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*AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place ten years after the previous chapter. *

The sounds of early birds chirping in the trees sounded all around the McGregor estate. The morning light was just barely creeping over the horizon as Bradley McCallister walked through the trail of the wooded area out back to his gym. Opening the door, he wasn't surprised by what he saw. Little Martin, his oldest cub was busy practicing away on a heavy bag, he danced around bag, throwing punches in bunches and moving his head back and forth, side to side to relation to where the bag was moving. Little Martin didn't even break his concentration as his father shut the door, the sound echoing all throughout the gym.

"Morning, little champ," said the folf, still focusing on his handwork. Will sat down on a stool near where his son was training, watching for any mistakes he might make.

"Put your paws up higher, Martin. There, that's it!"

Little Martin had been fighting with his paws more at the waist level, a proper placement if he was fighting a shorter fighter. The folf continued his dance around the heavy bag, ending the exercise with a massive right hook to the bag that reverberated throughout the gym. He wiped the sweat from his head with his red gloves.

"Morning, Dad," said the folf with a smile.

"Very good work," said Bradley. "You foot work has really improved in the last month."

"That's what I hoped would happen," said the folf, throwing a quick left jab into the heavy bag for no apparent reason. Bradley threw his son a towl, patting a stool nearby as his way of telling the boy to "have a rest", which he gladly did.

"You ready for today?" asked Bradley.

"I am," said Martin. "Got up and ran five miles like it was nothing before the sun was even up."

"Don't get cocky there, cub," cautioned Bradley. "What do I keep telling you about your wanting to fight in the amateurs?"

Martin rolled his eyes, having heard this a million times before. "I have to be doing this for real, because everybody wants to brag about how they beat up Bradley McGregor's son."

"You've got a bullseye on your tail. Don't doubt that for a second!" said Bradley. "I'm just telling you this because your mother isn't exactly thrilled with the idea of yet another McGregor being a boxer."

"Mom worries too much," said Martin.

"That's her job, son," Bradley reminded him. "You know, when you were just a little baby, I remember holding you up in the air and making this announcement to an imaginary crowd about how you were the undefeated, undisputed heavyweight champion of the world."

"I doubt that's going to happen," said Martin with a grin. Being part fox, he had not grown to the size of his father. At sixteen, he was noticeably smaller than Bradley was when he was that same age. His first amateur fight today would be fought in the welterweight division, whereas Bradley fought as a cruiserweight, the class below heavyweight, when he was an amateur.

"Anyway," said Bradley, flicking his son's ears for interrupting him. "I remember your mother heard that, snatched you away from me and said, "Oh, I don't think so! Nobody's going to hurt my baby!' Just keep that in mind, boy."

"I know she's worried, but I'm not a baby anymore," protested Martin as he picked up his water bottle, drinking from it.

"Oh, son, son, son," said Bradley shaking his head. "No matter how old you are, no matter if you win every title in your weight class, you are still, and will always be your mother's baby. Don't forget that!"

"Yeah, okay," said Martin, grumbling.

"Come on," said Bradley, putting his arm around his son. "Your mother's made breakfast and you need your strength."

Father and son turned out the lights to the gym before heading out to get a much needed breakfast.

Inside the McGregor house, Tori stood over the stove, making her family breakfast. There were more people to cook for now, as the McGregor family included sixteen year old Martin, nine year old Lydia, seven year old Alexander, six year old Katie, and four year old Ray. With having five cubs at home, Tori had finally convinced her husband to retire from boxing the previous year. Bradley was ready anyway. He had an extraordinary career in professional boxing, having fought the toughest contenders, going all over the world, making tons of money and taking part in charitable events, he was quite content with his life. He'd retired undefeated, the only undisputed heavyweight champion to do so, and he was only twenty-nine when he hung up the gloves. He could now focus entirely on his growing family. So when Martin announced his intentions to be involved in amateur boxing, the vixen thought to herself, "He we go again".

Bradley and Martin strolled into the kitchen, smelling all the wonderful dishes that Tori had prepared for them. Martin shadow boxed as he made his way over to the dining table to join his siblings. Scowling, Tori turned around and berated her son's behavior.

"Martin, how many times have I told you no shadow boxing in the house? That's what the gym is for."

"Sorry, Mom," said the eldest of the McGregor folfs, ceasing his throwing punches instantly. "Ha ha!" laughed seven year old Alexander. "Martin got in trouble!"

Martin raised his right paw at his younger brother, bunching it up into a fist. Alexander ducked underneath the table screaming. "Mommy! Martin's trying to hit me!"

Tori slammed a wooden spoon down on the stove as she turned around to discipline her oldest cub. "Martin Bradley McGregor, if you hit your little brother, you can forget about going to the fight today!"

"I wasn't going to hit him!" protested Martin. "I'm just letting him know that he's a little turd! Ow!"

Martin rubbed the back of his head, having been struck by his father before the former heavyweight champion sat down at the head of the table. All the other folfs laughed at Martin's misfortune, finding it amusing that though he was the oldest of the cubs, he was still smaller than their father.

"Behave yourself, boy," warned Bradley. "Or it'll be you and I that will be hooking and jabbing."

"Not fair," whined Martin. "I'm a welterweight and you're a heavyweight. Nobody would sanction that fight!"

"I'll be happy to sanction it if you don't straighten up," said Tori, waving a wooden spoon at the sixteen year old folf.

"Trust me, son," said Bradley as he picked up his coffee mug. "Your mother is way more powerful than the WBA, WBC, WBO and IBF combined, and between the five of you cubs, she's undefeated in several weight classes."

Martin resigned himself to the reality of the situation. Sighing, he calmed down and picked up an orange from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. Peeling it, he glared at his younger siblings, who were still humored by the recent altercation between their big brother and their father. He tried ignoring them by talking to his father.

"Are Uncle Will and Aunt Johnna coming to the fight today, Dad?" asked Martin.

"Yes," said Bradley taking a sip from his coffee mug. "I take it Oliver and Olivia will be going then."

"I certainly hope Olivia will be going," said Martin with a grin.

"Martin loves Olivia!" taunted Alexander once more. Martin was about to get out of his seat to go after his little brother, but saw the glaring expression on his father's face that said, "Do it, and that fight between us will get your mother's sanction immediately." He flared his nostrils at Alexander before turning his attention back to his father.

"Anyway, I just know I'm going to bring home a trophy today," said Martin.

"Don't get delusions of grandeur," warned Tori as she sat down at the table with the rest of her family. "It's only your first fight, Martin."

"I know, Mom," said the folf. "But I've been practicing really hard lately."

"It's true," said Bradley. "He's really been pushing himself hard this past month. The boy's got a good work ethic."

"He should have gotten a trophy when he punched those three nasty cougars years ago," observed Tori.

"What're you talking about, Mommy?" asked six year old Katie, eating a bowl of cereal.

"There were these really horrible boys who used to pick on your brother at school, calling him all kinds of filthy names. One day, they decided they were going to get physical with him, thinking they could push him around. That didn't work out to well for them because by the time your father and I arrived at the school after getting a call, all three boys were sitting in the nurses station, their heads titled up with tissues stuffed in their bloody noses."

"Did Martin get in trouble?" asked Ray, the youngest.

"No, son," said Bradley. "They wanted to suspend him for fighting, but I informed the school that I wouldn't stand for that. Martin was just defending himself and did nothing wrong."

"I still remember how you and Will dealt with that father of theirs," said Tori, grinning.

"What did you do?" asked nine year old Lydia.

"Your Uncle Will and I simply informed those boys' father that it would not be in his best interest to let his sons continue to bother Martin," said Bradley, exchanging grins with his wife.

"Did they ever bother you again, Martin?" inquired Alexander, impressed that his brother had taken on three boys.

"Nope," said the oldest folf. "In fact, they were told by their Dad that they were to make sure that no one ever bothered me or said anything rude to me again."

"We never had anymore calls from the school informing us that Martin was in trouble again," said Tori. "Nobody wanted to mess with him. Or your father, for that matter."

The family continued eating their morning meal. They would have to be on the road soon to head out for Martin's first fight. Tori had reluctantly agreed to go along, though she didn't relish the possibility of Martin getting beaten up in the ring. Bradley had reassured her that Martin would be just fine. The former champion had been working with his oldest boy for years, teaching him proper technique, different styles, encouraging to do the very best he could.

"Do you know who you'll be fighting?" asked Tori.

"No," said Martin.

"That's right," remembered the vixen. "I forgot about when your father was in the amateurs. You don't know who you'll be fighting until you get there and get signed in."

"I always hated that," said Bradley. "At least in professional fighting you know who your opponent is--gives you an opportunity to try and figure him out."

"I've gotta be prepared for anyone I step in the ring with, Mom," said Martin as he got up to take his breakfast plate to the dishwasher. "No matter what, I'm going to bring home that trophy!"

Tori sighed. She wish she shared her oldest son's optimism.

The McGregor family ventured to the amateur tournament that was almost three hours away from their home. Driving separately, Tori took the younger children in her min van, while Bradley decided that it was best for Martin to ride alone with him. The boy didn't need any unnecessary distractions on the biggest day of his young life. The car ride was an enjoyable one for father and son, with Bradley telling his oldest that no matter what happened, he would always love him, and the only real loser was the one who didn't try their best. Cocky though he was, Martin had the good sense to listen to his father's advice. When the former undefeated, undisputed heavyweight champion of the world gave you advice on your new career in boxing, it was typically a good idea to pay attention.

The family arrived at the large gymnasium that held the amateur boxing tournament. Martin was pleased to see that not only were the McCallisters all present, but his Grandma Julia and Grandpa Martin had made it was well.

"Grandpa," said Martin, giving his namesake a huge hug. "You came!"

"Of course I did," said the elder Martin. "Do you think I'd miss my grandson's very first fight?" What kind of grandfather would that make me?"

"A pretty rotten one if you ask me!" joked the younger Martin.

"That's right!" said the elder Martin. "Come on, let's go inside and get you signed up."

The entire group that had arrived to see Martin fight entered the gym. The place was a beehive of activity. Young amateur boxers were getting in line to sign up for their fight, but it wasn't long before the animals present took notice that there were three former heavyweight world champions present that day. Martin, Will and Bradley had prepared for this little eventuality, having brought markers to sign the gloves of those present. The whole ordeal was very distracting to the younger Martin, who just wanted to get in the ring and demonstrate his skills to everyone. Finally, after what seemed like a century, the younger Martin was at the point in the line where he could actually sign in.

"Name?" asked a large tiger on the other side of the table.

"Martin McGregor," answered the folf. Instantly, the tiger's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Wait, are you the son of Bradley McGregor, and the grandson of Mighty Martin McGregor?"

"Yes," said the younger Martin, feeling uncomfortable from the tiger's unsolicited questions.

"Well, I'll be!" said the tiger, slapping his knee. "I would have never guessed that we'd be graced by boxing royalty here today. Why, I remember when . . ."

The younger Martin interrupted him, growing inpatient. "Sir, with all due respect, I'd like to sign in so I can fight, please?"

"Oh, right," said the tiger. "Just need to have you put your name and address right here, your weight class here, and have your father sign this permission slip saying it's okay for you to fight today."

Martin looked around for his father, but couldn't find him. He could feel himself panicking. All he wanted was to fight, and now he couldn't find his father, who was undoubtedly being swarmed by fans wanting autographys. He called out to him.

"Dad! Where are you, Dad?" he kept repeating.

"Right here, son," said Bradley.

"You've gotta sign this," said Martin, shoving the piece of paper in front of him. Bradley swiftly signed the document, giving it to the tiger behind the table.

"Here you are," said the tiger, handing Bradley a muscle shirt with the number seven on it. "You'll be the fourth fight of the day, but first you have to go weigh in."

Bradley stopped signing autographs until the younger Martin had everything ready. Going up to the scale, Martin stepped on it and was given a very unpleasant surprise by the lion who recorded all the officials weights of the fighters.

"Your 150 pounds, son," he said, shaking his head.

"What!?" exclaimed Martin. "That can't be!"

"Checked it three times," countered the lion. "Looks like you're either going to have to fight at Super Welterweight or sit this one out today."

The folf looked over at his father. "Remember, you said you were prepared for anything today. That includes moving up in weight class," said Bradley.

Martin looked inwardly for his confidence. He knew his Dad was right. "Okay, I'll fight Super Welterweight," agreed the folf.

The lion nodded, writing down Martin's weight at one hundred and fifty pounds even. Martin quickly realized that he might be facing a much tougher opponent, as moving up in weight class typically meant fighting stronger opponents. He could feel his nerves getting the better of him.

"Hi, Martin!" said Olivia, walking up to the young folf.

"Hi, Olivia," said Martin, giving her a weak smile.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" she asked. She always knew when something was wrong with her friend.

"I was three pounds over the limit," said Martin.

"You've gotta fight Super Welterweight then?" asked the white she wolf. Growing up in a boxer's house, she was fully aware of all seventeen weight classes and their respective weights.

"Yeah, and I'm not looking forward to that," said the folf.

"I'm sure you'll win," said Olivia, giving her friend a huge hug. "Tell you what, if you knock the guy out, I'll give you something very special."

"What's that?" asked the intrigued folf.

"A kiss," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Ha! You've been trying to kiss me since we were both six!" joked the folf.

"Now, see? You feel better already, don't you?" she observed, giving his nose a quick tickle with her paw. Martin went over to his Dad, who just happened to notice that Martin's confidence had somehow returned, though he wasn't sure why.

The younger Martin watched the first three fights, always keen to pick up any boxing techniques that had previously been unknown to him. The folf scoffed inwardly at the fights, as they were mostly dull affairs. Amateur fights were only three rounds, with every round consisting of three minutes of fighting and a minute rest between each round. As he watched the fights, he got himself psyched up to meet his opponent.

"Your up next, son," said Bradley, who would be his sole corner man for the fight.

Bradley walked over to the ring as the third fight was over. He'd been assigned the blue corner, as the fighter he was facing had fought before from what he'd been told. With his paws wrapped up, gloves laced, and his mouth guard in his maw, the young folf climbed into the ring. A jackal acted as the announcer for the bout, while a Husky was the referee.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Young Champions Amateur Tournament! This next bout is being fought in the Super Welterweight Class!"

"In the blue corner, fighting his very first amateur bout, wearing green and gold trunks, he weighed in at an even one-hundred and fifty pounds. Here is Martin McGregor!"

Unlike the previous four fights, there was boisterous cheering from the audience. They all knew the McGregor name well, and the announcer didn't need to bring that part up either. Martin looked over at his opponent, a very mean looking wildcat with a lean frame and big arms.

"And in the red corner, wearing solid white trunks, he weighed in at one-hundred and fifty four pounds, with an amateur record of five wins, no losses, with two wins by way of knock out, here is Matthew Jackson!"

The referee motioned for both boys to come forward and receive their instructions, all the while the two opponents engaged in the customary stare down.

"I expect you boys to fight clean, obey my commands at all times. Shakes paws, and good luck to both of you!"

The two warriors touched gloves. Martin went over to the corner where his father had observed something very important about Martin's opponent.

"See that?" said Bradley. "He's got a wide stance!"

"Perfect!" said Martin. He knew just what he had to do.

The bell for the first round sounded, and both boys dashed into the ring, though Martin quickly danced his way back. The wide stance that his father had noticed indicated that the wildcat

was an offensive fighter, a perfect match for Martin, who had long trained as a defensive boxer. Matthew kept coming forward, trying to clip the folf, but he couldn't seem to catch him. The fox side of Martin's mixed heritage had given him tremendous speed and amazing agility. Ducking, weaving, bobbing, the folf made it impossible for the wildcat to make his punches connect. Martin knew that it took a hell of a lot more out of a fighter to throw a punch and miss than it did for him to throw a punch and connect. The folf danced about the ring with the utmost of ease, demonstrating his superior footwork. Careful not to stand in front of the wildcat, he sidestepped the feline's assault, and halfway into the first round, he threw his first punch, a left paw jab that connected on the wildcat's cheek. The wildcat was stunned only momentarily, but the folf was so fast that he kept up the left paw jab, making it look like a powerful magnet flying towards a chunk of metal. Martin continued his dance around the wildcat, jabbing away at him as the crowd cheered him on. The wildcat might have been more experienced, but that meant little when he couldn't even see the jabs that were flying into his face. He would move to try and throw a power punch at the folf, only to find that he was somewhere else entirely. This always resulted in getting clipped again by more jabs.

DING!

The fighters went to their corners, the crowd still cheering them on. Martin sat down on his stool, his father jumped in the ring with him, giving him his water bottle and spit bucket.

"That was amazing, boy!" he said wiping the folf's face off before he applied more more Vaseline to it. "You need to use that right paw this next round!"

"I'll only need to use it three times," reassured the folf. "Then he'll be out of commission."

The corner men heard the whistle to order them out. Getting off his stool, Martin waited for the bell to ring, confidently but cautiously going back into the fray. He looked at the battered wildcat, almost not recognizing him from the punishment he inflicted on him in the last minute and a half of the round. Matthew was far more cautious now, trying to guard himself the best he could from the folf's left jab. Martin went right back to work, dancing about as his jab hit the jackpot every time. He was wearing the wildcat down and setting him up for the right paw.

If Martin's vulpine side of the family had given him his speed and agility, his lupine side had endowed him with strength and ferocity. Continuing with the jab, he slapped the wildcat around the ring like a pimp smacking a whore, utterly dominating his opponent. Convinced that the wildcat was thoroughly tenderized, Martin threw a right uppercut, danced around with his jab some more before giving him another right uppercut. The wildcat had almost had it. Jabbing three more times, Martin got on the inside and threw a right hook--his father's most devastating punch--that looked like a bolt of lightenin it was so fast. The sound of the right hook connecting on the wildcat's chin sounded like a brown paper bag being popped. Martin danced backwards as the wildcat's eyes shut, falling face down on the canvas. The referee didn't even bother with a count,waving his arms and ordering the ringside doctor in to treat the unconscious feline. The victorious young folf did the Ali shuffle as he made his way over to his corner, all the while the crowd cheering him on. Bradley jumped in the ring and lifted his son into the air. Martin yelled out to the cheering crowd, shaking his gloved paws high in the air.

"Dash like a fox and bite like a wolf!"

Bradley brought him down, giving his son a huge hug. "He never even touched you, son! That . . . that was amazing!"

The folf grinned at his father. "Now Mom doesn't have anything to complain about!"

Bradley ruffled his son's head. "Son, your mother always has something to complain about!"

Once Matthew Jackson had regained consciousness, the referee went ahead with the traditional raising of the winner's arm. Magnanimous in victory, Martin went over and shook the wildcat's paw, letting him no he respected him.

"Thank you for the fight, Matthew," said the folf sincerely.

The wildcat smiled. "Man, I've never seen anything like you before! Any chance I could work with you some?"

"Sure," said the folf. "How about we trade numbers and I can see about getting you to our gym?"

"I'd love that!" said Matthew. "Thanks."

The two beasts exchanged numbers and Martin shook his paw once more. As crazy as it might sound to someone not in the boxing fraternity, he had made a new friend that day.

Martin received his trophy later that day, with everyone in his entourage congratulating him warmly, even his mother, who had to admit that her boy was a chip off the old block. With his trophy in his paws, Martin was ready to leave, but felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I owe you this," said his she wolf friend, Olivia. "Well done, champ."

Martin closed his eyes as the white female wolf kissed him deeply. Opening his eyes, he saw her staring dreamily at him. He grinned at her mischievously.

"That was nice," said the folf.

"Glad you liked it," said the flirtatious wolf.

"Um . . . what do I get if I win my next fight?" asked the curious folf.

"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see, Martin. You'll just have to wait and see!" she said, tickling his nose like before.

Martin liked the sound of that.