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I really can't remember the last time that Dale could remember... well, anything really.

Snuggle fox is asleep at the moment, so we have to keep it quiet. But it's nice to finally have someone to talk to. I don't get that very much these days. I think it's because they're petrified of putting a paw out of line when talking about someone who's disabled, especially one so young. Doesn't stop everyone constantly asking me the blindingly obvious shit; they're all like Yo Vaughn! How on the great Earth do you do it? How do you cope?

Get fuckin fed up with the questions if I'm honest, because the answer to all of them is very simple; I don't. I don't cope well, I hardly sleep and I get fuck all tail.

I never blame anyone for what has happened, nor do I take it out on the gossipers; I just grit my teeth, smile and carry on. Because if Dale's illness has taught me anything, it's that life is too short for that crap.

How did we meet? Wow, my goodness, now there's a story. Dale had worked for the Central Bank of Panatara since he was like a cub, working his way up to become one of these scent and cash distribution adviser thingies. I don't understand it much; being from the North, I never did get to grips with the Vulpic scent thing. Paws forbid, a wolf would actively understand the workings of intra-canic financial scent logistics. Posh huh?!

And there's me, lumbering great lupe from hard-as-nails suburban Canas with as much grace as a fucking twelve-inch dildo on the steps of a cathedral.

Until that is I was sent by my boss to Panatara; one of those team-building exercises that I'd never been a big fan of. He'd said it would be good for me and the team to go and see where our glass was being put to use. Oh yeah shit, that's where the irony is. I had literally no clue about the scent thing in Shof, yet it turns out all the glass we manufactured was being used on the streets of Vulpic cities everywhere.

I never knew how beautiful the glass could shine with happy scent; just stunning. I padded around for days with my jaw on the floor, in awe at how they lived, how damned squeaky clean everything was. But anyway, where was I? Oh yeah - so Stu sends me south much to my clear enthusiasm, and I end up being given a tour of the central Bank. Great big fucking monumental thing, smack bang in the middle of the city. As the team leader, I was roped into the technical bits; I bullshit my way through, but I know my stuff when it comes to the products we churn out.

So for an hour or so I go one way, the other four or five of us go another; and I'm left with this dapper, handsome young fox whose enthusiasm was so sweet he almost gave me diabetes. Nah, I'm kiddin'; but really, it was just...well, he totally floored me. I guess I fell for him the moment I saw him; and there he is, dressed to the nines and has to put up with a fumbling great wolf who sewed himself into a dusty shirt and tie.

And the tour itself? I obviously thought it'd bore me shitless, but I ended up rolling my tongue back into my head and actually asking questions; well, I mean fuck the glass. I wanted to know more about Dale. He told me all about his life and his work and his little flat near the canal. And oh boy, he didn't have to tell me that he loved it all; you could feel it, see it and smell it. I was totally new to this, but he just took it all in his stride and gave me the ins and outs of everything; along with his phone number. So sue me, I couldn't help myself. I was twenty-five and single, since my lying, cheating, arsehole of a boyfriend decided he liked pussy better.

Idiot had been all like, But she likes shopping way more than you, She doesn't work every hour of the day, and finds time for me; Me, me what about me?!

Blah, blah, fucking blah. So yeah, to put it at no finer a point, I was fuckless.

Sure I could've jumped Dale when no one was looking, and I did bite my bottom lip when he leaned over or wafted his tail past me; but business is business, and my job was putting food in my maw and a roof over my head. Don't think I've blushed or smiled so much in my life. If I'd been linked into their system, I reckon my scent would've blown a gasket or fuse somewhere. It's also the only time I remember that I didn't want to leave a work outing; I spent the whole train ride home staring out the window into the rain. None of the other guys knew what was up; I guess they still don't. Not truly.

But they did send a card and flowers just the other day... it was obviously the first time they'd heard, bless 'em. You made this big hard wolf cry, ya' soppy fuckers! Good bunch o' lads, every last one; and every last one, a best friend to us both still.

Shit, keep losing my train of thought. Tour, train, card... ah yeah, so I'd got Dale's number and I knew he didn't work weekends. But that didn't stop me staring at this piece of paper with my paw clutched to the phone. I must've stood there for hours, literally terrified to pick up the receiver and call him. And yeah, I finally plucked up the courage and gave him a bell; as it rang, I kinda hoped it would go to voicemail ya' know. Not because I didn't want to see him or speak to him; I was just shitting myself. You know what it's like.

Made me go all weak and fuzzy when I heard his voice again, and I just knew this was something special. Would it seem too soon to say I got hard too? Well, hey fuck it, I did! He'd never been to Canas, so I offered to take the train to get back to Panatara; and so we set up a rather posh dinner date. It was one of these restaurants with a single word name, and so obscure and trendy that I had to print off a map for the taxi driver at the train station.

So I'm like shit, you're out of your fucking depth again Vaughn. But I dusted off the black jacket again and wore a dark shirt, and I'd groomed my tail all day long. Spent ages in front of the mirror at home and on the train adjusting my tie, and sweeping the fur flat across my ears. Just gave up in the end, and settled for as good as I could muster. And Dale was just as sweet as I'd remembered him, stood there at the door looking so so smart as I scrambled out of this scruffy fucking sedan.

We spent the evening in this gorgeously low-lit place, nomming on some damned good (and expensive) food, giggling and putting the world to rights; oh, and eyeing up the waiters of course. Yeah, like you don't?! And I just couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so whole and happy. There were several times that we caught stares between the necks of the two empty wine bottles across the table; and he'd shy away and blush, and I would do the same whilst waiting for someone to give us our next course or our next topic. It was perfect. He was perfect. Dale told me more about his family, about growing up with his twin brother Roath and about his first boyfriends; some useless fuck had cheated on him too. How could anyone break his heart?

I guess it was rebound-arama, but I couldn't give two hoots what anyone says; and yeah, it was still obvious that plenty of eyes were on us that night. Now I was used to this with my ex having been the prancy, tail-lifting, attention-seeking twat that he was; but poor Dale felt a little unnerved. And besides, it was a wolf and a fox eating at the same table. Ooo scandal! But who was gonna be brave enough to step up and walk-the-walk; hey, I may be gay, but I'm six foot four and can throw down when I want to.

We don't do anything like that anymore. Eat out I mean, not throw down. Well shit, I don't do that either. Wow, you can see I don't talk about all this very often. But yeah, I'm never one for something too upmarket as a regular thing, but I miss it, I really do. But I don't think Dale would ever cope now; he wouldn't know a knife and fork from a jumbo jet.

And I know exactly what you're thinking; we had the do you want to come in for a coffee? moment and ended the night with a good hard fuck. Eh eh! Wrong! Sure we had coffee at his place, and sure I'd thought about taking him to bed; but we'd had such a lovely night, he actually fell asleep on my shoulder on his own sofa, bless 'im. I left a little note on his kitchen table after I'd laid him on his duvet, and wandered back to catch the last train.

I obviously didn't know this at the time, but this tiredness was actually a very early symptom; not that anybody could've done anything to stop it.

So that was that. I went back to work on the Monday morning, and Dale and I kept in touch by phone and email. We had a couple more fun days later in the summer of that year; from relaxing wanders through the sensory artificial forests that surround the city of Panatara, to sitting and watching the ducks on the River Yeno as the sun set. Took me to the beach too, the crafty sod. He's a fox after all, and I shoulda known. Dale has always since admitted that the only reason he invited me there was because he wanted to see my tight tail in speedos.

We had a great time. But it wasn't until something horrific happened that we made the step into a serious relationship. Wow, that sounds really awful now I think about it. Things were going just fine until I got a call from Dale on a Saturday afternoon in November. He was in floods of tears and could barely speak he was so upset. Long and short of it, his twin brother Roath had been killed in a car accident that afternoon and he wanted me to come down. I was fucking out of the door before I was even half-dressed. I couldn't bear the thought of Dale being alone at a time like this.

His parents were out of the country and were making their way back, and of course I was the closest he had right then to a significant other. I got to the city in a blind panic, but somehow managed to get myself to the hospital. Fuck, he was in pieces. Just cried and cried. There was nothing they could do to save Roath; he was long gone. And I know Dale would've given his tail and his body, and his life to have him back.

So I took him away from all the... well, it was horrid. I can only hope to this day that Roath died quickly. I walked Dale home and got him a hot lemon drink to soothe his head; and he'd heard from his mum and dad that they'd been delayed, and that they'd land at the airport in the morning. So yeah, by this point I'm feeling rather awkward. I'd never comforted someone in this position, and could only cuddle him as he talked. We had a giggle in the end, and he started to smile. And even though my eyes were cast at the clock all the time and thinking about the last train home, I couldn't bring myself to leave him. Shit, even when I got to my paws to just grab a glass of water, Dale grasped at my tail and begged me not to leave.

I think I cried just as much as him that night. But much cuddling and damp tissues later, I offered to make him some dinner; and I think that's what kicked us off. He was still reeling; I could see it and smell it. He didn't want anything to nom, but he wanted something else; and I'd be fucked if I was gonna pass up on that. I loved Dale, I was truly deeply in love with him and wanted him like crazy; and sure, the night of his brother's death was the last time I pictured us ripping each other's clothes off and making love. He'd just nuzzled me to thank me for being there, and although I was kinda caught off guard by that, it all kind of evolved.

Paws above, he was incredible. Blew my fucking mind. I'd almost shot my load before I'd even got myself inside him; just seeing him bare-furred and begging for it brought out the feral side in me. Dale had lots of the control and just wanted cock; wouldn't even suck me off, just lifted his tail and told me exactly what he wanted. And what he had always wanted. Do you hear me complaining? Yeah well, you wouldn't have heard me bitchin' that night either! I didn't last long the first time, but he was up and on me again, rolling those hips until I'd cummed myself dry, knot deep in his tailhole. I can't remember the last time I came so much; insatiable little beast he was.

Like I knew little about the glass we made, Dale enlightened me as to how little I truly knew about foxes. Dirty? Slutty? You kiddin' me right?! I clearly didn't know the meaning of the words.

OK, so when we woke up in the morning, I sat myself on the edge of the bed with my head in my paws wondering why the fuck I would do such a thing. Dale was very sweet though, and put his paws around my shoulders and played with my tail until I smiled again. You could still tell his scent wasn't all there; but he still managed to pick me up and put me back on my paws.

Naughty thing still managed to drag one more blowjob out of me before he had to head to the hospital. I guess that would _really_be taking advantage now. I just couldn't. He wouldn't know why I was doing it, or what was going on. It'd be tantamount to abusing a cub. It just cuts me.

So one night of hot sex lead to more frequent phone calls and get-togethers, along with a very dirty Christmas; but after a couple more months apart, I was able to persuade my supervisor to move me to Panatara for the New Year to oversee a brand new glass foundry on the edge of the city. I moved into Dale's flat near the canal and we were finally settled.

Cue more bedroom fireworks. Paws alive, Dale was a frisky thing!

So anyway, life was great. Work kept us apart in the day, but I was so fucking glad to never come back to an empty house. I guess saying that I wished that I'd noticed all the early signs is pretty useless, because even I know that it would've made fuck all difference.

I hate being kept in the dark about anything; I'm useless at surprises. Then again, what the fuck do I know about being in the dark?! Poor Dale is constantly there, and it just seems like he's in a room with a fading lightbulb that just flickers now and again.

Paws above, I've just reduced my mate's life to a rusty filament.

And you'd never guess in a million years what got me thinking, what made me realise the brightest light in my life was starting to fade. Just the craziest thing now I think about it. Dale had come home one afternoon, and had hopped in the shower to rinse off after a long hot day at the office. I made it back about an hour afterwards, and as I padded in, it was pretty much the first thing I noticed. And there it was. He'd made himself a cup of tea and obviously hadn't started drinking it before he showered; so it just sat there on his desk with a pawful of pens inside it.

No joke. He'd put his work stationery all over the place. The pens were inside this full, cold mug of tea, instead of sitting in the desk tidy. And so when I go to look inside that, it's full of milk. I didn't even make a big deal of it, and by the time Dale had come out of the shower, I'd tidied it all up and sat on the sofa to watch some of the tailball. When he came through, I ushered him to join me and we spent a lazy evening snuggling. I didn't even ask after it; he was so tired.

But it kept happening. Dale would not only keep misjudging things, he'd start to make three mugs of tea in the evenings instead of two; and then would get tearful and frustrated when he realised. It went from tea, to insomnia and even got to his appetite. Now that was fucking scary to see Dale turn down his dinner. He might've been this slight five-foot-ten vulp, but he used to be able to eat the frickin' door down.

And still the drinks kept coming. I'm not fucking kiddin', mate. Every single night, without fail. And now he was starting to believe that there was three of us.

I'm not gonna' say that I was entirely comfortable with that. I'm also not gonna' deny that I did fly off the handle on more than one occasion after he'd done it again and again. Am I proud of myself? Fuck no! You just have to bear in mind that he'd gone from being this apologetic and stressed professional, to this tearful, cub-like innocent who kept staring across the room at the empty chair near the long window. It's where he'd started to set down that third mug.

My insecurities and Dale's insomnia aside, he was still very keen in bed and I'd say that he'd got friskier since this... well, this _thing_had taken control. Fuck me, he had me going all night. And I'm usually like, grunt, cumshot, and then snoring my muzzle off; but no, he just had this extraordinary energy to go and go and go again. There were times that I looked into his eyes as we were about to cum, and... well I was scared. He'd completely glaze over.

Dirty fox would get me all worked up, suckle on me with my trousers around my paws, then push me down onto the bed and have his wicked way. And once was never enough; he'd want my knot more and more. So often would he get me off in his muzzle or his arse, before we'd reach a pause with me slumped over the bed bare-furred. I'd then hear a snarl and those paws would push me over to lie tummy down on the duvet. He'd whisper the dirtiest fantasies in my ears before kissing me all down my back, and then my tail would be grabbed and Dale would end up rimming me for hours on end. Wow that makes it sound like I was complaining. He'd snuffle and inhale and lick and nom like crazy, sticking that talented little tongue where I never knew he would; and he'd be telling me how much he loved me, how much he loved my scent and the smell of sex on my sweat-wet tail. All this of course was a blur as I moaned and writhed, and emptied my bollocks all over the duvet.

But you know... well, ya' know when it gets so far that you start thinking something's not right here? That the sex was getting so rough and frequent that it almost creeps you out? I'm not saying Dale wasn't up for it regularly before this; I just looked back and started thinking about how and why such a soft and sweet fox who'd been a gentle and submissive lover, had become the raunchy little cumslut that I was bedding every night.

Again, paws up... I wasn't exactly innocent. Heck, I was a willing participant. Very willing. But my nature got the best of me, and I guess I went on to ruin what little we had left in the bedroom department with just a single question. But concern can come out like accusation, which I totally get. And with all the other relatively small mistakes Dale was making in his everyday life, this was laying heavy on my mind. I guess I just stuck my oofing great footpaw in it.

And it had been a relatively good day on the forgetfulness front too. I'd had my turn with my naughty little fox; I had enjoyed tasting _his_tight little tailhole for a change, then making him beg for relief before I hammered my knot into him. He wanted to be rough and dirty? Well his big wuff could rise to that challenge. So anyway, there we are snuggled in bed, cum-wet fur and all, with my sticky paws petting him as he yawned; and I could feel the question slipping out of my muzzle. And you know when you realise it's a bad idea to say it, just as you're saying it? Well that's exactly what happened.

Innocently enough, it started with foxie's feeling OK yeah?; and he just mewed and snuffled closer. And then, like the fucking idiot I am, I went on to qualify it by adding you'd tell wuffie if you were perhaps taking something?

Durr! Oh for fuck sake, I am such an idiot. And _you_know what I was getting at, right? But it _so_came out in the wrong way. And needless to say, if I had had blue balls earlier in the day for one reason, I quickly had them again for another. Paws above, I was hunched over for the whole of the next day.

I don't know whether he ever truly forgave me for asking that. He just faded too quickly to ever know. Weirder still, after I sheepishly crept back home from work the following evening with a bunch of roses, I tearfully asked him whether he _could_forgive me; and he bounded into my paws with just the biggest smile on his muzzle.

Does this mean we can have a second date? he'd said as I went from drying my tears to frowning with bemusement.

Uh we're already a couple, baby. We dated ages ago.

And this disappointed him, his muzzle sniffing gently at the flowers with his eyes gone all puppy-dog on me. I cuddled him anyway, and told him that if he wanted to go another date night, I would be the luckiest wolf of all. That brought the smile back.

We never did go.

But d'you know what? I should've known from that point that there was really something not right. He had no recollection of what had happened or what I had said last night, nor did he have any real idea why I was apologising. I thought he was fucking with me at first, being all passive aggressive and shit. But I looked into his eyes again and just knew he actually thought it the truth. Slays ya'.

By this stage, his personality was all over the place I was trying to convince myself that everything was calming down, and that this was all serious work-based stress. But when he came home that Friday, about... my goodness, about a year or so later, I knew things were never gonna' get any better. I'd had the day off, so I was sat on the sofa stuffing my muzzle with crisps as Dale padded in.

And everything was fine; or at least it seemed so. We kissed, snuggled, ate some dinner, and snuggled some more, before I noticed an envelope tucked into Dale's rucksack. I was kinda intrigued, and he said he didn't know what it was either.

They'd fired him.

I just sat there numb, with Dale scrabbling over my shoulder desperate to see what the letter said. I did ask him whether he knew, and he insisted that he had no idea and was even then still asking me what it all meant.

And please don't ask why or how Dale had kept his job all this time. But obviously his errant mind had started to stray into the workplace, and he'd started making mistakes. Just small things at first ya' know, but then the letter listed a whole array of disciplinary actions. The same shit again; the stationery being misplaced, the forgetting of names and colleagues and even appointments with customers.

I just told Dale that from now on he could work from home, and that the bank was so very sad to see him go. Now I thought that that would just totally wreck him. But he just sat there all quiet and nodded with what I guess you could call a sad look, which was distracted only by his staring at that chair across the room again.

But was I fucking fuming or what?! I suggested Dale grab a shower before we had some more snuggle time; and it was then that I hit the roof with his ex manager. I was yelling and screaming down the phone; I won't repeat what I said, needless to say they knew where I stood. I mean, how the fuck could they do that? I truly thought that the problems we had were confined to these four walls. He never said otherwise, and no one from his work had called to ask after him. And OK, so I got where they were coming from, but they didn't even have the balls to phone and discuss this with me months ago. Someone should've called me up and said look, we need to talk about Dale. I'm his partner, for fuck sake!

Was it the whole he's a wolf thing? I dunno'. Best not to think about it.

Well anyway, that was that. His working life was over and done with; and we were reduced to one income plus a company pension that they begrudgingly paid out. Fuckers!

I just had to get on with it knowing I'd be leaving him at home most of the day. I did encourage him to get out and have walks, and perhaps keep his mind and scent active with the crosswords in the paper. Just something, anything to keep him from drifting.

But he was getting distracted a lot lot more, and every time I talked to him, he'd trail off and stare into the distance. Particularly in the living room, where he'd linger and smile at the empty chair.

I came home one day and found him sat on our sofa and leaning over in its direction, chatting away. He'd made another cup of tea for the empty space. I padded over and came to sit by him; he completely ignored me and carried on this eerie conversation that was just completely incoherent. It was just gibberish. I ended up asking him who it was, and probably came over all huffy and impatient as I did so. Dale turned around to me with a hurt look on his muzzle, and clasped his tail closer to himself.

Roath and I are enjoying a drink and a chat, he said, his voice indignant and uptight, angry almost that I didn't know who this was.

Baby, there's no one there. You have to remember, I hadn't the faintest idea what was going on in what was left of Dale's brain; oh, and I can be really inane sometimes, not so you'd noticed.

Dale scowled at me as he got to his paws, and wandered over to the cup of tea. He picked it up and carried it back to the kitchen.

Honey, what's wrong? Where are you going? I was getting rather worried now.

Roath would like another cup of tea. We'd like to chat some more before he goes to work.

So I'm left there in the eerie silence of the living room; and now I'm staring at this empty chair. Never felt so fucking cold and frightened in my whole life. Sure I knew Dale wasn't right, but now it was just plain to see that he wasn't just not right, he was desperately ill.

He padded back in, and set another full mug down by the foot of the chair, before coming back to sit next to me on the sofa.

I kinda inched forward, and looked around at Dale's muzzle. He was smiling and staring out into space.

But foxie? Roath has been dead for years.

See what I mean? I'm fucking clueless. I shoulda known by this point that it was time to quit and hand him over to a doctor. He turns and gives me this heartbreaking look, tears pouring from his eyes.

How could you say such a thing!? Don't ever say that again. You've embarrassed me in front of Roath now.

I kinda murmured a sorry but knew it wouldn't register. Dale got up again, and stormed off into the bedroom in tears.

It was that night that I called Stephen, Dale's father. I'd only met his parents briefly, and only a pawful of times; but we all got on really well. And it was weird ya' know, because no sooner had I mentioned it all, all the crazy shit that I figured a father would hate to hear, he knew. He knew what it was, and he had seen it coming for months. Wish he'd told me. I'm kiddin' ya' know, but really. I've proven myself no intellectual in this conversation haven't I?

If I look back over it now, I can see how rapidly Dale was heading downhill. One moment I had my lover; the next I had a stranger in my own home. To tell you the truth, Dale probably thought the same of me. The frisky side of him started to disappear, and he quickly started to forget not only basic dates and times and places, but names too. Who I was, where I was from and what I was doing in his bed; none of it registered in his head. It's hard to roll over and snuggle someone who has no clue or control. I felt dirty, almost like a cub molester.

I'd separated the beds a week or so before Stephen had persuaded his only surviving cub to come with us to the doctor. Not because of the upcoming check-up, but because of one night when I tried to get Dale in the mood, only to end up with a hard smack around the muzzle.

We've got company. Don't do that to me.

I just stared at him, before pulling up my trousers, adjusting my tail and padding out to bawl my fucking eyes out in the bathroom. Roath's ghost had obviously decided on being with Dale in the bedroom now as well.

So off to the doctors we went. He examined Dale's tail, measured his Tail Droop against the latest national index, and took bloods and scents. I could see his muzzle twitching and sniffing; I guess him being the pro, he knew all too well what Dale had even before any results came back.

And then the questions started.

Dale, what year is it? Do you know?

Poor fox had to think, biting his bottom lip before looking up with a shy shake of his head.

That's OK mate. What about where we are now? Do you know what city you live in, Dale?

Oh that's easy! He instantly perked up, and I was on the edge of my seat so desperately wishing he'd give the right answer. We're in Southon. It's my favourite place.

And it was a collective ear droop. I just sat there numb, not able to believe how badly he'd deteriorated. Stephen and Tara would later tell me that the city of Southon on the West coast of Shof was where Dale and his twin were born. It was almost as though he was regressing back to his cubhood.

OK, one more question Dale. You're doing just great. Now, tell me... And the doc swivels on his chair and points at me, who's this? Do you know his name?

And now Dale was staring at me. His eyes were so hollow, you could almost see out the back of his skull. And as much will as I was trying to transmit, it just crushed me when he shook his head after a while and looked back at the doctor; I just burst into tears. I couldn't fuckin' take it.

Dale's parents and I took him back to our flat on the other side of the city, and as he went to bed - he was out on his footpaws, bless 'im - the three of us sat in the living room and chatted over coffee. It was the first company I'd had in weeks, and I guess I seemed desperate when it was time for them to leave.

The diagnosis didn't take long; but if I'm honest, I left the post sitting piling up on the mat for the whole week. Yeah, I was shit scared of what they'd found and what that meant for our future. It happened to be the last envelope in the stack as I finally got through them the following Sunday. It was scent-marked for my paws only which I knew was not a good sign. I mean these were Dale's results we were talking about, not mine; I just guessed it was a surreptitious way of saying we know he won't be able to understand what we're saying.

After scanning through all the technical crap, it was finally revealed what was happening to Dale. He had something called Vulpic Elvoxis Evisagara, which apparently for all those of us not up with medical terminology, was an aggressive form of Caudal and Neural disintegration. The doc had very kindly handwritten a note to accompany the formal diagnosis, explaining it all in words that this dumb old wolf could just about understand.

He'd said that his tail droop readings were some of the highest he'd seen in thirty years, and that his scent was reducing itself from a healthy red, to an unusual shade of cream white. I gathered this was a bad sign; like I've said, I have little clue when it comes to all this technical stuff about scent and scentlight and all the other sensory crap they yarn on about._ _

And I didn't break down or scream or yell or cry. I didn't do anything in fact. I don't know whether I had accepted it right then and there, but I guess that was a sign that I was at peace with Dale's destiny. I will admit, I did punch a hole in the bathroom door later that night; I do let anger boil up inside me, and let it out at some of the most inappropriate times. I guess I was lucky I didn't do any real damage; I was just annoyed, as I was starting to blame myself for not getting Dale seen to sooner.

So making the trip to the doctor's became routine in the end; he could provide us with special scent enhancers and drugs that would help keep Dale's mental wellbeing afloat. Mind you, when the doctor gave me another bag marked painkiller, I did get rather angry. It's like, you've got to be kidding me right?! The last fucking thing I expected was to pick up fucking analgesics.

It's the last thing you want to hear from a doctor in this situation. I was crushed already that Dale was never going to get better, but I never ever ever wanted to learn that his illness would gradually make his life a living hell.

And they certainly did him no good whatsoever. Sure they might've got rid of any pain he was suffering, but the stuff it brought out in Dale was... well, let's just say, I'm glad I couldn't see what he was seeing. His insomnia worsened, and in the end I pushed the beds back together again as I just couldn't stand hearing and seeing him in such a state. He'd see things, horrible things. I encouraged him to talk about stuff, and in so doing he told me what he saw; huge deformed monsters crawling around the living room, eyeless heads popping in and out of the walls, snarling beasts prowling everywhere and spitting blood all over the carpets.

And if he retired to bed early, I'd hear him cry and scream, whimper and beg for it all to stop. And fuck me, this wasn't his illness doing all this; it was the frickin' drugs. I'd be sat on the edge of the bed, and he'd be scrabbling across the duvet to get away from something. He'd stare at me and cry, almost as though I was a corpse. Perhaps I was in his eyes. Those fucking pills fucked him up.

As for our sex life, it was gone. But the fact that he allowed me to cuddle him at night again was such a relief; I'd missed feeling that warm little fox body in my paws. Even if he was entirely still and high as a kite, it just felt so much better. I wanted to keep him safe from everything that he could see and hear. He even asked me to blindfold him at night; but that didn't work.

It wasn't long before Dale's motor functions started to fail; and he aged so badly, it was like he was an old fox in a young fox's fur. And the doc was right. His tail droop was obviously so high, that it eventually dropped to the floor and poor Dale ended up dragging it around like a dead weight. He just couldn't lift it. But with a failing tail, came a failing ability to take care of himself even on the most basic levels.

If you've ever witnessed a lover, a young fox who originally had his whole life ahead of him, soil himself uncontrollably you'd know how painful and depressing this was. But to then remain sane enough to meticulously clean up both the room and him, I amazed even myself. I still don't know how I coped. Dale was totally beside himself when it happened the first time, and just had this mortified look frozen on his muzzle as if to say please help me.

I tended to him twenty-four seven, and it just got to the point where I had to quit my job to look after him. Lucky for me, the state provided a basic full time salary for carers of the sick in their own homes. The king provided for it personally so as not to put unnecessary strain on nursing homes and hospitals, whilst allowing the seriously ill to avoid care fees in private and public institutions. It was a neat idea, and I was so desperately grateful.

It wasn't the only thing I desperately needed. I had dealt with everything other than my raging daily hard-ons. So OK I pawed-off in the shower, and whilst I let Dale soak in the bath; but I wanted something more. It did make me irritable, and there were days when Dale's dragging tail, his slow gait and his inability to even dress himself just made me unbelievably angry. I never had a go at him. I guess I was angry both on my own part for my unspent sex, and the fact that this was a young fox who was literally dying slowly on his paws.

I just had to get out. Not permanently, but I just needed a break from it all. I gave Stephen a bell one Thursday, and asked if he and his mate could come down to spend Saturday night tending to Dale. They were happy to, and I was on my way out for the first time in... wow, it must've been a year or more.

And don't even go there, OK?! I did not go out with the _intention_of getting laid. Dale was still my mate, compos mentis or not. I still loved him more than anything. Shit, I wouldn't have stayed if I wasn't head over tail in love with 'im.

I didn't meet up with anyone, or get together with friends. I just got myself into some nice clothes, got my tail dressed properly and dabbed on some special scent (it was Dale's favourite) before padding into the city centre and propping up a bar for a couple of hours.

You know where this is going right? Thought so.

It was nice to let my fur down, have a drink and a nibble and a chat with whoever was sat next to me. And I did bump into a couple of familiar muzzles, one in particular who I knew from work. Rees was his name; worked in fluid injection in the back of the foundry. Dirty sod made a joke about that all the fucking time. He was also always trying to get his leg over, and usually I was the target. We got chatting about life in general, about Dale and about work. He said it hadn't been the same since I left, and that I had been the most fuckable by far apparently, a remark which got me frowning and shaking my head.

Fuck, he reminded me of my ex. Always begging to be silenced in the only way he knew how; lift his tail and get his hole plugged with thick wolf knot. It's said isn't it that one can speak from the heart? Well my ex and this randy vulp both spoke from the arse. Paws above!

We had a giggle and a couple more drinks, before I made for the gents to have a more comfortable walk home. And no sooner had I walked in, I heard someone else follow close behind and a paw rushing the lock closed. I turned and next thing I know there's this tongue in my muzzle. It was Rees.

I growled angrily and pushed him away, staring at him as though wtf was carved across my maw.

It don't 'ave to mean anything. I can give you the relief you want, and no one ever has to know.

And by this point he'd already dropped his trousers and leant up against the locked door, waggling his bare rump at me tail-high.

With my head swimming in a mix of alcohol and scent, I unzipped my trousers as I knelt down behind him and showed him that my muzzle could walk the walk. Completely and utterly musk-drunk, I ate that tight little fox hole like he was the last gay tail in foxdom, before hilting my cock into him. I didn't last long. I didn't want to last long. I couldn't help myself; but I've never forgiven myself for it either.

I'm not going to excuse what I did that night by saying he forced me to fuck him silly, or that he was obviously wearing an altered scent on his tail. Fucking slut! And by the way, that's both me and him; we were both just as bad as one another.

Rees and I knew that it meant fuck all; but it didn't stop me feeling like a fucking prick as I made my way home. Sobering up from that kind of drunken betrayal puts your tail between your legs pretty fucking sharpish; and I must've looked a sight for sore eyes when I padded through our front door at gone one. I had tried to straighten myself up before I put key to lock, swish back my tail and cover up the stench of sex that wreaked from my every fibre. Didn't work.

So I thought, oh fuck I am gonna get such a fuckin' bollockin' from Mr and Mrs Frieszik; but it never happened. They were snuggled up on our sofa watching the late night news; I think Mrs Frieszik had fallen asleep. Dale had had a pretty good day they said, and was fast asleep in bed. I was all smiles and gratitude, desperately trying to get them out of the house before they could smell the high colour on my scent. Mind you, I don't think it mattered. Both of them gave me that knowing look, that understanding smile. I think they knew.

I on the other paw, couldn't get my own stupid behaviour out of my head; and decided that it was best to come clean to Dale about what I had done. I mean, I really don't know what I was thinking. I sat on the edge of the bed the following morning, stroking his tail as I tried to explain what wuffie had done last night. And I suppose in my own way I was giving Dale a semblance of his normality back; but he still just smiled and looked right through me. I whispered that I loved him, and he giggled and went all pink in the muzzle. I have no hesitation in admitting that I cried too, and he leant forward out of bed and nommed on one of my ears.

There was still some of Dale left in there.

Life wasn't any easier. I was just more at peace with the inevitable. Dale could eventually only walk with me assisting him and what with all the sores he was getting on the bottom of his tail, he became bedbound at home. So to keep him smiling, I installed a scent sensitive glass lining around the entire bedroom. It's so neat. It lights up with mood and touch, and produces the most soothing light shows. Most of it is down to my own glands which I got one of the lads to programme the glass to zone in on; Dale's is so damaged that it wouldn't work otherwise.

He gets such a kick from me standing there bare-furred and stroking my tail up the wall. I swish it around in all sorts of shapes, before finishing with a big red heart. I point at him and then at me as I daub the heart shape on the wall. He loves that.

He sits up in bed and claps and laughs and smiles at the colours; and we still get to snuzzle and kiss, even though I know he's not sure why.

Dale is a little afraid to leave our bedroom now. He's taken to thinking that the floor around our bed is a sea, which is consequently why he's started to mellow out. Poor fox thinks I'm some sort of messiah who can pad on water.

He still sees Roath about the house too. I've asked him about his brother, and he always says that he's happy; and yes, he's always dying for a cuppa'. And actually, if Roath really is here with us, I'm glad; because every time Dale sees him, it makes him happy.

Hmm, sounds like snuggle fox is awake. He always likes to go out of an afternoon so long as it's not raining. I take him down to the park to catch the sunset through the sensory forest near the Great Earth. He loves to watch the ducks on the river too; little fluffy baubles of life floating comically down this huge waterway. It is kinda funny and cute. Well it makes him giggle, and that's all that matters to me.

I guess I should go. Got to sail him out from his little island, lest he be lost at sea. Bless 'im!

I don't think Dale is long for this world; so no matter what he sees, hears or feels at that last dusk in his life, I will always want to be the sailing ship that guides him home.

Thank you for keeping me company.