped off my trousers and dropped them down to the pier right there in front of him. I made sure to flex my arms a little for him before I took a step towards him.

"You mind?" I rumbled, and again gave him my best glare.

Jack stepped to the side and made enough room for me to pass and walk there buck ass naked to the shore. I knew better than to jump down off the pier for I knew there wasn't more than two feet of water down there at most.

I waded down to the water and felt my skin prickle with coolness as the water rose with each step, first up to my knees, and then thighs, and I shivered a little when my balls ended up being dipped into the cold water. Thankfully my nuts had the sense to shrivel closer to my body as I took further steps, though I was already about twenty yards away from the shore before the water reached about midway to my chest. I turned around there, keeping my arms up to my sides and not putting them into the water yet, as I turned to look at Jack who was still standing there on the pier.

"Scared of getting your tail wet, wuffy?" I called to him, and even managed to show him my teeth and a way that didn't look like a snarl.

"Not more scared than you getting yours reamed," he replied in a surprisingly rough voice, and as I watched, he ended up getting rid of his own clothes and getting down to the water.

I watched him disappear deeper and deeper into the murky lake until he was almost up to my depth, and I gave him a quick glance before I whirled around again, kicked the bottom for some leverage, and dived in.

I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly as the cool water surrounded me completely, my outstretched paws in front of me cutting through the water as I held my face down and let the water flow over me. The darkness, and the silence took a brief hold of me, and my body glided slickly through the eternal twilight that existed beneath the surface of the lake. The only sound that came to my flattened ears was the sound of bubbles escaping from my maw and nose as I exhaled to keep the water away from my nose.

I took just a couple of strokes and kicks before I felt the need for a breath and then changed my angle, and I broke the surface with a big splash. I had to blink a few times to get the water out of my eyes, and I used a few strokes from my paws to keep myself upright while my footpaws pedalled the water and wouldn't reach the bottom of the lake. I saw the one half of a Jack that was visible above the surface, some ten yards away, maybe, and I was pleased that I had managed to cover such a distance in such a short time.

"You want to race, Griggs?" I called to him, slightly breathless, but enjoying the feeling of the pressure the water exerted upon my form. "To the opposite side!"

"Aren't you supposed to only swim alongside the shore, and not away from it?" he spoke to me and flicked one of his big ears.

Now that he mentioned it, I think it was one of the things 'Pa had time to tell me.

I dipped my head down and took a mawful of water and squirted it out in a long steam that splashed down somewhere between us, definitely nowhere near Jack. Nonetheless, he looked at me cub-like display with some interest, and snuffled.

"Alright....I'll race you along the shoreline, then, is that better, doggie?"

He didn't answer me to that, he didn't, for he had already kicked himself along and he was going off, making himself well and moving in the water with fast strokes and good kicks. I snuffled and kicked the water to propel myself back into speed again, and after watching him take only a couple of strokes, I knew that I would really have to make this into a race

*

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